There was a parent in the office the other day talking to the principal at my school, complaining about all kinds of things. I only sat in the meeting for the part that concerned me, and as I left the discussion turned to food services. Apparently, the cafeteria was running out of food before it ran out of customers. (This is the beginning of the school year. That kind of thing happens.) Of course, I later learned that there was food left, just nothing her daughter wanted. What's the easy solution to this problem?
That's right: a brown paper bag filled with good stuff from home.
I ended up having an entire conversation with this parent in my head as I returned to my office . . .
-----"Maybe your daughter should bring her lunch. My son still brings his lunch to school four days a week. I've been making his lunch for years now."
-----"Wait," she stops me, "your son is a sophomore and you make his lunch?"
-----"Of course," I reply.
-----She looks at me as if my IQ has a decimal point in front of it. "Why can't he make is own lunch?"
-----"Well, he can, of course," I respond, clearly surprised that she doesn't get it, "but I like to do things for my kids to show that I love them. It's not just expensive birthday presents and trips to Disneyland that gets their attention; sometimes the little things mean just as much. Sometimes more." The look (I imagined) on her face demonstrated that I was still parentally talking over her head. "I don't make his lunch every day because I have to, I do it because I want to. I like to show him--not just tell him, but show him--that taking care of his needs is important to me. Sure, he could make his own lunch by himself and do other things, too. He could be completely self-sufficient, and there are times that I let him. There are other times, however, when I get to be the Dad and gets to be my son. Sometimes he'll stand there with me and we'll talk while I make his lunch."
-----She blinks at me in a lost, but still imaginary (remember, this isn't real; I'm back in my own office by now) way.
-----"If he becomes completely self-sufficient, what place is there for me in his day? Why should I have to invent occasions to do things for him, or wait until a birthday or holiday? He's my son--it's my job to care about him and do things for him. I'll do things--sometimes big things, but sometimes little things, too--until I can't do them anymore.
-----"It's the difference, you see, between being a parent and just having kids."
I actually can't wait until the day I get to have this conversation for real.
* I do things for my daughter, too; since she lives with her mom, however, the "things" are different: e-mails about TV shows we watch, special bike rides together when she's visiting, making sure I'm at the airport on time to pick her up and making sure I have the time to take her all the way to the gate--and wait for boarding time--when she leaves. Even when they get older, my time is still the gift I enjoy giving the most, because I get to enjoy the gift with them.
Observations, rants, and plausible
deniability from a person who refuses
to be a prisoner of his own world.
deniability from a person who refuses
to be a prisoner of his own world.
The Village
I AM WRITING!
My Screenplay -- Draft Three
I'm currently reading:
On my Kindle 2
I'm listening to:
iTunes Radio
I'm driving:
The Honda FCX Clarity
