“But…”

“No ‘but.’ Go.”

I looked at my mother through the dirty screen door. She wore bright yellow elbow-length rubber gloves and a look of determination  — “You are NOT coming back in this house.” I turned around and walked into the yard, defeated.

A few hours later, when my mother was again talking to me through the screen, the conversation was quite different.

“I said come in here now! It’s time to eat”

“No! I want to stay outside.”

“David, I am not kidding…”

Such were my childhood summers. I spent a lot of time outside so that my mother was able to get things done unburdened by a whining, needy kid.

Today, I feel guilty if I don’t spend every waking moment on the floor, exploiting every educational opportunity that presents itself. I recently read an article that described this phenomenon as a generational thing, more prevalent among parents in their thirties than previous generations.

Call it The Parenting Guilt of Generation X.

What’s going on, Gen X’ers? Is it the parenting shows on TV? The magazines? The repeated viewings of Reality Bites?

I don’t know when it happened, but at one point someone impressed upon me the notion that my kids’ development and education is all-important, and something that I should ensure at any cost — even my own happiness. “Parenting is about sacrifice,” is the mantra I’ve somehow gotten in my head. But how much?

My mother had no problem letting the kids play on their own, so why can’t I?

Anyway, 30-somethings, tell me I’m not alone. Do you struggle with this as well? Life was so much easier when we were wearing Dr. Martins and black T-shirts, listening to The Smiths, and sulking. Ah, the good old days.

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2. Floor d’Oeuvres

Son:

Someday, you’ll be a teenager. You’ll try to get away with things — sneaking out, lying about school work, fake IDs…every trick in the book. Well, guess what, my boy…

I wrote that book.

Your decrepit old dad was 18 for a time, too. So let’s drop the pretense now and avoid a lot of effort and aggravation, okay? Here we go.

There is only one reason teenagers burn incense, and it’s got nothing to do with meditation. And before you even ask, I’ll answer: No, you may not have a fan in your bedroom window.

There is no “squeak-free” path through the house. Do you think we live in a converted summer cottage for the fun of it? This place creaks and groans with every footstep. It’s a giant booby trap, my boy. Good luck sneaking in at 1 a.m.

Some of your friends will tell you that it’s safe to drink vodka, because it has no odor. If you’re willing to put their advice up against dad’s nose, you do that. Let’s see what happens.

When you come home with the minivan and the rear view mirror on the passenger’s door is missing, you’ll tell your parents that you were fiddling with the radio, got distracted and grazed a telephone pole. The truth is, you were playing a game with some of your idiot friends called, “Let’s See Who Can Get Closest To The Telephone Poll Without Hitting It,” and you lost. Trust me, your parents will know you’re lying.

Finally, I’ll give you the same warning your grandpa gave me. If you get arrested, get comfortable, because you’re spending the night in jail.

Don’t get the wrong impression, son. I’m not “out to get you.” I simply want to save us some aggravation. And don’t try to con your grandfather.

He was worse than I was.

Related posts:

1. Father to son, Part II