“Perhaps it takes courage
to raise children…”
~ John Steinbeck
Perhaps? How is it possible that John Steinbeck, in his classic novel East of Eden, could only speculate on the possibility that it takes courage to raise children? When his book was published in 1952, the man considered to be one of America’s most beloved and honored writers had two sons, ages eight and six. How could he not know first-hand that parenting is an incredible challenge which requires a great deal of courage? I guess it’s possible that he was not involved in the lives of his boys, but I don’t know this for sure. It’s also possible, I suppose, that Steinbeck’s children were the most well-behaved, cooperative, and self-reliant boys ever to walk this earth. I don’t know this for sure, either.
Kathy and I have three sons, all adults now, who, not surprisingly, started out as children. I can tell you with absolute certainty that raising kids today, especially boys, takes not only courage, but also a generous supply of patience, dependability, compassion, honesty, commitment, playfulness, humility, and self-discipline — as well as a sharp sense of humor. Maybe if newborn children came with a detailed User Guide, the task of parenting might be a little less daunting. Unfortunately, such is not the case.
Yesterday, while perusing the plethora of wisdom on Facebook, I came across a question which caused me to pause. It read: Did your mom work outside of the home when you were growing up or was she a stay at home mom? What a loaded question!
When I was a freshman in high school, I had to fill out some forms during freshman orientation. One was a page of card stock paper on which there were six index card sized forms, all connected with perforated lines. They were all asking for basically the same information about my family, but since this was in the BC era (before computers), each form had to be filled out separately. The index cards were then distributed to the Principal’s Office, the Development Office, the Dean of Student’s Office, the Treasurer’s office, the Mother’s Guild, and the Father’s Club. I dutifully filled the cards out as accurately as possible. A few days later, my Dad, who volunteered in the Development Office on his days off from the San Francisco Fire Department, called me out for not knowing my parents’ occupations. For Dad, I had written “Fireman.” For Mom, I wrote “Housewife.” I was confused. What was wrong with these answers?
It was that day that I learned that my Dad was a “Firefighter,” not a fireman. And my Dad informed me that Mom was a “Homemaker,” not a housewife. The difference? Dad told me that any married woman could be a housewife, but it took hard work, talent, and love to make a house a home. Lesson learned.
As I reflected back on my younger years, and noticed how my mother had parented me, I came to a greater appreciation of the difference. Mom was a cook, and a good one. She did all our laundry, though she’d tell us to put the clean clothes away in our rooms. She was the primary house cleaner, requiring that the four of us children in the family take responsibility for our own rooms. She was a taxi driver, shuttling us off to school on rainy days, or to games, practices, birthday parties, Scout meeting, or wherever else we needed to go. Mom was also our primary care physician. She had an uncanny way of knowing when we were legitimately sick and when we just didn’t feel like going to school on a particular day. On the days we didn’t convince her that we were truly ill, she gave us more homework to do than our teacher would ever have us do in the classroom. We quickly learned that it’s easier just to go to school.
Mom was also our fashion consultant. On many occasions, she would insist that we put on a sweatshirt before going to South Sunset Playground after school simply because SHE was cold. And when our clothes wore out to the point that they were “just right” for us, they would mysteriously disappear when we put them in the laundry hamper.
Mom wore so many “hats” in my childhood that to refer to her as a “stay at home mom” would be an insult, even though, in reality, that’s exactly what she was. She certainly deserved to have a more prestigious title like CEO, Domestic Engineer, or Magician.
In his book, For One More Day, author Mitch Albom shares this pearl of wisdom: “When you look at your mother, you are looking at the purest love you will ever know.” This was certainly my experience growing up — and it continues to be true today.
