Listen to your kids.

I'm taking a glance down the street at three kids, same parents and all three are totally different. They have different personalities and different dreams and most likely different futures.

Any parent that has 'plans' for their children is very likely to be sadly disappointed. If you expect him to 'take over the family business' without question (of for that matter, anything else along those lines) then you had a child for the wrong reason. It's also not their duty to supply you with grandchildren, either.

One of the things a good parent does is listen to their kids carefully. My father did constantly and knew early on that I wasn't likely to become a corporate automaton. He worried about me for a while but realized I'd figure it out in my own way even though I'd have a few rough knocks here and there.

He later, when I became an adult said to me that people should listen to kids, cats and dogs because they let you know what they are thinking. It's true. When an animal gets vocal it's because they want something (generally food or affection) or they're in pain. Kids will speak up unless they're stifled.

Dad also understood the little indignities people face and listened to me. When I complained about my grandmother pinching me on the cheek at weddings and saying "You're next!" he told mom to tell my grandmother to knock it off. Mom shined it on and the next wedding it happened again.

A few months later I did it back to her at a funeral and there were penalty markers thrown for that one. When we got home Dad just pointed to the basement and we went below.

Instead of having my hide tanned, Dad explained to me that being a young kid often sucked and that I had better get used to it and life's little indignities if I wanted to get along. He told me it wasn't fair but then again, life's not fair. 

(Years later he told me that incident was a lot harder on him then me because he had one hell of a time keeping a straight face. It became a point of reference for him in dealing with us kids. One time when he had to reprimand me he waxed philosophic and commented, "At least this isn't as bad as what you did at Joe Shea's funeral.")

Early on my father knew I was a stubborn little $hit and was going to go my own way and I did. One night over dinner when I was getting the usual lecture over going to college and getting a good job my dad blew up. "Kid, I don't care if you become a Goddam garbage man just so long as you're good at it and you're happy!"

Dad was wise enough to know I had to figure it out for myself. On the other hand Mom thought she knew the secret to true happiness was by becoming a corporate automaton and making all the 'right moves'. 

I had repeatedly said that I really wanted a career that would put me outdoors. 

Mom 'had plans' for her oldest and because of that life between us was a contest between the unstoppable force and the unmoving object. I was supposed to get a degree, marry a GoodCatholicGirl with a filthy rich father that would set me up as a corporate automaton way up the chain.

I was 35 before the two of us truly made peace during about 10 glorious days on board my sailboat in the waters surrounding Vancouver, BC. We also visited Expo 86 for a couple of days which was happening at the time. It was a wonderful time. Mom was a water baby and I think I got that from her. Thank you, Mom. By then I was 35 and she was 61. 

I think that one of the things that changed her for the better was that she had gone back to work when my kid sister started school. She had been a stay-at-home mom since she married and she was exposed to a lot more than the usual assortment of white suburban stay-at-home moms. She got some exposure to a different life.

Some time after Dad died I went home and we shared a drink together in the living room. While we were talking she changed the subject. "There's a woman at work I think you would get along with," she said.

"I suppose she's a GoodCatholicGirl?" I answered, making it obvious I wasn't interested. I thought I had seen one coming.

"No. I don't know what she is. She's from the South Pacific somewhere and has your dark sense of humor. She's really kind of funny." She answered, leaving me somewhat stunned. 

"So after 35 years of trying to steer me to GoodCatholicGirls you're trying to set me up with some kind of a New Guinea headhunter?" I answered.

"No," she laughed. "You two have the same sense of humor. Sometimes she says things that remind me of you."

By this time my baby sister was living with a Jew and Mom was unconcerned. So much for GoodCatholicBoys. She had changed!

Early on during the Canadian sailboat trip she mused, "I wonder what would have happened to you if you'd have gotten your degree and gotten married."

"Most likely I would have been long dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head," I replied. "There are fates far worse than death."

A minute later the sails filled and we were on our way out of the Burrard Inlet and headed into the Straits of Georgia. "Isn't this a nice office?" I asked Mom.

"Just glorious," she replied.

A good, stiff breeze came up and we sailed the living hell out of that little boat, running a little over hull speed with the rail in the froth and the stern squatted down. It was a wonderful afternoon.

After a day sail we had a supper of fish and chips served in a piece of newspaper from a dockside vendor. 

At that stage she only said that I really ought to get my degree. Even that ended a few short years later when I sent her a copy of my captain's license and a note saying that it had cost me far more time and effort than a degree would have taken me. Much of the license was from work I had been paid to do. 

She hung it on the wall. With that piece of paper (and my Z-card) I never wanted for excellent employment until the day I retired. 

Now that I am retired I can't get a job at Walmart rounding up shopping carts. Whatever. I've been considered for some consulting work but don't know if I'm interested or not.

Still, a lot of problems could have early on been avoided by paying attention to what kids have to say. 

As an old man one's perspective changes. We have to look at our parents and their backgrounds. We also have to realize we're being raised by inexperienced amateurs and by people with varying life experiences. No matter what size family you end up with, you don't get a do-over. (However, the youngest generally get the advantage of somewhat more experienced parents.) You get one shot at it and go into it with no real experience. In a way it's a miracle children come out as well as we do in most cases.

Mom had been raised in a family with a father that was a fairly well to do businessman. She'd been somewhat sheltered and had a narrow perspective on life. She changed over time.

I remember the night she left Vancouver to fly home. When I returned to the boat I was in bed waiting for sleep to set in it occurred to me that not only had I grown over time, but so had my mother. Quite often people in their 20s raising kids are children raising children. Then again, maybe we both sort of grown up together. 

When I woke up I had a very peaceful feeling and after a breakfast of who knows what nature called and while sitting on a bucket half full of water relieving myself it occurred to me that a 35 year running war was over. 

From that day forward until she passed I enjoyed her company.

On the other side of the spectrum, Dad had been raised by a blue collar railroad worker and an immigrant women that arrived at Ellis Island unsupervised at the age of 14 with a younger sister to take care of. Throw in service during WW2 and you can see a person with a different perspective. Their outlooks were different, as was the way they handled things.  

Another thing comes into play are the expectations laid on a person at birth. I was the oldest of the generation for both sides. I was the first grandchild for both sets of grandparents and, of course, was spoiled rotten. On the other hand, I was the one that they had great expectations for. Instant pressure the second I arrived. For years I had very mixed feelings over this. Now I realize it was simply the luck of the draw. Oh, well. It is what it is.

People seem to forget that you're an ordinary human being and it's not your duty to live the way someone else says you are supposed to. You have to live it your own way, win, lose or draw.

Over the years I've know people that have lived their lives either because they were expected to by others or because they felt they needed the approval of others. For whatever reason that seldom seems to work. 

(One lesson I learned from my father is that he needed the approval of nobody to do the right thing no matter how unpopular it was. When Mom asked him 'What would the neighbors think?' he replied he didn't give a damn.)

I have a classmate or two or three that got caught up in the bullshit at an early age and thought that they something they were not. When they got a reality check later on in life they promptly did themselves in.

One comes to mind. She was one of those people that thought she was better than everyone else. I guess she found out otherwise and in her disappointment decided to off herself.

I know a few that chased the buck and made a bundle. Some are happy, some miserable. One still thinks that his pile of money makes him a good person. I guess he still hasn't found out that a pile of money is a pile of money and has nothing to do with character. I'd be interested in how honestly he made it but it's none of my business. He's still a jerk in my opinion.

As most readers know I took the road less traveled and as time went on I was actually surprised at the approval I started getting from the very people that thought I was on the wrong path. Funny how that works.

I guess it all comes out in the wash.

Looking back on things it just occurred to me that I wish my father had lived long enough to see my mother and I make amends and grow closer because he spent most of his time just being a referee. 

Later my siblings reported to me that Mom always talked about that 10 days in Vancouver and as time passed one of them told me that it was one of the last memories she lost as Alzheimer's tore her up.

Back to the kids down the street, the oldest is a super nerd at Embry Riddle and in the process of planning more schooling upon graduation. He'll wind up with a PhD. I don't see him as being caught up in chasing the buck as such. I see him chasing knowledge which is a different kind of power.  His oldest (not older) sister in in college majoring in business (last I heard). His kid sister is only 16 now and still in the process of trying to figure out her next move. My guess is she'll do something along the lines of being a park ranger or something a little different. She seems to be kind of an outdoorsy young lady. She's the candidate in that family for the road less traveled. I'd love to see what happens to her when she finishes school but I probably won't be around long enough to see it happen.

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Writing this is good therapy for me. When I start thinking about things past I sometimes write it for therapy because I can reread it and rethink things. This is one of the few time I have posted it here.

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY