Being a Parent

We've been helping Nate get his new apartment up and running, doing some painting and other things and it has turned my attention to the fact that there aren't many chances for us to do parenting any more like this. Mike is living in Portland and Nate has been pretty self-sufficient down in Chicago and our parenting skills have been reduced to the occasional meals or phone calls and the ever present "Be careful driving" or "Tell Tammy we said 'Hi'." They have their lives, which is as it should be. But I was reading a graduation letter written by Dwight Slade to his son.   Slade is a comedian who happens to live in Portland and his letter was published in the Oregonian. If you click here, you can read the whole letter and I encourage you to do so, but the excerpt below I wanted to emphasize. It is overly dramatic - he is a comedian, after all - but the point he is making rang true for me. And I wanted to say this to my kids so they understand why we jump at the chance to help out.    

We will miss you. No, strike that. It's more than that. We will cease to BE without you. For 18 years we have known exactly who we are: parents. Above and beyond everything else. But now, here, in this old auditorium, your school has dressed you up in a polyester gown, stuck a square piece of cardboard on your head and told us we are no longer relevant.

We have one saving grace. As you stand here, the ceremony done, your grad gown unzipped to the belt and diploma in hand, I can still see the baby in you. You can vote, smoke, go to war, get someone pregnant but, thank God, you are still a baby to us. The gentle slope of your neck and shoulder is unchanged from when you were a toddler. The way your mouth hangs down when you read. It's our salvation.

As you launch out of this ceremony and collide with all the wonder and tragedies that life has in store for you, there will always be us, your parents, who won't see you except as the child who needs to be cared for. Paradoxically, your graduation has not aged us but given us immortality. We are forever young when you are around.

You hand me your grad cap, diploma and tassel, then take off with your friends. What am I supposed to do with this junk? I smile because I'm still a parent.

Every moment that you give us to be parents again will be a gift. So don't be strangers. Come and share the couch.

"Ice Road Truckers" is on.

Nathan's mother's day card for ann said something like   

I grew up. I moved out. I got a job. I'm not in jail. Thanks, Mom.   

You've both done all those things. And we need to retire as parents somewhat as you get older. But we do really enjoy when something comes along that we can help with. I remember having my Dad help me just a few years ago build the deck extension that my barbecue grill stands on . I was 55 and he was 85 and it was nice to work with him on a project and ask him what he thought we should do. Dwight Slade is right. You have given us immortality. Thank you.