| Single with Children: Mom tries to nip son's behavior in bud By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 02/23/05 I must admit I was impressed. My son had been going off to school every morning without his usual litany of complaints and protestations. His daily "Top Ten Reasons I Don't Need To Be In School Today" had been forsaken and finally, finally I thought, after 12 years of school, he finally gets it. You can imagine my shock and surprise when I received a phone call one morning a few weeks ago from his second-period teacher inquiring to why my son hadn't been in class in well over a week. "Of course he's been in school. I've seen him leave here every morning. "I've even heard him go into detail about how much he enjoys his broadcasting class and doing the camera work for the morning announcements. Please tell me you're kidding," though by this point my heart began a descent, and my stomach started knitting a knot. "Well, Ms. Parker, I don't know what has been going on between first and third period, but I can tell you with absolute certainty that Justin has not been in his computer applications class. I take the roll every day." If you're a parent, you know the feelings. Anger, frustration, disappointment and concern all swirled around to create the brand of angst I work so hard to avoid. I didn't know this man, this instructor who identified himself as "Mr. G," but given that he sounded reasonable and worried, I could hardly dismiss his question. I told him I would most certainly find out what was going on and call him back as soon as I had some answers. When Justin ambled in later that afternoon, I asked how his day had gone. "Fine. Same old stuff. Nothing too exciting." As he was walking out of the kitchen, I asked him how his classes were going. He paused and looked at me, detecting that this was more than an idle question. When Justin's eyes met mine, it didn't require a flashing neon sign to confirm why Mr. G had called. One word: BUSTED! I filled him in on the phone call, then cut to the chase and asked for some honest answers. I told him the truth would be nice. His excuses were lame and empty and not even particularly creative, which led me to realize that this was a case of senioritis run riot. Just like my hero Barney Fife, I had to nip this in the bud and nip it good. My son is 18, and I know there aren't too many dangling carrots left in my crisper, but two of the ones I do possess are pretty powerful: Both of them have speakers and an antenna and they work in tandem. One of them helps decide where to go and the other one says, "I have arrived." Until further notice, both of these things, along with their user, are grounded. I may not be able to make the horse drink the water, but I can keep the saddle locked up, hide the keys and turn off the transmission of both the cell phone and the Mustang. I also handed Justin a copy of the bus schedule, which conveniently stops right around the corner from our home. This didn't result in immediate success and a couple more second-period classes were skipped. My son isn't naturally confrontational and has never been involved in any incidents of risky pursuits, but I know that doesn't mean he never will. As painful as it has been to impose such severe restrictions, the risks and potential for disaster to my son by not taking such action scares me even more. This is just one area where being a single parent can be a lonely, confusing and difficult business. I will openly admit to feeling overwhelmed. As my children have grown, so have the stakes. Business is a lot more serious these days. Fortunately, I am not alone. I have my parents, who remain amazing role models, and an adult male friend who generously shares his time with Justin. I have also come to rely on and give sincere thanks for teachers and school professionals, like my son's principal and the ever-vigilant Mr. G, who go beyond what is required and care enough to alert me when things aren't going as they should. They receive no additional pay for noticing whether my son is where he is supposed to be, when he is supposed to be there. When I see my son walk across that stage later this spring to pick up his diploma, and yes, I'm being optimistic, it will be the result of a collective effort and a day I will spend leaking a few tears and spreading a lot of thanks. Hopefully, I'll still have some hair left that I haven't managed to pull out, and if some of it is gray, I will have earned every single strand of it. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at SusieWrites@gmail.com, write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166 or visit her diary at www.susiewrites.blogspot.com. |
31 January 2005
Single...With Children: Things Aren't Always As They Seem
Single...With Children: Acceptance Is A Sign Of Growth
| Single with Children: There's no substitute for school of hard knocks By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 02/09/05 There have been times in my parenting "career" when I didn't think there were enough hours in the day to accommodate all the tasks, commitments, requests and essential requirements expected of me. When my daughter was in kindergarten, I cheerfully volunteered to take on the position of Girl Scout leader. At the time, my son was barely 3 years old and in the middle of what I used to refer to as his "Lewis and Clark" phase of development. Nothing escaped his attention, and everything was ripe for exploration. He hadn't caught on to the intended meaning of the word "no." Every Wednesday afternoon, 18 little girls in the 5 to 6 age group would arrive at our home after school. Most days I would have everything set up and ready for a meeting that included a short lesson, crafts and snacks, all the while keeping my eye on a very curious little boy, who wanted to be in the center ring, and a dog, who found numerous ways to sneak out every time the front door was open. With 18 little girls, that front door saw a lot of action. So did the dog. And so did I. And then there were all those years serving in the capacity of "Homeroom Mom," "Meet the Masters" coordinator, cafeteria monitor, field trip organizer, car pool designee, holiday party planner, Sunday school teacher and the list goes on. If you're a parent, you learn on the fly to wear many hats that will take you places you have never been. Later, you will wonder how in the world you juggled it all and survived. When those kids are no longer small and time-consuming, you will look back fondly on those days you were certain you just might pull your hair out because you were so completely overbooked and beyond exhaustion. You really will miss those days. As kids get older, another kind of energy drain occurs, but it is more of the mental variety and not nearly as pleasant as corralling small children. I am in the middle of one of those growth cycles and, hard as it may be to imagine, I'd trade it for duty on a very crowded bus with 100 kids headed for Orlando and the Magic Kingdom. Physical exhaustion simply leaves you tired. Mental fatigue and worry leave you completely drained, and it doesn't disappear after a few hours sleep. My daughter, the one who used to wear the cute little Daisy uniform, is 21 now, and she is still growing up. She lives on her own and is making all manner of choices, some of which I don't quite understand and many of which I am probably unaware. Of course, one of the ways to learn how to live is through the time-tested method of "trial and error," and it's a very effective way to learn what works and what does not. However, for the parent of the student using this method of instruction, it can be painful. Twenty-three years separate me from my daughter, and that means I have had a lot of time to make many more mistakes and learn things the hard way. But, as most of us remember, we too were utterly convinced we knew it all. I know I had to learn many lessons through mistakes, miscues and miscalculations. I still do. I'm sure it wasn't easy on my parents to watch me run the maze and bump into things. There are times when one of the most difficult things to do is absolutely nothing. I can't step in those size 6 shoes of this daughter of mine and take all of my hard-earned knowledge and avoid all the landmines I see her negotiating. I would do it in a heartbeat, but that isn't part of the deal. I read in a book recently that acceptance was the answer to all of my problems. Learning I can't change people, places, things or situations, and accepting that I can only change me is the only clear path to peace and serenity. After having tested it for a few months, I am coming to believe and rely on this premise a little more each day. I'm sure (hopeful) that all of this growth is what makes this journey so colorful. I just wish it made the journey a little easier. I guess I'll just have to accept things and do some more work on me. If you would like to keep up with my progress, you can access my online diary. Feel free to opine. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at SusieWrites@gmail, write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166 or visit her diary at www.susiewrites.blogspot.com. |
Single...With Children: Happy Endings Still Happen
| Single With Children: Despite the odds, happy endings still possible By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 01/12/05 It was a scene taken right out of a movie you might expect from Meg Ryan - the kind of film most guys would immediately label "chick flick." New Year's night, I was dining at a quaint restaurant. I noticed a handsome young man dressed in a tuxedo a few tables away sitting on the same side as his date. My dinner was going along fine. I was with someone very dear to me. It was the perfect way to spend the first evening of 2005, and the mood was deliciously light. I was in good company. Suddenly the restaurant got very quiet, and I noticed my fellow diners had their eyes trained on the booth where the couple was sitting next to each other. The young man was down on one knee and soon enough it was obvious - this brave man, in front of at least 40 strangers, declared his love and asked "the" question. The young lady was mesmerized. I could see her eyes were wide as saucers. Though I wasn't close enough to hear the wording, her smile suggested she had definitely said exactly what he wanted to hear. Applause broke out and a champagne bucket materialized. The young lady was crying, and the man looked as if he had just won the really big Powerball lottery. There was kissing. There was hugging. Glasses were raised. My dinner companion sported that dreamy, "isn't that beautiful" expression. For a few seconds, I was right there with them all, and my heart was touched that a man would ask such a personal and loaded question in a room filled with strangers. The wrong answer could have transformed this scene in a matter of seconds. After everything had settled down, I looked at the newly engaged couple, locked in a hug and kiss that any other time might have made me think someone should tell them to get a room. I watched them talk in low tones, probably already making plans for the marriage that had just been agreed upon. Out of nowhere, and I'm not proud to admit this, I looked at my date, shook my head and said, "Wow, I sure hope this works out for those two. Unfortunately the odds aren't in their favor." Huh? Where did that come from? Hey, that came from me! As soon as I said it I was instantly ashamed. My friend stared at me as if I had lost my mind. When did I become so cynical? What in the world had happened to me, and was I the ONLY person thinking such horrible thoughts and calculating the odds of these two being together 10 years from now? Not only did I surprise myself by saying it, I was sad that such thoughts would even cross my mind. You don't have to write a single-parenting column to know a lot of folks for whom love and marriage hasn't worked out the way they once hoped and believed it would. I know when I answered "yes" to that question 25 years ago, divorce wasn't on my radar screen, and I would have thought someone insane had they warned me of the possibility. It's easy to become jaded and lose all hope of love lasting longer than a few years. We've all heard the horror stories and no, the statistics aren't particularly encouraging but, as my date so correctly pointed out, you can never lose hope or allow your faith in love to falter. There are happy endings, joyous outcomes and many people can and do weather the storms and not just endure the hard times, but grow and thrive because of having walked through them together, rather than walking away. I don't really believe in New Year's resolutions because I think the odds of breaking them are even higher than the divorce rate, but I have made a private promise to myself to seek out the success stories, even though I often write about the failures. There may not be as many folks celebrating 25 or even 50 years of wedded bliss as there once was, but wonderful marriages do still exist and love is still the most potent force on this Earth. Many of us who didn't find success the first time around can still experience it if we keep an open mind and an even more open heart. Here's hoping 2005 brings a lot more scenes like the one I was privileged to witness on the first day of this brand new year. I'm pretty sure it's worth the pursuit and success may just be more prevalent if we make up our minds to find it. Happy endings are still a very real possibility. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at SusieWrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: Short On Commercial Presents, Big On Heavenly Blessings
| Single With Children: Sometimes you have to practice what you preach By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 12/22/04 For years, I've told my kids Christmas isn't about material things. I've lectured about how out-of-control commercialization has taken away from the true meaning of this holiday. I've reminded them time after time that all the "stuff" we give and receive has a tendency to cloud the reason we celebrate this sacred time of year in the first place. Of course, year after year, right after delivering the speech, I could be found frantically searching online and hitting all my kids' favorite stores in the mall. It's a real shame I didn't listen to my own good advice. It's painful when I discover I am paying nothing more than lip service to important things I profess to believe. It's about as palatable as eating my own words. This Christmas finds very few presents under our tree. I wish I could say it's because I finally understand the message I've tried to convey to my family. I wish I could tell you the empty space beneath our Christmas tree was due to a deliberate effort on my part to remove myself from the material aspect of this year. I could tell you those things, but they wouldn't be true. This December, a few unexpected and unplanned expenditures, not to mention my decision to replace my worn out coffee- and tea-stained carpet, find my Christmas budget at a critically low level. When I realized this, my first thought was sheer panic. How would I break it to the kids? How will they deal with not having a barrage of presents to unwrap. How will I afford the therapy required to help them deal with the fact that very few things on their "wish list" are going to materialize before their eyes on Christmas morning? The most disturbing question I found myself asking is almost too embarrassing to admit: What will they think of me if I don't come through with the goods? I am ashamed of myself. Why would I expect my kids to buy into my "Christmas isn't about the presents" soliloquy when I have made it my business to stress myself and my checkbook far beyond reasonable limits? How could I fault their high expectations? They were taking their cues from me. I dreaded the conversation, knowing I would have to sit them down and explain that things were tight this year. I didn't know what to expect, and my heart sank every time I approached "the talk." I finally explained my dilemma and told them gift-giving would be dramatically scaled back this year. Before they could say a word, I found myself apologizing. I expected intense, deep disappointment. What's more, I felt I deserved whatever grief I might feel. I am chagrined at how little faith I had in my kids. Rather than admonitions and rants, my announcement was met with hugs and warm support. It turns out I have been the one who has been so wrapped up in the wrapping up! I was the one with the problem and the misguided notion that my performance as a parent relied solely on my ability to overindulge. A few weeks ago, I was certain this would be the most disappointing Christmas my kids have ever had. Not only did I underestimate my budget, I also underestimated the heart of my children. I guess through the years, when I would wax poetic on the true meaning of this season, at least two people were paying attention. Next time I might look into living what I lecture. I feel more blessings and love this Christmas. Time formerly spent in the mall, has turned into more time to spend with those special people who mean the most. Love really is the reason for the season. "Less" really has turned out to be so much more. Merry Christmas. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: With Age Comes Reponsibilities
| Single With Children: With age come privileges and responsibilities By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 12/08/04 It does not require being a parent, single or otherwise, to understand the very true adage that the only constant in life is change. It can be painful, welcome, exciting, terrifying, challenging and it can be all of those things and more at the same time, but it most certainly is unavoidable. My son turned 18 a couple of weeks ago. Honestly, I was never likely to forget this milestone, but he has generously reminded me, since he turned 17, that his next birthday would be his 18th. I sometimes wondered if it might have slipped his mind that we had both met up in the same delivery room at Northwest Texas Hospital back on Nov. 21, 1986, two days after he hinted at his arrival with some fierce back labor pains. In the month leading up to this big day, the reminders became more frequent. I heard the same glib remarks parents have historically heard during this most auspicious occasion; "Mom, would you stop asking me to clean my room already? I'm almost 18!" "Of course I did my homework, I'm practically 18!" There was the predictable crescendo. Expectations were high and still rising. I was told that soon he would not need to trouble me for my permission should he choose to get a tattoo or anything pierced. Turns out he will be eligible to vote in the next election and, technically, he was legally an adult with all of those wonderful rewards and responsibilities those of us who have marked this milestone have come to enjoy or endure, depending on your perspective. There was magic in the air Nov. 21, and it wasn't because Thanksgiving was only four days away. It was "the day." "The big one." The birthday that would eclipse all other birthdays. The day dawned sunny, albeit a little chilly. The birthday boy woke up, opened his cards containing the present he coveted most; cold, hard cash. He tooled around in his car with his friends for a few hours and then met up with us at his choice of restaurants for a nice celebratory dinner. We made our iced tea (and Dr Pepper) toasts and recounted some of the highlights of the past 18 years. We returned home to open up the very large chocolate chip cookie Justin has always favored over a birthday cake, but it would seem that everyone had scattered, and I soon realized it was just me staring down at a sphere containing about a million calories. The sugar rush would be sweet, but I'd never be able to look at myself in the mirror come morning. And that was it. Gifts. Dinner. Birthday cookie (uncut). The next afternoon when Justin zoomed in from school, he was a little surprised to discover that the U.S. government also had noticed he had just celebrated a birthday and had taken the opportunity to send him a card, only it wasn't a colorful "happy birthday" Hallmark. Uncle Sam sent my son a notice that would require him to register with the Selective Service. Ah, membership in this elusive "adult" club does not always have its perks. This 18th birthday business has turned out to be a dual rite of passage. My son has become a man, legally speaking, and I have become the mother of one. We are both trying to make our adjustments, and I would like to think we are attempting to be as gentle with each other as possible. Time ... takes time. It's occasions like this that always leave me wishing I had some incredibly profound piece of wisdom to share with this new man in the house. I always wonder what Fred Rogers would say. It occurs to me that in the time it might take me to compose something remotely sage that might change my son's life, he could easily be celebrating his 35th birthday, and whatever I might come up with would have lost its significance. Being the unreasonable Mom that I am, along with his birthday card, I had to include a little reality check because, if nothing else, being an adult is all about reality. Though my son may be 18, I'm a whopping 44 and, along with graciously providing such essentials as food, clothing and shelter, one adult to another, I am taking the liberty of enforcing pesky requirements such as homework completion, a few simple chores and limiting vehicle access, just to name a few. I am fully aware that I may encounter some static. I can handle it. I love him enough, to tune out the "but Mom!" protestations I expect to hear. I am, after all, almost 45. Oh, and one more thing. It's really NOT OK if he stays out until 4 a.m. Middle age has its privileges, too! Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: Thanksgiving A Great Time For a Gratitude List
| Single With Children: Thanksgiving a time for life's accounting By: Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 11/24/04 Can we really be just one day away from Thanksgiving 2004? I hope tomorrow will find all of you sitting down to a roasted turkey, ham or whatever it is that tastes like Thanksgiving to you. More important than the menu, what are the things you feel most grateful for on this special, most decidedly American holiday? My gratitude list is composed of blessings that have visited me this year, though I'm certain most of these gifts are the result of unmerited grace. God has always been far more generous than I have come close to deserving, but this year has been particularly abundant. I am thankful that my family is alive, healthy and, for the most part, happy. We have had our share of challenges, detours and exasperation, but I like to think that probably means we are living full, colorful lives. OK, so there are some days I could do with a little less color. But last time I checked, we were all still speaking to each other, so that has to count for something. Last week I received one of those scary phone calls that parents never want to hear. My daughter's apartment had caught fire. She arrived home from work to find firefighters and her next-door neighbors working frantically to extinguish the blaze. Fortunately, the damage was confined to only a couple of rooms. Her DVD and CD collection, as well as most of her electronics, were melted and she will probably never be able to rid her belongings of the smell of smoke. But no one was injured and no lives were lost. It is amazing how something like a fire, accident or sudden illness can put things in proper perspective. All the situations that feel so huge are suddenly reduced to their more realistic, modest size. Potentially life-threatening situations create reality checks. Of course, sometimes I still see red when I notice that a certain young man hasn't taken care of his pets, but those oversights don't trigger a torrent of terror. I have a feeling that minor annoyances are a sign of a fairly calm and easy life - if you have the time to notice, your mind must not be troubled with issues that are more serious. I know more than a few people who would give anything if all they had to worry about was the inconvenience of a dirty litter box or a sink full of dirty dishes. When compared with waiting for medical test results or the possibility of unemployment, it really is a no-brainer. Two more items on my list of things to be thankful for go by the name of Mom and Dad or, depending on kinship, granny and pops. My 80-year-old mother and 79-year-old father are in the most amazing shape, both mentally and physically, and every day my kids and I are allowed to enjoy their love, kindness and example, is an incomparable gift. The marriage they have tended for more than 57 years is a testament to the durability and power of the kind of love that so many of us sometimes question the existence of. They are a living reminder that it really is possible to live happily ever after. When I was considering all the things that deserve honorable mention on my list of things to be thankful for, I realized many of them are born out of a certain amount of adversity. Without some of my more trying and challenging times, I would never understand how precious and dependable are these folks I call my friends. A few melted home furnishings remind me how fragile human life is and how blessed we are that the lost items are replaceable. A bedroom with everything out of place forces me to remember how grateful I am that I still have my son around. This Thanksgiving, if you're having trouble coming up with items to add to your gratitude list, look no further than the folks around your table, the animals under your table hoping you'll be generous with a handout, and the friends who live on the next block or in the next state. Think of all the things that could have gone wrong this past year, and rejoice in the fact that they didn't. Remember those dark times and challenges and, in the very next thought, think of those people who were quick with a flashlight and extended their hands so you wouldn't have to wring yours. Thanksgiving is a great time to maximize our gratitude list and minimize the things and people we take for granted. Rather than assume people know how you feel about them, leave no doubt. I wish each of you a happy, healthy and very blessed Thanksgiving. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: Keep The Door Of One's Mind Ajar And Tenderize The Heart
| Single With Children: Encounter offers lesson in keeping an open mind By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 11/10/04 The conversation in the car was sophomoric and funny, so of course I giggled as I listened to Justin and my friend Dan discuss which probing questions to pose to the unsuspecting victim who was about to find himself in the hot seat. Dan even went so far as to find a "questionnaire" online for this young man to fill out; a kind of application form supplying information for a rogue "background check" for someone wishing to date my daughter. I especially loved, "In 30 words or less, what does 'Don't Touch My Daughter' mean to you?" Katie had invited us to dinner to meet her new boyfriend. She reminded us to be on our best behavior, but if the conversation between Justin and Dan was any indication, that last request was going to be a tall order. I started to feel a little sorry for the guy. This was a new experience for me. My daughter had broken off a relationship with a young man who had been around so long he almost felt like a member of the family. It was strange to think of Katie with someone new. Soon, Katie arrived at the restaurant and introduced us to her new friend. I couldn't help but make unfair comparisons. He wasn't very tall. OK, so her last boyfriend was 6-feet, 5-inches. He seemed unusually nervous but, then again, we were strangers, and he was outnumbered. That's what I did all evening. I made comparisons. It was the natural thing to do. After all, I had only seen her in one serious relationship. As dinner progressed, everyone relaxed. Her date took all the kidding and teasing in stride. He seemed nice enough. Katie was unmistakably happy. Ten minutes after we left the restaurant, my cell phone rang for the predictable post-dinner phone conference. "So, what did you think of him? Isn't he great? He's such a nice guy, Mom." Justin and Dan thought he was great. I was noncommittal. My daughter grew frustrated, annoyed by my lack of enthusiasm. I couldn't pinpoint anything wrong with the guy, it just felt unfamiliar to see her with someone new. Katie wanted to hear a glowing review. She was crazy about him and how could I not see the million and one reasons why she felt that way? I said I was sure he was a perfectly nice person but she had known him longer and it might take me some time to see many of the things she found so charming. I did mention that he had very polite table manners. After a protracted silence, she asked if that was the best I could say: polite table manners? I tried to be funny and tell her that was no small thing! Katie didn't laugh. That's when she taught me yet another lesson in this single-parenting class I've been a student of for well over seven years. "I understand how it might be hard for you to warm up to a new guy. I know the feeling." Katie went on to tell me what it felt like the first time she saw me in the company of a date following my divorce. At the age of 14, she said she found that experience to be way beyond strange. It felt plain wrong to see her mother with someone who was not her father. She reminded me how I often seemed puzzled that she didn't warm up instantly to a man she had only just met. Point well taken. I had difficulty seeing my daughter date someone new after her 2-year relationship had ended. Did I have any clue what it felt like for my kids to see me with someone who was not their father? A few days later, Katie brought her date over to meet my parents. I watched as he shook hands with my father, and I smiled when he told my mother her potato soup was the best he had ever tasted. My parents were open, friendly and gracious, and Katie delighted in their reception. I knew I should be taking notes. This time I spent some one-on-one time chatting with this person my daughter finds so fascinating. Because I focused on things that really matter, I was able to appreciate his sharp wit, and he really did have a nice smile. He certainly seemed to inspire one in my daughter. This time I found plenty of positive observations to share with Katie. I realized that my daughter had extended a gift with an important, lesson attached. I was honored that she respected my opinion and solicited my approval. I was also grateful she reminded me of the importance of keeping an open mind and a tender heart. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: A Little More Preparation Can Come In Handy
| Single With Children: Humble pie hard to swallow, but necessary nourishment By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 10/27/04 I remember eons ago when I was in high school, the mere whisper of a book report was enough to send my pulse into triple digits and cause my palms to drip. Twenty years later, I still find the prospect of having to make the briefest announcement at any given meeting can create a lump in my throat. I get the distinct feeling public oratory will never be my strong suit. Looking back, the quick wit, the smooth bravado, the "I am just so completely calm" attitude wasn't hard to buy into. The fact that this self-assured air was being emitted by my son, made it even easier to believe. I didn't harbor any misgivings about his ability to stand before his peers and fulfill one of the requirements of his senior project by giving a dissertation on his research topic. Justin's never displayed any visible stress tied to school assignments before, even when I felt a little tension and well-placed concern might be a good thing. In his almost 12 years of school, I've never seen a hint of angst. Senior project is probably the most dreaded aspect of the academic year for students toying with the idea of graduating. And it was my son's turn last week. He prepared by making a trip to the mall and selecting a dress shirt, smart looking pants and a necktie that transformed him into someone I almost didn't recognize, but made me swell with pride upon inspection. I never had to encourage him to work on his research or memorize more information. I had no doubt he knew his material and facts. His chosen subject is one close to his heart; "The History of the Mustang." If anything, Justin has more information than he will ever need to compile his paper. The morning finally arrived and the hour was near. It was midpoint presentation day and there wasn't a trace of trepidation to be found in my son. I wished him good luck and told him to "break a leg." He bounced out of the house and headed for school and his five-minute spotlight. I didn't give it a second thought. The young man who returned home was not the same self-assured teenager who swaggered out of the house a few hours earlier. I realized something had gone wrong, but his presentation was last on my list of possible culprits. "I choked, Mom. Everything I knew just flew out of my head and I wound up sounding like a babbling idiot." I listened, near tears for his obvious pain. He reviewed the carnage with me. He said as he stood front and center and surveyed the audience, he knew for certain that his classmates probably weren't paying very much attention at all to what he was about to say. He even noticed that one young man in the back row was taking the opportunity to catch up on his sleep. Inattentive audience notwithstanding, every fact, statistic, noun, verb, adverb, adjective and "pause for effect" called in sick and left him stammering and sounding as if he weren't quite certain the Mustang he was reporting on was the horse or the car. It's those hurts my kids present to me that can't be corrected with a Band-Aid or 10-day course of antibiotics that I find most difficult to handle. I knew better than to say, "I know just how you feel," even though I think I had a good idea. My heart ached for him. It was one of those times when a hug seemed to be the only thing I had to offer. I did share a few of my own public speaking disasters, but I realized this moment was one of those not so fun times when it's "all about him.". There was no erasing the fact that he would have to suit up, show up and get back in that Mustang (the car), climb back on that mustang (the horse), and revisit the scene of the accident. I reminded him that his age group, overall, tended to exhibit a short attention span and it really wouldn't take long for his performance to fade from the collective memory of the group. I'm not at all sure he bought that. Lessons in humility can be harsh, but they are also essential. When we seem to believe we are bigger than we really are, it's a sure bet that it won't be long until we're reduced by a few notches. In the long run, though it doesn't merit a grade or a ticket to graduation, those "notch reductions" provide an even more valuable lesson than "The History of the Mustang." They help keep us real. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: A Mind Of Her Own
| Single With Children: Youthful zeal sparks interest in politics By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 10/13/04 Politics and religion. Everyone knows these two topics are best left untouched if one is fond of peace and tranquility. I have friends and relatives of all political persuasions. That I am on speaking terms with most of them is a testament to the fact that I avoid anything remotely involving the upcoming presidential election. I love watching a spirited debate, and I admire the skill and fast thinking it requires; however, I tend to avoid confrontation at all cost and will jump into a fray only when there is no other way out. The other day, I looked high and low and in every corner only to discover I had been lured into one of those instances where there was, in fact, no other way out. I got baited, and against my best judgment, I took the bait. Sure I knew better, but when did that EVER stop me? Things started off friendly enough, with my opponent and me trading good-natured jabs at each other's chosen candidate. Even though I felt my adversary was completely wrong, I couldn't help but admire her command of the issues and her well-thought out, impassioned delivery. Being a politically savvy woman, she managed to keep me on the defensive, affording me scant opportunity to launch a much preferred pre-emptive strike. It didn't take long to realize I was ill-prepared for this impromptu "one-on-one". Taxes, foreign policy, domestic issues, social programs, health care, terrorism - we covered it all. I felt inadequate and managed to confuse even myself, and I knew what point I was trying to make. Most of the time, anyway. To be honest, the whole thing is rather fuzzy, now that I think about it. My antagonist had done her homework. She had chased down information, studied the campaign platforms of both candidates and ticked off the reasons, as she saw them, why her candidate was easily the best person for the job. Darn lucky for me and my presidential choice, I had made a firm commitment to myself that I would not waver in support of my chosen contender because, for a moment or two, she almost had me convinced that her guy was the right man for the job. She was that good. I guess it's really true that "all politics is local," and what's more local than a family? My political sparring partner happens to be my daughter, who is about to cast her first general election vote and couldn't be more enthusiastic. I smile at her exuberance, determination and commitment to attempt to separate the facts from the political rhetoric and spin. I share my pride with her and gush accolades at her sense of civic duty, and then I quietly mumble, "It's a shame your very first vote will be for the wrong candidate." Of course, she knows I'm kidding. Sort of. It feels strange to consider that I raised this budding politico in a home that espoused my beliefs, values and interests. I'm proud of her independent streak and zest. Katie's energy, and unfortunate judgment, have given me renewed interest in this campaign season and her impressive knowledge of the "hot button issues" has prompted me to stay up to speed on current events, polls and every available sound bite I can uncover supporting my candidate and cause. This keeps me on my toes and leaves less time for me to ponder that centuries-old question that must plague other parents of up and coming-of-age young adults who dare to be different; "Where did I go wrong?" While my newly registered daughter and I may never see eye-to-eye on the issues and will probably be poles apart on all things political, I am inspired by this obsessed political junkie I have raised. She is actively seeking answers and realizing the world extends beyond the 10 square miles or so she typically inhabits. I'm pleased she realizes that global events, more often than not, have local impact. I am also comforted by another important fact, should this election not go as I hope. My son will turn 18 on Nov. 21, which means I have four more years to point out the error of his sister's ways. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: A Teenager Shares A Pint
| Single With Children: Choosing selfless act sign of growing up By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 09/22/04 My son's bed is never made. How many times have I had to remind him to clean the cat litter and feed the dog and still he forgets on a daily basis? Taking out the trash apparently requires a formal invitation. If you happen to be the parent, single or otherwise, of a teenage male, does any of this sound familiar? Or is my son just "special"? I was at my desk when Justin popped in the other day and sat down with the pensive look of a young man who had something on his mind. It was the old "I want to tell you something, but I'm going to make you work to find out what it is" look. I took the bait. In May, Justin shocked me by announcing that the bloodmobile was going to be at his school and that he had signed up to chip in a pint. Of course, I swelled up with pride until he went a little further and told me that by doing so, he would be allowed to skip third and, should the line be extra long, possibly fourth period. I'll admit I felt a little deflated after learning his primary motive, but I still let him know I was proud, even if his participation wasn't for the most altruistic of reasons. I congratulated him and pointed out that his donation would have a personal, positive effect on someone else's life. So when I started prodding him for clues, he finally told me he had received a call from the Red Cross requesting that he make an appointment to donate another pint of his rather rare type of blood. "What did you tell them?" I asked, trying not to offer my opinion, hoping he would tell me that he had instantly agreed. "I told them I'd think about it and get back to them." I held my tongue, but it took a lot of effort. I wanted so much to give him a lecture on why he should call them back immediately and ask for the first available opening. I wanted to offer a thousand reasons why he should say "I'd be honored and thank you for asking!" I wanted to launch into what would have sounded like every public service announcement ever broadcast on behalf of the Red Cross. "What do you feel like you should do?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant and inquisitive without being too parental. "I'm not sure. I'll let you know." And with that he walked out of my office. I sat there wondering what I could say that might inspire him to do the right thing. I couldn't make him say yes and, even if I could, he would resent me AND the Red Cross and probably never entertain another thought of donating blood again. The following Monday, he casually said he would be a little late the next day because he had an appointment with a vampire. I realized this was his way of letting me know he had decided to donate his blood after all. This time, I had to hold my tongue for a different reason. I realized that, just as he didn't need me to implore or beg him to say yes a few days earlier, he certainly didn't want me to gush all over the place about what a great decision he had made, but I think he felt my admiration and respect. When he finally got home the next day, he was standing a little taller and looking rather pleased with himself. I may have been prohibited from gushing, but apparently the nice nurses who assisted with the bloodletting were allowed to say all of the things I was thinking and I don't think he minded their attention and fawning. He was told it was quite possible that more than one person would benefit from his generosity and how wonderful it was that he had agreed to share some of his very specific type of blood. A couple of hours later, he again walked into my office and asked me to make a note on the calendar that he had an appointment for Nov. 10, and would I please remind him that he needs to be back at the Red Cross to make another deposit at the blood bank. No big deal, he said. Yes, big deal, I thought, as I tacked the red and white card on the bulletin board above my desk. This son of mine seldom makes his bed, sleeps in a room that often requires a path to be cleared, and still forgets to take out the garbage without five reminders; yet, without a word from me, he did something right and wonderful. Thanks to a simple phone call from the Red Cross, Justin learned there are some essential things in this world that money cannot buy and some scientist in a lab cannot create, which might require a small, selfless sacrifice, and that being privileged to offer something as unique and personal as a pint of life, is a pretty nice feeling. So is having a son who makes deposits to blood bank. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: It's More Than Frequent Flyer Miles
| Single With Children: Adjustment is two-way street By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 09/08/04 My daughter turned the magic 21 last week. I used to hear my parents talk about how fast time flies, and I didn't really understand exactly what they meant. I was busy spending my time taking care of a newborn, who didn't quite grasp the concept of day and night, and a 31�2-year-old going on 13. Some things don't really change. I used to pace the floor, wringing my hands over elevated thermometer readings. I now pace a different floor because my watch tells me my son should be home already. Last week was full of celebrations for my daughter, and after I heard her schedule, I felt lucky she penciled us in for a family dinner - a time to celebrate a rite of passage she didn't think would arrive, and one I thought arrived too soon. My ex-husband flew in from the other side of the country to spend the weekend with the kids and enjoy a special visit with the birthday girl. I'm sure it was expensive and complex to make arrangements for a four-and-a-half hour flight, one way, to spend 48 hours with our son and daughter. Since my divorce almost seven years ago, Katie and Justin have never lived in the same city as their father. This past weekend, I heard a few minor grumblings from the kids about rearranging their schedules and having to put off activities with friends they see every day of the week. I must confess that I was disappointed and almost embarrassed at their selfishness. I wanted to say, "Do you realize what all your Dad had to do to get here? How much time and money it took to make a trip halfway across the country?" It finally occurred to me that my observations and input were never requested. Learning to let go is an art, and that requires practice. I've commented on just how hard it is for noncustodial parents to fit weeks and months of parenting into a handful of days. What I temporarily forgot is that it's equally challenging for children, especially older ones, to step into the role of being the "child of the noncustodial parent" and briefly step out of an established life. Adjustment is quite often a two-way street. Tea, coffee and soup all come in "instant" form. Patience and time, however, do not, and it's just as well. The instant variety isn't nearly as good as the traditional, and the effort is almost always worth the difference. Long-distance parental relationships may take a little while to warm up but they eventually get there, if allowed the space. As the hours of the weekend ticked by, the activity level picked up, and the intermittent chatter I overheard led me to believe my daughter, son and their father were getting along. As it turns out, my meddling wasn't required and probably would have broken something that was never really broken in the first place. Things have a way of working themselves out, especially when I stay out of the way. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: Don't Forget To Schedule Time On The Calendar To Catch Your Breath
| Single With Children: Make some time to take life slower By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 08/25/04 Goodbye summer, hello paperwork. You know what I'm talking about if you have a child in school between kindergarten and high school. Here it is the first week of school, and I have lost count of how many times I have signed my name. Of course, there are the expected emergency-contact forms, health information and medical attention releases. Is my son allergic to anything? I toyed with filling in homework and waking up before 10 a.m., but I'm fairly certain the school wouldn't appreciate my attempt at humor, given that it has to collect, sort and file all of this paperwork. Then there are the extracurricular activities. So many options, so little time. Band, soccer, tennis, basketball, softball, baseball, track, swimming, French club, Spanish club, drama. The list goes on. At the beginning of the school year, the calendar just begs to be filled with an assortment of options that will offer a change of pace from math, science, history and English that are not options. There's no question that children involved in after-school activities have a better chance at staying out of trouble. After-school classes can be beneficial for the single parent who doesn't have the luxury of being home when the school day ends. It provides peace of mind and the comfort of knowing that their children aren't walking into an empty house with too much time, energy and imagination that may not be positively directed. As I looked over the array of choices with my son, taking into consideration that his last year in high school would probably require more homework demands and less free time in terms of complex school projects and term papers, I glanced back over the blank, waiting-to-be-filled in calendar with a sudden hesitation. I wondered, between the daily grind of classes, the homework, the chores, and maybe an extra activity or two, where he might find the time just to be a kid? Was I on the brink of overbooking him out of the free time that all of us require to recharge? If I suddenly got the bright idea to invite my son to go hiking or take off for a long weekend, would I need to give him three months advance notice so he could accommodate our change in plans and pencil me in? Would he have to tell me to "take a hike" if I suggested that we, actually, take a hike? There's something about scheduling spontaneity that just takes the spontaneity out of it. Sometimes I wonder if the time to just be a kid requires an appointment and, if it does, is some of the magic of being a child lost? We tell our kids "these are the best years of your life," but there are times when it feels as if we are merely introducing them to a miniature version of the maze that is the rat race they will have to contend with the day after they are handed a diploma. Through some negotiation and compromise, my son and I finally agreed on a balance that I believe we can both manage. Between the inevitable homework, after-school interests and possible part-time work, we're leaving a little extra space on our calendar for a precious, unscheduled and unpredictable day when we just might practice our option of literally taking a hike or maybe just opt for dinner and a movie. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: Regardless Of Species, Love & Discipline Calm Rough Waters
| Single With Children: Calm words, kind touches sooth stormiest hearts By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 08/11/04 The other day I watched a news story that was a classic depiction of adolescent angst and rebellion. To the parent of a young child or teenager, this probably will sound familiar. Initially, things seemed to be going fine. The youngster in question was compliant and obedient. However, within a few minutes, this kid had suddenly switched gears and there was a REAL sea change. Instead of doing what he was supposed to do, the rebellious adolescent launched into a tirade of tsunamic proportions. He refused to calm down and get with the program. At first it was hard, even scary to watch. And to have it happen in broad daylight, in an extremely public setting must have added to the embarrassment and craziness of a situation that threatened to get out of hand. The caregiver seemed to be treading water in a pool of confusion and clearly felt as though he was being attacked by this obstinate young male who seemed just bent on breaking the rules. Then the most amazing thing happened. When things looked as if they were spiraling perilously out of control, the tide turned. The caregiver reached out and, very lovingly, calmly touched his young charge, reminiscent of when someone puts his hand on your shoulder and tells you it's really going to be OK, even if it doesn't feel as though it will. The flailing stopped and the kid responded to that touch, that feeling of reassurance that he was understood and loved, even when he was acting out of control and contrary to what he knew to be acceptable. Quiet words were exchanged, more loving pats were dispensed and order was finally restored. The obvious affection and respect so evident between the two stars of this unscripted drama was just the kind of scene that reminds the rest of us that love is a potent force and can defuse the tensest of situations. Love is more powerful than an adolescent tantrum and, in the end, maybe it is the boundaries, the limits, the knowledge that someone, the parent or guardian in a child's life, cares enough to enforce those parameters and can be counted on to stick around, even when things get out of hand, as things sometimes do. Interestingly enough, this situation occurred not in a home, school or mall, but in the Shamu Tank at Sea World of Texas. The "parent" was a trainer named Steve Aibel, who had been taking care of Ky, a young killer whale, for 10 years. Aibel and Ky had been together since Ky was born, and a solid relationship of affection, respect and trust had been established. It might seem like a stretch to compare the incident that occurred last week at Sea World with human parenting, but from what I saw watching the news video, the only real difference I could see between Ky's actions and those of a human teenager is that Ky experienced his tantrum in a saltwater-filled fishbowl in full view of 3,500 people while, thankfully, most of the adolescent skirmishes we human parents deal with occur on a much smaller stage, commonly accompanied by raised voices and a slamming door or two. Even though Ky "spouted off" in a slightly different manner, the similarities were remarkable and the very same thing that calmed and soothed Ky, quiet words spoken in understanding tones and a gentle touch, apparently works amazingly well on both land- and sea-based adolescent mammals. Ky's trainer was quoted as saying, "I wasn't frightened. I think that by being calm throughout the process - that helped to calm (Ky) down." He went on to express that it was his belief that using positive reinforcement, looking for a behavior to compliment, seemed to propagate even more. As the single parent of a 17-year-old son, I confess that every now and then I am frightened. I wonder whether I'm making the right calls and choosing the correct battles. I'm not always so sure I'm getting it right. I know raising my children is the most important thing I will ever do. I want to remember Aibel's advice, even if his "son" spends more time in the pool than mine does. Sometimes I forget to search for and acknowledge the positive things my son does. So eager am I to reiterate what NOT to do, that I pass up opportunities to compliment the things that he does well. By remaining calm and not giving into panic, things usually do work out. Most of us , regardless of our age, respond very well to a kind word and a warm touch. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: Don't Allow Your Faith In Love To Falter
| Single With Children: Promise of love keeps hope alive for lonely hearts By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 07/28/04 A few days ago I was invited to see a movie that is playing in a theater near you. I was a bit leery about the whole thing. Even though I read mostly positive reviews, I don't easily buy into the whole "happily ever after" storyline. That's partly because I'm not 20 anymore and also because I learned firsthand that things don't always work out that way. The fact that 52 percent of all American households are headed by single parents lends a certain legitimacy to my perspective. Now, even though the author of the book the film is based on has said the two main characters are loosely based on his wife's grandparents, I am sure Hollywood has taken creative license with the facts and polished the whole thing up to increase box-office take. This is the kind of movie that lingers in your mind. It has got all the components that make life interesting: love, passion, heartbreak, tough choices, second chances and growing old with the person who knows you almost as well as you know yourself. It's the last part that piqued my curiosity and elicited some deeply buried fears. Gather two or more divorced/single folks together and the conversation eventually turns to love and relationships and the fear of growing old alone. I have yet to meet anyone who strives for that outcome. After a divorce, it seems those among our ranks can be divided into three groups: those who go out and get it right, those who go out and get it wrong and those who go out and just don't get it. Some people seem to have absolutely no problem finding the next love of their life. They remarry, settle down and live what appears to be a very satisfied life. They manage the blending of families and everyone turns out remarkably well-adjusted and, from all appearances, happy. There are others who go right back out, remarry and find themselves in the same unhappy situation, dealing with the same unhappy circumstances and facing yet another heartbreaking divorce. What these men and women swore they would never do, they did, and it resulted in the very thing they wanted to avoid - another dose of pain and suffering. And then there is the third category, the one I count myself a member of, which is something akin to a state of suspended animation. It is a Petri dish in which things such as cynicism, self-doubt, confusion, detachment and fear can flourish. Most of us in this group have been single again for a fair amount of time, and we've probably been on more than a few dates and maybe even had a couple of significant relationships that felt promising at one time but could not entice us to take the plunge. We are sometimes labeled commitmentphobes and we may even look as if we enjoy being single, agreeing to nothing more serious than dinner and a movie. I wouldn't begin to speak for anyone else, but, for me, it's not such a great place to be. It's not necessarily painful, but it is certainly not fulfilling. When we hear of friends who has found someone with whom they can finally use the "L" word, we feel infused with hope and cheer them on, hoping they got it right. When we are told that another friend is dealing with a great deal of turmoil and things don't look good, most of us feel our chances slipping. Fear can be a useful commodity. It can save us from repeating behaviors that have brought us pain. It can protect us from situations that are unsafe and prevent us from making huge mistakes. Unrealistic fear, however, can paralyze us to the point we become unable to make good decisions and trust our judgment. It can chase away opportunities and talk us into playing it safe. In the movie I saw the other day, the final scenes are of a couple in their final days who have known some heartache, experienced some pain, made some hard choices and committed to the work required to make a relationship. The husband has a heart that no longer beats quite right, and the wife has a mind that can't hold a memory for more than five minutes at a time, but the love they have shared refuses to be diminished. It's just a movie, but I see the same thing every day when I look at my parents and some of their friends. Age can wither a body and confuse a mind, but it has the most wonderful, fortifying effect on real love, the kind that lasts forever. Maybe it is living examples and the occasional sappy yet endearing movie that gives "the ones who just don't get it," the hope that someday we just might. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: "This Is What It Looked Like To Me"
| Single With Children: Teen's divorce perspective sobering By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 07/14/04 A few days ago, I had a chat with one of my son's friends who also is the son of divorced parents. He recently had made the decision to spend his senior year living with his father, which means he will be attending a different school. I asked him whether this was his choice, and he said it was. I found it interesting that a teenager would voluntarily transfer in his last year of school. It would mean a new group of friends, a new household, a new room and a whole new routine. He said it wasn't a slight against the mother he has lived with since the divorce, which happened when he was 12 years old. He just decided he wanted to live with his father for a year rather than two weekends a month and rotating major holidays. Of course, this triggered a lot of questions and, considering that his folks have been divorced for more than five years, I asked him if he would be comfortable talking about his experience. He kindly obliged. The exchange was sobering and I learned a lot. First of all, I wondered whether he had seen his parents divorce coming or had it been a complete shock? He said he knew it was only a matter of time. He finds it unbelievable that most parents seem to think such news will be some huge surprise. He said we, as parents, tend to forget that most of the disagreements aren't so quiet and the tension can be thick. He told me the signs are much more apparent than most of us would ever guess and by the time the news is revealed, it's almost a relief, especially if things have become particularly unpleasant, and most of the time they have. I asked him whether he was consulted about which parent he would prefer to live with, and he said he was never asked. He said he felt he should have been. He said it would have just been nice to have felt he had some control over his future. I wondered about the relationship between his father and mother, and he said, "They pretty much hate each other. There are always two sides to the story. The biggest problem for me was trying to decide who was right and who was wrong." Did he uncover the answer? In forthright fashion he replied, "I was very curious to know the truth at first, but what would it change if I found out? Nothing. Besides, technically, it's none of my business." A 17-year-old, soon to be high school senior, exhibiting remarkable maturity and common sense. Divorce probably demands that kids grow up faster and deal with complex issues sooner than should be required. I was almost afraid to ask, probably out of fear that I had made the same mistake, but I wanted to know what had been the hardest part of the whole experience. I should have guessed the answer. "I hated the going back and forth, always hearing both sides of everything and listening to one of my parents tear apart the other. It hurts to hear mean comments about your mom and dad, especially when they are coming from your mom and dad! I got really sick of being put in the middle." Ouch. I've always felt grateful I had a very civil divorce and, for the most part, I believe I did, but I am sure there had to be times when I was overheard saying something that wasn't terribly flattering or was needlessly unkind about my kids' father. Civil is not to be confused with perfect and, as we all know, perfect does not exist where humans are concerned. I was told it helped a lot when his parents reminded him, more than once, that the divorce was not his fault. Even though he didn't really think it was, he said it was nice to hear. Finally, I asked my young interview subject what advice he would give to parents considering a divorce. He thought for a few minutes and said, "I'd tell them to remember that they are adults and that their kids know far more than they, as parents, can hide or cover up. Kids know when their parents are lying. Their children love both of them, and they aren't asking for a divorce. And I would tell them that it should be a crime to try and make their children take sides because that's not playing fair." When I asked whether, five years after his parents legally divorced, he still feels as if he's placed in the middle, he didn't hesitate: "Every day." There's something very wrong about that. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: "The Son ALSO Rises"
| Single With Children: All too soon, children make their way to adulthood By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 06/23/04 My son decided he wanted a last day of school cookout/pool party for about 20 of his best friends. When he mentioned it a couple of weeks before the last day of school, it seemed like a nice idea. Even though Justin is the ripe old age of 17, it's still important to take advantage of opportunities to say "yes" without reserve. I quickly agreed. The big day arrived and, much to Justin's satisfaction, I had things ready, chopped, diced and peeled. He iced down what must have been at least 60 cans of soda. Chairs were placed on the patio and, last but far from least, the CD player was primed and ready to blast. The party was a hit. No one was shy about eating, and I managed to scorch only two burgers, which pleased our dog to no end. Fortunately for me, Cassie has no problem eating profoundly charred hamburger. As prearranged, after shutting down the grill, I stepped back into the house and pretended to focus my attention elsewhere. But I won't lie and say I didn't sneak a peek now and again. I couldn't help but remember the first pool party Justin hosted, back when we were living in San Angelo and he was entertaining his preschool classmates. He was a little guy with wide blue eyes and an impish grin that always gave the impression that he was up to something. Usually he was. Somewhere between preschool and 11th grade, things changed and the little boy grew up. Justin's latest posse was boisterous, loud and highly energetic, but for 17- and 18-year-olds, they were pretty well-behaved. In fact, there were only two occasions where I had to intervene and implore them to take the volume down a notch. They humored me and lowered the sound a few decibels. After everyone had eaten their fill and the last back flip was negotiated off the side of the pool without anyone suffering a head injury, Justin saw his guests out and then walked into the living room where I was sitting with his 20-year-old sister. He wore a look of satisfaction and felt things had gone ... swimmingly! Before he turned to go upstairs and change out of his dripping clothes, he made what was, for me, the most unbelievable declaration of the day. "Wow, I can't believe I'm actually a senior now!" Call me clueless, in denial or just plain crazy, but it hadn't actually dawned on me that my son is about to enter his last year of public school. I was frozen at the thought, hoping there must be some mistake. Let's see, he's 17, he just completed the 11th grade, which was his third year in high school, and he was born in 1986. My GOSH, he was right! I so wanted it to be a miscalculation. I want more growing-up years. I want more last days of school. I want at least three or four more before we approach the one that will find him coming of age, chronologically conferring his status as an adult. I know he's ready. I've watched him grow physically, emotionally and intellectually, and I am in awe of the person he has become. He may not be the most organized, most academically ambitious, career-minded young man in the world, but he certainly has one of the biggest hearts, and his behavior and actions imply that he has a pretty firm grasp of right, wrong and out of the question. As we enjoy the summer before we embark upon his last year of school, I have found some solace. My son began his primary school years with two parents under the same roof. As he prepares for his last year in high school, he will be doing so with the same parents, but under two different roofs about 1,500 miles apart. Given the expanse of time, geographical moves and one permanent parental relocation, he still smiles, he's got a healthy sense of humor and he's just as stubborn and determined as he has been since the day I met him in the delivery room. I loved him then. I love him 17 years more now. From time to time I have wondered whether my son would be the same person had his fourth-grade year not included our divorce. Would he be different and, if so, in what way? Of course, I'll never be able to answer that question, and Justin has managed, amid my mistakes and blunders, to thrive, to find himself comfortable in his own skin, and he presents all of the signs of being well-adjusted. I can't imagine, nor would I want, my son to be any different from the person he is, even though he insists on sticking with the schedule and keeping that highly overrated date with adulthood. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: Life Is In The Details!
| Single With Children: Attention to detail can keep problems from snowballing By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 06/09/04 The other day, for reasons that still elude me, I decided to clean behind my refrigerator. What I found weren't mere dust bunnies. I discovered dust dinosaurs! I'd never seen such huge clumps of dust, cat hair, dirt and more dust. My first thought was spontaneous combustion. I have absolutely no idea how my kitchen did not catch on fire and the rest of the house right along with it, all because I had failed to spend a little time on simple maintenance. The interesting thing that occurred to me was I didn't see any of this elusive dust gathering. As we approached the end of the school year, this accumulating dust reminded me of how tiny, seemingly insignificant things also can accumulate and build to the point they become huge. If those dust particles had been stressors, my refrigerator would have suffered a nervous breakdown. Have you ever stood back and picked apart all of the things that lead to a "family fallout?" I don't know about you, but for me they are usually about so much more than the one event that ignites a fire. A certain person around here had been ignoring things such as cleaning the cat litter box, filling the dog's water bowl, placing dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and taking out the trash, I experienced one of those "mini" but, never pleasant, mental melt-downs - and my son was in the cross hairs. Justin unwittingly provided the perfect trigger when he breezed in after a school play, and announced he was on his way to the after-party. He was oblivious to all the things he had left undone. "I don't think so!" was my not-so-gentle reply to his party plans. I recited an abbreviated list of the responsibilities he had chosen to ignore. "You are telling me I can't go because I haven't done the cat litter today?" he asked. Of course, it wasn't simply about not taking care of the cat litter, but as is often the case during a familial conflict, I couldn't think straight enough to list all of the chores he had blown off since our last mini-skirmish. I can get so frustrated and tongue-tied when things reach the combustion stage that I can't remember all that led to the problem. "It's not just that," I said. "It's also the fact that you didn't ... you haven't ... you never ... " What, what, what?? I have no idea why my short-term memory chooses moments like this to go on hiatus but it certainly can take the credibility out of any legitimate complaint I might have had. My timing couldn't have been worse, and though I finally relented and allowed him to attend the party, neither one of us had a very pleasant evening. When my son returned home, we spent a few hours venting our frustrations until a treaty could be worked out. We agreed I had every reason to expect his chores to be done, but I had not considered the fact that he has been working a part-time job and handling year-end school assignments. I had failed to remember even teenagers can reach exhaustion. Just like periodic under-the-refrigerator maintenance, a little more communication could have addressed our frustrations and led to a more peaceful understanding. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: "Can You Hear Me Now?"
| Single With Children: Take out middleman in parental communication By: Susie Parker Publication Date: 05/12/04 Have you ever played that game where everyone gets in a circle and one person whispers something into the ear of the next person who, in turn, repeats the same message to the person next to him and so on? As the phrase makes its way around the circle, more times than not, it doesn't come close to resembling the original collection of words that started the game. If you're playing this game at a party, it can be great fun to discover how easily a simple phrase can become completely mangled. Unfortunately, that very same game is often "played" between parents and children of divorced families. The real life manifestation of this game can leave anger, resentment and deeply hurt feelings in its wake. Nothing too funny there. As we swiftly make our way toward summer, plans are being set in place for parental visits and everyone seems to have a schedule that allows for very little flexibility. And to make scheduling vacations with each parent just a little more challenging, children 6 years of age and older make no secret of letting you know what works best for them, and there usually exists scant room for compromise. Keep in mind bad planning may get you charged with possibly ruining your kids lives or, at the very least, a good portion of their summer vacation. How do parents keep everyone informed on when and where they can expect to be during those carefree, summer months? There are a number of options and each of them offer ample opportunities for creating even more confusion. Cell phones. Just as the "circle game" is most interesting when there are more folks participating, misunderstandings appear to rise proportionately to the number of cell phones that are in the possession of geographically displaced family members. Try to remember Officer Friday on "Dragnet;" "Just the facts" and please don't leave ANY of them out. Stay on message. When this "reality version" of the circle game takes off, and because each family member is having a different conversation with another involved relative, imaginations have the potential to run rampant. It's quite possible certain family members will no longer be speaking to other family members. What seemed like a reasonable and sound "suggestion" before the retelling, suddenly turned dreadful and downright inhumane. Somebody didn't stick to the facts or omitted some really pertinent details. You could try a "family chat" on the computer, but be forewarned; with more than two people posing and answering questions, and factoring in that kids type at least 7.5 times faster than their parents, you could be setting yourself up for a virtual communication disaster that can actually be saved to a file and printed, thereby lending itself to be entered as "Exhibit A." Don't risk a paper trail. You just don't want to go there. Now, if all the family members still happen to live in the same town, the chances for miscommunication are drastically reduced but not entirely eliminated. The good news is that summer planning meetings are easier to arrange; however, this option only works if everyone involved is speaking to each other. Speaking as the mom of a very socially active teenager, I've witnessed the conflict my son feels as he tries to grapple with his natural desire to spend summer hanging out with his friends, sleeping in every chance he gets and working at his part-time job. I've also seen him try to figure out a way to balance this with his equally sincere desire to spend time with his father, who lives on the other side of the continent. Pre-vacation planning can help ensure summer remains something to be savored and enjoyed. Maybe it's easier if we, as parents, step back and remember what it felt like on that most highly anticipated last day of school. Lots of things have changed since most of us were kids, but I have a feeling the last day of school probably still retains a lot of magic. I'm not sure if "What I Did on My Summer Vacation" is still a required, back-to-school assignment. I don't know about you, but I'd certainly hate to be the subject of a writing assignment with the dubious title of "How My Parents Ruined My Summer Vacation with Their Inability to Agree on Anything!" Surely that's reason enough to communicate AND cooperate. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. |
Single...With Children: Mother Can't Be A Father
| (Editor's Note: This was my first "Single...With Children" Column that began my five-year run as a newspaper columnist.) Mother cannot be a father no matter how hard she tries Single ... with Children By SUSIE PARKER Publication Date: 07/12/00 Today marks the first of a series of columns that will run the second and fourth Wednesdays of each month in Friends & Neighbors: Single...With Children. Author Susie Parker is a single mother of two teen-agers. She has lived in several areas of the United States and has attended several universities, most recently Nova Southeastern University in Fort Lauderdale, Fla., in the advanced psychological studies program. She and her children share their home in Amarillo with her parents and a wide variety of pets. Recently, my son came home from school, but it wasn't quite the same. Usually he bounds in the door, carelessly tosses his backpack on the table in the foyer, grabs his dog Cassie and engages in a good-natured romp that they both seem to enjoy. This particular day, however, there was no romp. This day, there was no joy. "Can I call Dad?" he asked me? "Of course." I immediately replied. His dad lives in Oklahoma. It was obvious this was one of those times when long distance wasn't the next best thing to being there but would have to do. Still pensive after hanging up the phone, he informed me his father wasn't home, and he left a message with his new stepsister to have his dad call him. Right away. ASAP. During the course of the evening, through dinner and later as he absentmindedly joined me in working our latest 3D puzzle challenge, my usually ebullient, never-at-a-loss-for-small talk son, remained lost in his own thoughts. I couldn't help but wonder what was causing the obvious turmoil swirling inside of his mind. All of my attempts at discovering the reason were met with monosyllabic answers that, in fact, answered nothing at all. Though I didn't know the exact explanation of this quandary my son was currently struggling with, I did recognize the symptoms and would have felt safe in betting the farm on the real core of the problem. It's something single parents see with unfortunate regularity. Whatever it was that was bothering my son, it demanded the time and attention of someone other than the "custodial" parent. I know that there are, and will continue to be, things that will come up from time to time in my 13-year-old son's life that are more suited to being dealt with by the dad rather than the mom, but I still wish I could fix it. Things that make me want to run to the Internet to see if there's a listing for "Rent A Dad" (FYI, there is no listing. I checked.). All of us walking this path as the parent in charge probably have stumbled more times than we care to remember on similar situations. Regardless of how often though, it's never welcome, and it's never fun to be reminded that we are, at times, inadequate. The right relative but the wrong gender. Whatever was bothering my son, I felt, could be directly traced right back to this. As our quiet, subdued, almost morose Friday evening wore on, the only time he seemed to take his mind off of this as yet "not up for discussion" conundrum was when the phone would ring, with the hope that it would be his dad returning his call. Unfortunately, the call never came, and for reasons completely outside of my ex-husband's power: he never got the message. As kids often do, my own included, his new stepsister had forgotten to deliver the urgent request that my son had made. We woke up much earlier than is usual on a lazy Saturday morning to the ringing of the telephone. Of course, it was his father. He apologized for not calling back sooner and had only a few minutes earlier been given the message Justin had left the previous day. After a long telephone conversation, my son emerged, looking a little lighter. He was ready to talk. It seemed that on the ride home from school the day before, one of his carpool buddies was regaling the other kids with the plans that he and his dad had made to go camping for the weekend. Camping. Out in the wilderness of Palo Duro Canyon where all kinds of adventures were waiting to be had. The kind of camping involving tents, campfires, hunting knives and the kind of give and take that can only be had between a father and son. As hard as I try to make up for the fact that he is the son of divorced parents, I have had to accept the fact that there are just going to be times that I can't cross the gender gap and morph myself into Dad. It's something Justin and I have talked about several times, and on an intellectual level, I think we both accept it. However, all the talk in the world doesn't make it any easier when situations like this arise, as they inevitably do from time to time. I think Justin and I both learned something from that experience. Justin learned that stepsisters don't always deliver messages, but that doesn't necessarily make them bad - just forgetful. He also learned an important lesson in patience. No matter how much his father loves him, he can't run to Amarillo from Oklahoma City on a moment's notice to go camping. Simple geography and my ex-husband's occupation prevent anything last-minute, short of a genuine emergency. I learned a thing or two as well. It doesn't do me, or anyone else, any good to fall into the trap of beating myself up on a daily basis because of the fact that Justin is the son of parents who are no longer married. It's a fact of life we have to accept. I also learned to accept the fact that there are simply going to be circumstances in which I simply can't slip into the role of dad and make everything right. Sometimes, we're both finding out, only the genuine article will do. Justin and his dad are now making plans to go camping. Real camping with all that it entails. I'm sure they'll have a great time, and both of them are looking forward to it. Of course, I'll worry when they leave. I'll have visions of rattlesnakes, encephalitis-carrying mosquitoes and both of them getting lost never to be heard of again. But that's OK. Worrying about Justin is simply part of being a mom. Now that's a role I can handle. Readers can e-mail Susie at Susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News. |
26 January 2005
Amarillo Aviary built by Susie and Justin, July 2000
Now, I don't mean to say I'm all that, and I'm certainly no "Bob the Builder" or Bob Vila, for that matter, but our efforts that July weekend didn't turn out too shabby.
And here is what I'll just refer to as, for my friend Jimi, "Exhibit A".
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