Parental territoriality

Yesterday the blonde took Young Ken Mannion up to his soon-to-be (like in less than two way too short weeks) college to help him pay his bill, buy his textbooks, find his classrooms, and introduce himself to his professors if they were around, while I stayed home feeling anxious, antsy, and strangely resentful.

I didn’t like it that the blonde was doing my job.

Because my schedule has always been more flexible than hers, many parental duties of the errand running sort have been my responsibility since Young Ken and Oliver were wee pups.  Those include doctor and dentist appointments for checkups, haircuts, soccer practice and other after-school activities, and parent-teacher conferences.

I don’t mean to trivialize those things by calling them errands.  They are all important errands, especially the parent-teacher conferences, but they are still mostly a matter of driving somewhere, sitting around waiting for a while, having a short discussion with whatever adult is running the show, and maybe signing something and forking over some dough.  This is the way you want them to be.  Usually, if the exchange between you and the adult in charge goes beyond some version of “I’ll make sure they brush more often,” you’re no longer running an errand, you’re dealing with a problem if not an emergency.  For lucky parents, parent-teacher conferences rarely turn into (or devolve into) much more than errands.  We haven’t been so lucky.

Over the years, because of all the problems and issues young Ken has had to deal with, our parent-teacher conferences have rarely been simple errands, and we’ve had far many more of them than most parents have.  Far, far, far many more.  During one of the hardest periods of Ken’s life, I was at his school two and three times a week.  These conferences often included other adults besides the teacher.

Young Ken has had way more than his fair share of doctor’s appointments too, but, fortunately, for the last few years most of them have been errands.  Parent-teacher conferences remained more complicated, but during his final two years of high school, there were fewer of them and some of those were, to everybody’s relief, just errands.

But because all these “errands” evolved out of errands, I’ve been the one handling most of them.  I haven’t minded.  In fact, I’ve liked it.  I’ve even become vain about it.  It’s been the one area of my life where I’ve felt the most useful.  The one area where I’ve felt somewhat in charge.  The one area where I’ve felt like I know what I’m doing.  The one area where I’ve felt as though I’ve actually done some good.

And part of the good I’ve thought of myself as having done is sparing Ken’s mother a lot of anguish, heartache, worry, and, well, anger.  I’ve stood between her and I’ve lost count of how many incompetents who were lucky they didn’t get the chance to make the mistake of demonstrating their incompetence, ignorance, lack of sympathy and understanding, and plain meanness to an angry lioness.

In my vanity, though, I’ve just assumed that the blonde was relieved to be able to rely on me to handle things.  And she has been.  But she’s been somewhat ambivalent about it too.  She is his mother.  She wants to get in there and look out for him and protect him and fight for him.  She needs to know what’s going on so she can feel she’s helping us make the right decisions. 

Two things.  First, please don’t get the idea that she’s left everything up to me.  It’s just really been the case that it’s been easier and therefore has made more sense for me to run most of these errands.  Second, it isn’t as though I haven’t tried to keep her in the loop or that I’ve been in the habit of making decisions without consulting her.  We discuss everything and although she’s often had to defer to my judgment because I was the one in the room, she has veto power over everything (just as I do, and, in the last few years, just as Ken himself has).  And she has been in the room---and on the phone---many a time herself.

The thing is, sometimes she’s felt left out and many of those times I haven’t noticed or been as sympathetic as I should have been.

Instead, what I’ve been is, well, defensive.

More so lately.

When she’s naturally tried to get directly involved, and even when she’s just asked me to explain in more detail what’s going on with this or that, I’ve thought, “Stop trying to horn in on my job, lady!”

I haven’t said it.

I wouldn’t be writing this if I had.

I’d be dead.

But I’ve felt it and I haven’t been as clever about hiding my feelings as I’ve thought.

Couple weeks back, after I took Ken up to school to register for his classes, she and I were talking about how it went, which, given that the advisor couldn’t get it through his head that Ken was Ken and not Insert Name Here, wasn’t as smoothly as it should have gone.  Ken’s mother had a lot of questions about this, of course, and I felt…quizzed.

My answers were short, evasive, monosyllabic, irritable.  “Don’t shut me out of this,” the blonde said.

“I’m not shutting you out of this,” I said in the tone of someone who’s realizing as he’s saying it that what he’s saying is a lie.

This is going to be a problem if I don’t get a grip.  Ken’s school is close to the blonde’s office.  They’re going to commute together.  From here on out, if trouble brews and a parent needs to come to his aid, it’s going to be easier and make more sense for her to be the one who rides to the rescue.

It’s going to become less and less my job.

But here’s the other thing.

It was always going to be less and less my job.  That’s the object.  For the parents of any kid.  To make it less and less your job and more and more theirs until at some point they don’t need you anymore.

And I think that’s what’s been going on with me the last couple of years and particularly since June when he graduated.  I’ve been feeling less and less needed.

The day is coming when Ken, and his brother Oliver, won’t need us anymore, except for, we hope, some friendly company, a little advice now and then, and our continued love.  But there’ll be no more errands.  My job will be done.

Yesterday, it just made sense and was easier for the blonde and Ken to start getting used to their new routine.

So I stayed home, feeling anxious, antsy, and useless.

Most of all, though, I felt sad.

Comments

[minstrel hussain boy]

that, indeed, is the quintessential parent's dilemma. i was duly, and justly proud of the way i nurtured my kids to become the independant, self actualizing young people they turned out to be.

then, i puttered around the house being lonely, bored, aimless, and shit. there are times, when i actually will feel my heart leap because one of them will bring up a quick dad job for me to do in a conversation.

get used to it lance. never forget, this was what all that work went into creating. strange. you get what you want, and realize it kind of sucks.

[velvet goldmine]

Well, damn you, tears don't go well with my afternoon coffee. So much of this is familiar territory, especially when it comes to our youngest.

Perhaps it's my penchant for ruining a perfectly good poignant, soul-searching essay with an uplifting thought, but here it is: There is tremendous possibility for shifting, richer relationships to emerge in the coming months and years. You and Oliver will have even more time to think Big Thoughts together when there are just the two of you -- and the deeper he gets into the high school, a paternal ear and shoulder all to himself will be increasingly appreciated. Likewise, Ken will have the comforting presence of his mother every day on his way to classes.(I envy him that when I think about my angst-ridden early days of college).

[Kevin Wolf]

I have no children so I'm not qualified to say a damn thing. But, anyway, thanks for sharing this. I trust it will shake out in a new arrangement suitable for all.

[Jennifer]

I can't believe he's heading off to college! How is that possible? How could so much time have passed??

As for this:

Ken’s mother had a lot of questions about this, of course, and I felt…quizzed.

Boy have I felt that one... since I am the one with the more flexible schedule. When the questions come, it's so very easy to take it as cross-examination as opposed to another parent just wanting to be a part of the routine.

[Rana]

*hug*

[Cathie from Canada]

College will be different, yes, but perhaps no easier, really, than high school was. I used to be a student advisor myself at the local university, and it was amazing to see how much growing-up teenagers still need to do between 18 to 22. So don't think you and your wife will no longer be needed -- in fact, you may be needed just as much as always, perhaps in a different way. College allows teens to embark on a new journey of discovery about themselves and their place in the world, and it can get rocky sometimes before it gets smoother.
I have one piece of advice: If Ken still experiences some difficulties academically because of a disability, I would strongly advise him to check in with his school's Disability Services office, sooner rather than later -- they can likely provide assistance with study habits, advice on exam strategies, as well as advising his professors about any accommodations he may need, like writing exams by himself rather than in a huge gymnasium, or having more time to write. One problem we always had with students who had a disability was their own reluctance to "ask for favours" -- actually, assistance like this isn't a favour at all, it only levels the playing field so they can take the best advantage of their college experience. But if a student didn't seek help soon enough, they would end up with a poor first-year academic record which they then had to drag behind them for the rest of their college career.

[Victoria]

Three things come to me:

My mother - who encouraged us to be independent as much as any good parent possibly oould - says the hardest days of her life were the weeks after one of us left for college. Three times. Never got easier.

When I taught college, the most awkward and painful phone calls were the ones from loving parents, wanting information or to be more involved... in ways that are not legal once a kid is 18.

College freshman look so unbelievably young compared to sophomores. It's a radical year of growth. Anything that fast can't help but have its own unique challenges. I've always suspected a lot of freshman depression is just a way of "slowing everything down!"

[Lance Mannion]

minstrel hussein boy: there are times, when i actually will feel my heart leap because one of them will bring up a quick dad job for me to do in a conversation.

I have a feeling I'm going to be living for those times.

Victoria, I was one of those freshmen who tried to slow things down that way.

Thanks for the words of encouragement and consolation, folks. Since I wrote this I've had to help him straighten out a registration snafu and buy his textbooks on line, and, Cathie, good advice, we stopped in at the disabilities office yesterday and he met with people there and set up an appointment to arrange the help he'll need---mainly I think what he'll need from them is a friendly place to stop in to talk when he's feeling stressed---so I don't feel quite as useless as I was feeling.

VG, that ride in with his mother may be as comforting to her as to him.