Thoughts at 26 years of parenthood
April 30, 2007

With the joy of wireless internet, I can multi-task:  I am tossing balls for the pups, checking mail, reading papers from distant locales, and observing (without being a participant) the rituals that the first glories of spring brings.  One neighbor is removing his Christmas strands at last, and another has, at an age approaching 80, attacked his yard with a deafening succession of power groomers. The Bulls rewarded the faithful who stayed indoors- the Sox- not so much.  But it is a day rife with possibilities.  Summer will return, and we will be here to see it.  Autumn’s only promise is cold and deforestation, despite its beauty.  I’ll take spring.

All three of my boys were born in this season- most likely owing to Steve’s enhanced friskiness in the summer months.  Patrick, first born, will be 26 years old this weekend.  I am trying to pull back in my reminiscences with the kids- they are men, after all, and I do not wish to embarrass them.  Pat is soon to be married- imagine that!  Fetal updates seem so fresh, his birth, an adventure relived via the radio each year.  The world looked just like this that week he was born:  sun breaking through, the first stretch of 80 degree days, summer looming ahead to be enjoyed with a stroller and Snugli. We took him to Cubs games, (our dark past comes home) to neighborhood carnivals and to the Dells, enjoying his portability.  To experienced parents we must have looked silly: me, cradling a newborn while riding a merry-go-round, Steve, Beta-maxing this event for posterity.  We have about ten thousand such celluloid moments degrading in the basement. Editing them onto DVD could take the rest of my natural years.  Maybe the memories are enough.

It occurred to me this weekend that Patrick- at 26- is the same age that his dad was when he became a father.  When I think of Patrick’s impending marriage, I consider what a leap of faith this is for his fiancé.  He is under-employed, hell- often unemployed.  He has lost hair, gained weight, and is not the neatest roommate.  He is struggling to get a foothold in a difficult industry, far from home.  There are no guarantees.  On the plus side, he is funny, smart, has great parents (of course), is loyal and faithful, and has excellent taste in fiancés.  He must be a great salesman, because Rachel has said yes.  She is trusting enough to sign on for the journey, because in marriage, the destination can shift periodically.  When Steve was 26, he had been in radio for 9 years, bouncing from station to station in California to work any shift that opened up.  He had ditched school, taken the GED, married in Vegas for a nano-second, divorced, watched his ex-wife re-connect, and trundled cross country to start fresh in Detroit.  He was harped at and criticized at his “escapee” job until he landed at a station where he succeeded so wildly that ABC conspired to neutralize him by moving him to Chicago, where he would fade into oblivion.  At 24, he decided to lure this teacher/law student to a new start in Chicago.  He then was fired from ABC, phoenixed at WLUP, got me pregnant and was fired again –even after the crazily successful disco-demolition.  Pat was born almost immediately after Steve re-connected with ABC/WLS.  That was the beginning of a very bumpy ride. All this history was squished into Steve’s 26 years.
 
I listened to the tape of Pat’s birth on Matt’s show Saturday.  My first words to him-after asking why he was green- (merconium) were that we would take care of him.  Those words, and my fingers on his shivering green cheek, calmed him. Some 26 years later, I still long to fix his world, order it, insure it.  I pray that he will not disappoint Rachel.  I want to take care of him.  And yet- he has the tools to do this for himself.  Of that, I am confident.

I want Pat to remember that his dad was only his age-26- when 8 pounds, 12 ounces of squalling energy arrived to challenge his supremacy in the house.  Steve was being ground up every day at work, despite any success his ratings brought. He trundled into the station at 6a.m., 6 days a week, and he hit a bar gig every weekend to patch any gaping holes in our budget.  I want him to appreciate how readily we diverted all our energy to family.  At 26, Steve’s “Young Turk” days were over: he had a family to provide for. Yeah, he overcompensated for his domesticated status with some crazed decompression partying.   He was just 26- and I lobbied for #2 child before we even left the hospital, citing the despair of being an “only child.”  He was overwhelmed, said no…probably a bit scared to have this world at 26.  He wavered in his resolve to have a small family, badgered as he was by me.  Even Steve knows the value of the occasional U turn.  He never wavered in his determination to be Pat’s safety net.  He is still standing by, as am I.

Pat and Rachel know, I expect, that there is no sure thing; they will navigate the journey ahead together. There is no GPS comprehensive enough to predict all the side streets and dead ends. There could be a ditch or two lurking in the shadows. I surely did not see the nuances of Mr. Steve’s wild ride when I said “yes.” But the scenery will be remarkable, and being together will make it twice enjoyed. There are wondrous destinations ahead, I am sure.  They will find them.   If they ever feel lost, they can ask for directions, or for help.  Pat’s 26th birthday seems an apt occasion to remind our son, and his sweet Rachel- we are still on call.  It also seems a fine day to say proudly, you have come so far, and you have the power to go, and grow, wherever you desire.  We know these things.  We love you.