Why are my kids parenting me?
There comes a time in every parent’s life when their kids — who rarely listened to advice or took directions — turn the tables on Mom and Dad and start bossing them around.
What a curious evolution, or revolution. Kids, who seldom listened suddenly think they’re experts on parenting their parents. It’s a fact of life that everyone from Dr. Spock to Dr. Freud, and Dr. Oz to Dr. Seuss have written about, I bet.
I’ve seen it with our four daughters, not to mention my 7-year-old grandson, who bugs me by saying, “Grandpa, why are you buying Swedish Fish? Grandma says you eat too much candy.”
So I told him, “Then, I won’t give you any.” To which he promptly responds: “No, I love Swedish Fish.”
And whenever I go to the doctor, I get interrogated.
“Did you tell the doctor about this? Did you tell the doctor about that?” “What did the doctor say? Are you sure?” To which I promptly respond, “Why don’t you ask the doctor yourself ? Or go on MyChart if you can figure it out.”
Then, there’s this one: “Dad, you need a haircut. You look like a hobo.”
“Please don’t discriminate against hobos,” I caution them.
On the other hand, some of their suggestions are so fashionable I’m forced to take them seriously: “Dad, you have gray hair in your eyebrows. You need to dye them.”
“Hmm, that’s great advice. Should I use Grecian Formula 44 or KIWI Shoe Polish?”
In their short lives, they’ve acquired so much knowledge they feel compelled to boss their elders around.
Looking back, I realize we gave our kids three things: 1. Directions, which they disobeyed. 2. Advice, which they ignored. 3. Money, which they pocketed.
I’ve often thought my kids would have been better off if they listened to their parents more and listened less to the government, politicians, academia, corporate America, so-called experts, and social media.
As a father, I tried different approaches when it came to parenting, including suggestions, commands, threats, pleading, and bribing. If the bribe was large enough, they usually responded.
Suggestion: “Why don’t you clean your room?”
Advice: “When I was your age, I always cleaned my room.”
Command: “Clean your room now!”
Threat: “If you don’t clean that #@&%*# room, I’m gonna #%$*!”
Pleading: “PLEASE clean your room!”
Bribe: “If you clean your room, I’ll take out a second mortgage and buy you tickets to the Taylor Swift concert.”
My father-in-law, who was the most effective parent I’ve ever known, didn’t have to plead or bribe. He didn’t even have to use words. One stone-faced look from him was enough to make my wife and her sister jump to attention. They cleaned their room, they cleaned his room, they cleaned their grandmother’s room, they cleaned the basement, and they cleaned the neighbor’s garage. They don’t make parents like that anymore.
I solicited the opinion of my friend Ann, who’s 96 and had a lot of experience with these things, and she said, “I had to listen to my sons, as every generation has more knowledge, but I was born with common sense.” She also said if I really want to be a good father and grandfather, “Keep your mouth shut and your wallet open.”
Even though they’re inclined to give us orders, there are occasions when adult children act like kids and come running to their mother … usually when they need a babysitter or want a free meal or have an emergency.
As soon as our first daughter got on the plane from California to Connecticut recently, she had to call her mother at 2 a.m., “MOM! PLEASE PRAY for me. There’s a lot of turbulence, and I’m scared.” My response was: “Why don’t you pray yourself ?” My wife’s response was to snarl at me.
And whenever our third daughter gets so much as a paper cut, she’s immediately on the phone with her mother. “I’M BLEEDING! WHAT SHOULD I DO?”
My response in these life-threatening situations is to say, “Ask your husband. That’s why you married him. Leave your mother alone.”
And my wife’s response (to me) is to say, “Mind your own business. She didn’t call you.”
I guess there’s something about a motherdaughter bond that I’ll never understand, which compels her to go running to Mom and compels Mom to go running to her.
No matter what the crisis is, my wife gets in the car any time of the day or night, flooring her Prius like Danica Patrick. Then, she hops on the highway, weaves in and out of traffic, races down side streets, jumps out of the car and breaks down the front door … so she can apply a Care Bears Band-Aid to my daughter’s pinky. Mission accomplished.
Then, there was the time my daughter was rushed to the emergency department and frantically called her mother, who immediately got in her car and raced through New Haven to the hospital, collided with an ambulance and got admitted in the room beside my daughter’s. That was a mission accomplished that I want to forget.