“Why the hell can’t you understand a simple thing?” “Why are you repeating yourself?” “Sure you also studied the same course at college, but don’t you realize things were so different back then?” “Oh God, why must I face this every evening at home?”
Ever heard that (or similar quips) from your grown up sons? If this seems familiar, welcome to the Club! If, on the other hand, you’ve been spared such epithets so far, then you must have exceptionally polite sons (notice I’m gender-specific here, in the desperate hope that daughters might be a little more considerate, but that’s something I’ll sadly, never be able to verify as I have only sons). Or, you’re probably lying. In the vain hope that your position as ‘head’ of the family is still intact and things will get better.
What IS your position at home, now that you’re 45-plus, buster? Ever wondered? I often do, and in 9 cases out of 10, reach the conclusion that, as you grow older, your relevance to family, and to society in general, begins to diminish.
Overtly cynical? Maybe, maybe not! But really, what’s happening here? Is it that you’re getting senile? Is it just a case of the nasty generation-gap? Or, could he just be, hell, right?
So, let’s deal with the preliminaries first. Face it, your sons can look after their basic needs fine without you (probably better): you no longer have to wake them up, bathe them, pack them off to school, or feed them. And no, you don’t take them on picnics anymore, as they have infinitely better company available. Holidays together are becoming a rarity, as each has his calendar worked out independently. You don’t take them to the movies (they do, occasionally, when they’re feeling kind). You can’t shop for them, as their sizes change ever so often you can barely keep track—in any case they’re hardly ever likely to appreciate what you bought (this shirt is so, um sixties!), if you did manage to make that mistake.
But then, you think, we’re now like friends, so our er, engagement must exist on a HIGHER plane, right. Wrong! Tried asking your son how his day was at college? Or when or where or even IF he’s going to apply to that College in the US? Don’t even think of bringing up life-changing questions like, “Um, er, what exactly do you want to do in life”, or “what’s the name of that girl you like?”
“Come to think of it, boys do need space of their own,” you rationalize to yourself, thinking hard about what conversation to make at the dinner-table. So just when you decide to keep your mouth shut, up pops the innocuous question, “Can I take the big car when I go for rehearsals?” And quietly, you decide to pour yourself another drink…
Our elders (bless them), never tired of telling us we shouldn’t have any expectations from anyone, and, I suppose that included kids. So, imagining that your kids will help manage the house, or better, contribute in your work is of course, OUT of the question. But, is it too much to expect your son to drive home safely well past midnight after his rehearsal, night after night? I’m not saying you ought to worry if he’s getting drunk, or doing drugs or that sort of thing (after all, you must have FAITH in the big boy). But what if you get nervous thinking about how he must be tired and sleepy and has to plough through the insane traffic on the highway at that hour? What’re you supposed to do – stay up and watch stupid telly until then or sleep peacefully, instead?
Never mind, it’s the burden of being a dad, you console yourself. And when you hurry downstairs, relieved, to open the door when he DOES turn up and tell him it’s about time, don’t be surprised if all you get is ‘What’s wrong with you dad; I told you to go to sleep!”
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