“The thing about parenting rules is there aren’t any. That’s what makes it so difficult.”
— Ewan McGregor, Scottish actor.
I missed writing something special for Mother’s Day, so I skipped Father’s Day. Didn’t want to show any favoritism.
However, I’m celebrating my own creation this week. I’ll call it parent’s day.
In deference to National Parent’s Day, July 23, I’ll call mine “my parent’s day.”
Truthfully, parents should be celebrated every day.
I was blessed with wonderful parents.
They weren’t “do as I say” parents; they were “good example” parents. I learned more by watching them than I did by adhering to any rules — which weren’t many.
Mom was not a doting mother. I heard, “ You just wait until your father gets home,” more often than, “I love you.”
But I never had any doubt about her love for me. She demonstrated it every day in everything she did.
Including not spanking me herself before my father got home. Mom could wield a mean hairbrush.
In her defense, I was a trying child.
Trying to stay out of trouble.
She tried to teach me how to stay out of trouble. Keep my clean room. Help with household duties.
Dress properly for all occasions. Keep my shoes polished for Sunday because I was going to church with her. Every Sunday.
Without fail.
She even taught me how to iron and designated that duty as one of my after-school chores.
Mom also helped establish the principle that there are no free rides. She set my allowance at 25¢ a week, which I collected every Saturday.
Provided the trash was emptied, the grass was cut and her f lower bed by the front porch was weed-free.
From there, Dad took over when I graduated from allowance to an occasional night and Saturday job, sweeping f loors and assembling bicycles and wagons at Perry Brothers. Overnight, I was promoted from 25¢ a week to 25¢ an hour.
Dad was practical, hardworking and encouraging. Again, I learned more from him by example. Only two times do I recall him offering life lessons that may have been construed as rules.
Once he was advising me that he feared I was “ripping my britches.” It’s a humorous old saying indicating that one is about to make a costly mistake. Time has blurred exactly what my intentions were. Likely buying another old hot rod car. An automobile to Dad was transportation. Point A to point B. Nothing more. As I said, he was practical.
To me, the objective was how fast I could get from A to B and how good my ride looked getting there.
“I could tell you that I don’t think what you’re doing is a good idea,” he said as we stood in the kitchen that night. “But I also know you’re going to do whatever you want to regardless of what I say,” he added. “I know because that’s the way I did it. I had to learn from my mistakes. And I know you will learn from yours.” The jury is still out on that one.
The other time was advice on love and marriage. Again, I don’t remember how we got into the conversation. It’s his response I remember.
“Love can be elusive in the beginning. You make the best decision you can, getting to know someone as well as you can,” he said. “Once you marry, it will take work and understanding every day, but that’s the key to making marriage last and love better.”
He must have known what he was talking about. Mom and Dad were married for 63 years before he passed away.
He did offer basic rules every father taught his son back then about being a gentleman. Remove your hat indoors.
Open doors for the ladies. Address your elders with sir and ma’am. “ Yes sir, no sir — yes ma’am, no ma’am.” Never talk back to your elders.
And the one rule we all heard. “Children should be seen and not heard,” meaning remain quiet when adults are talking; don’t butt in.
With my children, I can tell you about one time when that rule failed me.
My son Lee was perhaps six or seven years of age the night we attended a social function in Shreveport.
Dressed in our Sunday best, sporting a coat and tie. The crowd was large. The finger food was good.
Just as someone I knew spotted me; Lee tugged at my sleeve.
“Daddy,” he said.
“You’ve got …” “Not now,” I smiled.
“Daddy’s talking.”
When he tried one more time, I reminded him of proper etiquette for children when adults were talking. One more time, he politely responded, “OK.”
As the event ended, we thanked the hosts, said our goodbyes and left.
Walking to the car, I said, “Thank you for being polite while Daddy was talking.
What did you want to say?”
“You’ve ripped your britches,” he replied.
Reaching back to discover a gap where the seat of my pants once existed confirmed my son’s observation.
“Yeah, Lee, looks like I did. Perhaps in more ways than one,” I laughed.
“Just look at this way. Maybe this experience will seem funny someday … when you reflect on any rules about parenting I imparted to you.”
