Sure, I have given them credit previously for all sorts of
things like my easy-going demeanor, work ethic, intelligence, good looks and
rapier wit to name a few. But
recently, my mother and father, or more to the point, my sons’ paternal
grandparents, have displayed a level of restraint that deserves
acknowledgement.
Over my years of parenthood, I have come to the realization
that any lesson that is to be taught to my boys must have their grandparents on
board. My sons have become aware that a different set of rules exists depending
on who is watching them.
This has its pros and cons. After a weekend at my parents’ house, my sons may return
home to expect dessert after every meal, including breakfast. However, when they find out grandma and
grandpa are coming over to watch them after school, homework is done
immediately so as not to have to do it under the ever-watchful, demanding,
penmanship-scrutinizing eye of my mother.
“Can’t I finish this later?” asks my oldest as he struggles
to keep his attention span intact long enough to write his twenty spelling
words four times each. “I want to
go play Wii a little.”
“Sure,” I casually say. “You can finish it with grandma when she gets here.”
This is inevitably met with silence and continued work.
My wife and I struggle to teach my sons the value of
money. We try to make them understand why we simply cannot buy them that new
toy they so badly want so put it back where you found it right this instant or
so help me God. I was afraid that, meanwhile, my parents would adopt their undermining my
life lessons persona more so than the task master persona. I imagined my kids getting punished for
whining about not getting a toy then returning home to find that my parents had
bought them the item in question to get them to stop crying.
So it happened that one day I decided to test the waters. My parents were set to watch my sons
and I had been promising them a trip to Target with the whopping eight dollars
a piece they had earned by helping me at our garage sale that was obviously
burning a hole in their pockets. I
told them their grandparents might be willing to take them to there if they
asked nicely. They asked nicely
and my folks agreed.
Now came the tough part. I told my father that my boys were to pay them back for
their toy purchases with their own hard-earned money. It was not a conscious decision to choose to tell my father
over my mother, but I do believe it may have been an unconscious one for even
though my dad will instantly forget things I’ve asked of him (like a request to
put my mother on the phone, which is sometimes followed by the sound of him
watching television while the receiver lies forgotten on a chair somewhere) he
is also the one who has thanked the heavens out loud that we did not have a
girl simply because he feared all his and my mother’s money would have long
been spent on cutesy outfits.
I was absolutely convinced that my request would be ignore
and that my sons would tell me that they gave grandma and grandpa their money
with flared nostrils and tight mouths, the telltale signs that they were
lying. I would then be faced with
the uncomfortable task of explaining to my parents that they were making things
difficult on me, a task that I say is uncomfortable but that the insubordinate
teenager inside of me secretly relishes because the tables have been
turned. Now who is the
irresponsible one?
To my surprise, the boys showed me the Hex Bugs they had
purchased the next morning and guarded them like they were made of solid
gold. This was because they had
been forced to cough up their beloved cash to my parents, which I think
surprised even them. They were
used to getting one over on the grandparents and this time, they sided with
their old man.
Cheers, mom and dad.
You did me a solid on this one.
This has gone a long way toward convincing my sons that the entire world
is not to be bought by their parents.
If they want the world, it’s going to require selling a lot more
lemonade than usual. Like twice as
much.
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