gaydadwriter
07-14-2006, 08:31 PM
“When I was your age…”
By R.E. Morin
“I have not so much thought my way through life as done things and
found what it was and who I was after the doing.”- Ray Bradbury
When I was my son’s age, I was married with two kids. In some ways, I
was responsible, in others, horribly irresponsible. I thought I was doing
the right thing by starting a family, although many around me were opposed. Mine was a gay marriage of a different sort, the kind where a gay man marries a straight woman. Sound familiar?
Very few days pass, out in our community, when I don’t meet another gay
dad. Very seldom though, do I meet a father who has had sole custody and has raised his kids without help from their mother. Usually, a divorced
father sends child support payments and gets weekend visits. My world was a little different because a post-divorce car crash impaired my former wife’s physical and mental capabilities. The poor kids got stuck with me!
If you want to bitch about those child support payments and how you
sacrificed your weekends and vacations to tend to your little ones, then you can cry on someone else’s shoulder. If you’re weary from years of
tending to the perpetual piles of dirty dishes and laundry, your nerves are
frazzled from frequent trips to the Emergency Room, the School Counselor and perhaps the occasional Police Department, then sit next to me.
I used to have this crazy fantasy that by the time my youngest was 18,
my burden would be tremendously relieved. No more laundry and dishes,
because they can do their own, right? No more playing taxi, because they’d
have driver’s licenses and cars. They’d have jobs and money of their own…
I had ALL those fantasies! And that’s exactly what they were.
In the last two months I have spent countless hours sitting in
hospitals, bailing out towed cars, preparing and cleaning up after meals and
handing out what little cash I have, to these “grown” children. The middle
child got married and moved away, at the same time struggling with a terrible illness. The oldest hit yet another “rock bottom” and has come home to have his wounds tended, and the youngest is still here, getting ready, I hope, for college. I used to think it was hard when they were little. I had no idea…
My kids and I had a serious talk the other day. It was important for
me to let them know that I understand their struggles. I’m proud of my kids
for being sexually responsible, and not making babies (yet…). They have
caused plenty of mischief in their lives, but at least they haven’t dug
themselves in so deep they can’t get out. When my parents were the age I am now, my brother and I had already given them four grandchildren. They were no more prepared to be grandparents, than we were to be parents.
If someone had told me that at forty-four I would be struggling just as
hard at parenting as I was when I was twenty, I’d have died. The challenges I face daily are no less arduous, they leave me drained and feeling like there’s so much more to be done, still. Every day I ask myself what I can do differently or better. Just when I think I can quit the therapist that I’ve seen for twelve years, I realize that his job with me is still quite secure. One thing that is helpful is that I’m much more tempered and resilient than I used to be. Instead of freaking out when my twenty
two year old son crawls home after a drunken brawl with his rock-band
buddies, I sit him down to punish his aching head with a long story. It starts like this- “When I was your age…”
By R.E. Morin
“I have not so much thought my way through life as done things and
found what it was and who I was after the doing.”- Ray Bradbury
When I was my son’s age, I was married with two kids. In some ways, I
was responsible, in others, horribly irresponsible. I thought I was doing
the right thing by starting a family, although many around me were opposed. Mine was a gay marriage of a different sort, the kind where a gay man marries a straight woman. Sound familiar?
Very few days pass, out in our community, when I don’t meet another gay
dad. Very seldom though, do I meet a father who has had sole custody and has raised his kids without help from their mother. Usually, a divorced
father sends child support payments and gets weekend visits. My world was a little different because a post-divorce car crash impaired my former wife’s physical and mental capabilities. The poor kids got stuck with me!
If you want to bitch about those child support payments and how you
sacrificed your weekends and vacations to tend to your little ones, then you can cry on someone else’s shoulder. If you’re weary from years of
tending to the perpetual piles of dirty dishes and laundry, your nerves are
frazzled from frequent trips to the Emergency Room, the School Counselor and perhaps the occasional Police Department, then sit next to me.
I used to have this crazy fantasy that by the time my youngest was 18,
my burden would be tremendously relieved. No more laundry and dishes,
because they can do their own, right? No more playing taxi, because they’d
have driver’s licenses and cars. They’d have jobs and money of their own…
I had ALL those fantasies! And that’s exactly what they were.
In the last two months I have spent countless hours sitting in
hospitals, bailing out towed cars, preparing and cleaning up after meals and
handing out what little cash I have, to these “grown” children. The middle
child got married and moved away, at the same time struggling with a terrible illness. The oldest hit yet another “rock bottom” and has come home to have his wounds tended, and the youngest is still here, getting ready, I hope, for college. I used to think it was hard when they were little. I had no idea…
My kids and I had a serious talk the other day. It was important for
me to let them know that I understand their struggles. I’m proud of my kids
for being sexually responsible, and not making babies (yet…). They have
caused plenty of mischief in their lives, but at least they haven’t dug
themselves in so deep they can’t get out. When my parents were the age I am now, my brother and I had already given them four grandchildren. They were no more prepared to be grandparents, than we were to be parents.
If someone had told me that at forty-four I would be struggling just as
hard at parenting as I was when I was twenty, I’d have died. The challenges I face daily are no less arduous, they leave me drained and feeling like there’s so much more to be done, still. Every day I ask myself what I can do differently or better. Just when I think I can quit the therapist that I’ve seen for twelve years, I realize that his job with me is still quite secure. One thing that is helpful is that I’m much more tempered and resilient than I used to be. Instead of freaking out when my twenty
two year old son crawls home after a drunken brawl with his rock-band
buddies, I sit him down to punish his aching head with a long story. It starts like this- “When I was your age…”