I think about raising my children

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When I watch my children, in those moments when they are unaware and being themselves, I am happy. They are not perfect, although at times I have believed they were; each has his own share of flaws and faults, some worthy of notice, others merely the normal variety. I see behaviors in them that will carry them through all the seasons of life; I see also, with the cold clarity of hindsight, where I might have applied a little more, or less, pressure to better affect their development. However, overall, I am content with the way they are turning out and their progress to date on the goals they have set for themselves, as well as the ones I have for them.

I would not readily admit that, to them, for I have not yet finished applying my parental influence; there are elements I feel still in need of work and lessons yet to be learned. I am just as certain my own parents feel the same way about me, even after all these years, and my apparent inability, or admitted unwillingness, to learn. You see, children are that kind of adventure, one that goes on and on, new perils and thrills with each passing phase of their development and, of course, quiet passages when it seems they will always be a certain way. That doesn't last, for no sooner do I get accustomed to one or the other at one stage, than they are off to the next, and once again I am caught up in the excitement. Some of these changes are unsettling, some are disappointing, but, on the main, they are all worthwhile in the effect on them and on me. I learn as much from their education in the ways of the world as they do themselves, from a different perspective, to be sure; watching as they absorb each new lesson, waiting for the evidence of actual learning, dreading serious repercussions or heartbreaks, while presenting a calm, collected demeanor in the face of their trials and tribulations or a proud pat on the back for their triumphs and victories.

I clearly recall looking into their faces as they were born, with the first a sense of wonder, with the second a sense of wonder renewed. Looking into Andrew's face for the first time was like looking into a mirror, so clearly did I see myself imprinted on him. When Matthew was born, two years and nine months later, I was prepared for the shock of recognition, but I saw another side of myself, as clearly as before. Of course, their mother's genes are there, too, and they each represent a certain blend of each of us, within the realm of their own personalities. Watching their identities emerge as they matured and developed from infancy into little boys, and on to adolescence and the teenage years, finally/suddenly approaching adulthood has provided me with insights into my own progress through life. I understand so well now the things my parents tried to tell me, the need for the values they did their best to instill in me and my siblings. I also understand how hard it was, how much harder I made it for them, sometimes unnecessarily so.

We, the triumvirate of Andrew, Matthew and I, travelled far and wide, visiting National Parks and ballparks, cities and forests, historical markers and ghost towns, playgrounds and amusement parks. In the early days, our travels included their mother, but after she left it was just the three of us, camping in the wild, or in hotels, as we made repeated visits to Yosemite, Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, Disneyland, San Francisco, Zion, San Diego, and, of course, grandma and grandpas. We camped in the Mojave and visited a cave full of stalagmites and stalactites and other wondrous rock formations. We fired off rockets with the Boy Scouts and watched fireworks; picnicked by rivers and lakes, swimming after in endless summer days. We visited video game arcades everywhere we went, and watched movies in Seattle, San Francisco, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles. We rode roller coasters everywhere one was available, the wilder the better!

We talked of many things, historical, technological, personal, musical and everything baseball. They have developed intelligent opinions and learned to express themselves eloquently, sometimes to achieve some new freedom or privilege, sometimes to argue a point successfully. I frequently hear back from the parents of their friends how impressed the parents are by my sons apparent maturity, their politeness, and their ability to speak in complete sentences, with courteous consideration of others. From earlyon I taught them the importance of a good vocabulary, teaching them to spell and use words correctly. Next to good manners, a good vocabulary is an essential skill, often forgotten in today's mad rush of a world.

Lest you think I believe my sons are perfect, please let me disabuse you of that misconception. They make mistakes and fail at various attempts, but they succeed more often than average and, I hope, learn from their mistakes. It has long been an adage with me, one that I impressed on my sons form an early age, that it is no sin to make a mistake, the only sin is in failing to learn from the mistake and repeating it again and again. There have been mistakes that were repeated, not many, but enough to ensure the boys were human after all, as human as anyone. Mostly, though, they have been level-headed and willing to exert the effort needed to do well in school and in extra-curricular activities, and patient with me as I learned to be a parent and role-model. In some ways, we each helped the other to grow and become better people, our bond transcending the difficulties of financial, personal and emotional circumstances.

Time flies by, though, and eventually all adventures come to an end. Such is the case now, as Matthew finishes his last semester in high school, and prepares to enter the world of adults. I hope I have done a good job with both my sons, teaching them what they need to make their way successfully in the world, and not needlessly burdening them with problems. I think I did a reasonably good job, but only time will tell, and, remember, the job is not finished, so long as I am still drawing breath....and maybe not then! Some lessons take time and the proper circumstances to come to fruition; only then does our training kick in and become useful. I will be watching, commenting, guiding, trying to keep my trap shut when necessary, continuing on with the parenting blueprint given me by my parents, passing it on to my sons with the fervent and heartfelt hope they, too, will improve on it and pass it on to their own children. Our own family form of immortality, a living gift that keeps giving long after we are gone.