Parenting Stories

During a recent dinner with our friends Lori and David, Lori commented that I was the only person she has ever met who had great parents. Others sometimes had one good one and one bad one. Most just don't get along with their parents. Ever. It was rare to have a matched set of greatness.

I didn’t know that our house was different from any other. I thought everyone played cards, and joked, and laughed, and cooked, and teased, and played music and sang. I thought everyone looked forward to being home.

It wasn’t until I was well into my 20’s before I realized what a wonderful childhood I had and having my parents was a gift.

Stories of my perfect childhood often brought with it some jokes. At the school, the assistant principal – who had a horrible relationship with her dad – once started a meeting with a statement about how all of our childhoods were horrible. I raised my hand. Not mine, I said. She paused then said, “Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore.” Everyone laughed.

When I was working before William was born, I would get a phone call from dad to join him in the city for lunch or meet him at their house to go to a Giant’s game together after work. This was not unusual. He did this often.

I think he learned this from his mom. She made each of the five children feel like they were the most special person in the world and her most very favorite. She also taught him several things of two I can only remember at this moment: Soap is cheap so use it. Walk like you’re going someplace.

She would ask dad how he was doing in school then suggested they sneak away to see a movie. I know, bad but they really bonded over the naughtiness. When he told her a bold or slightly blue joke, she would laugh and love every moment but said, “Dick, that’s awful. Just awful.” He loved that. He loved to make her laugh.

I know he and mom did special things with all three of us. I know they were there to help Lee during her divorce and rescued Chip from starvation as a college student. Those are the big things but I know there were lots of important little thoughtful things to let them know how special they were, too.

I was always grateful that my mom never competed with us like so many of the moms I saw at school. She was always beautifully dress, very trim and pretty. She also had an air of intelligence about her but with a “don’t mess with me” vibe just below the surface. Her strength showed.

A progress report came in the mail. I was flunking chemistry as a sophomore in high school. It was the first and last class I have ever flunked in my life. Instead of screaming at me, something she would never do, she phoned the teacher. When I got home, she calmly told me that she and the teacher had made a deal. She had to promise that I would never take a chemistry class again and he would give me a D-. Passing. Deal! I just didn’t understand chemistry. Still don’t.

She also never quite understood upper division math and told my sister to just get a passing grade. Fortunately, Chip and I got the math gene so we were okay. The bottom line is that she understood. We were not expected to be perfect. We were expected to try our hardest.

Dad taught me how to throw a hard ball. As a teenager, he would call up to my room to grab the gloves and a ball; we would stand in the street and throw a few balls together. As I would be warming up on the first few, they would not be my best efforts, he would shout, “Quit throwing like a girl!”

I would shout back, “But I am a girl!”

He would pause then reply with a smile, “That’s no excuse.”

So Lori, these are some stories about my parents. They were the best.