By Rick Kaempfer
Despite the semi-skewed childhood my boys are experiencing because I’m at home raising them instead of my wife (for instance, my six-year-old Sean once asked me if I want to be a mom when I grow up so I can get a job), these kids are turning out remarkably well.
All three of them are good people with good hearts. All three of them have a good sense of humor. And most importantly, all three of them are learning the value of becoming self-sufficient.
That’s been my greatest gift to them, and of course, I’m not giving it to them intentionally. They know that they can’t totally count on me to take care of everything for them, because I’ve blown it so many times.
Since my youngest son Sean is the one I’ve been most instrumental in raising (he was a baby when I got this gig full-time), he is the most self-sufficient. I honestly think that if I were to have a heart attack, he would calmly call 9-1-1 before heading to the school bus stop at the appropriate time.
This is a boy that makes breakfast for his older brothers. I didn’t teach him to do that. He just noticed that I move too slowly in the morning, and filled the void. He has also been getting himself dressed for more than three years. Granted, there are days when we show up somewhere before I notice he’s wearing shoes that are three sizes too big (it only happened once, OK?), and his socks almost never match (which horrifies my mother), but for the most part, I couldn’t get everything done in the morning without Sean.
Some of the other parents in the neighborhood have even noticed how well he seems to manage his own affairs. At soccer practice last week after Sean took charge and organized his teammates, one of the other moms asked me my secret.
“Oh that’s easy,” I answer. “Bad parenting.”
My second son Johnny is now 10 years old. He was in kindergarten when I took over the gig, so he is still a little needier than his little brother. For instance, he still has moments when he forgets that I’m the one at home with him every day instead of his mom. This happens every Halloween when he tells me his idea for a costume.
“I’m going as a knight this year,” he told me the other day.
“How are you going to do that?” I asked.
“I just need a metal chest plate, a metal helmet, a jousting spear, and a mace.”
“Where are we going to buy that?” I asked.
“We can make it, Dad.”
I locked eyes with him and he remembered who he was dealing with.
“Maybe I’ll go as Mario again,” he said. “I’ll go make a paper mustache.”
In addition to making his own costumes every year, Johnny has become a human post-it note for me. When I put him to bed at night, I’m likely to hear something like “Don’t forget tomorrow is viola lessons, Dad. You have to wake me up early.” Or when he comes home from school, I’ll get a reminder like “Dad, I’ve only got an hour to do my homework today because of soccer practice–which starts at 5.”
Right. Thanks.
I’m trying. I really am. But I think it’s safe to say that attention to detail isn’t my strong suit. That’s why I really understand the difficulties that my oldest son Tommy faces. He is just like me–in his own little world–barely aware of his surroundings. Unfortunately for Tommy, he isn’t being raised by strict German parents like I was. He’s being raised by me.
My parents took an almost militaristic approach to my…shall we say…deficiencies. They had to remind me about everything all the time–and I knew I just needed to follow orders to survive. I thought Tommy needed that too, but it was never an option. I just don’t have the organizational chops to pull it off.
On the other hand, our mutual ineptitude led to a real breakthrough the other day. When I got a midterm report from school letting me know that Tommy was getting low grades, we were both shocked. Tommy is a very bright boy. He knows it too. He couldn’t possibly have low grades.
When we looked on the school website, the problem was clear as day. We saw that he had gotten an A or an A+ on every assignment or test he had turned in, but zeros on assignments he didn’t turn in, and that was bringing his grades down. He saw in black and white what needed to be done, and I didn’t need to tell him.
Sometimes it pays to have an inept parent in charge.
