 |
|
|
|
|
Family Daze
Future caregivers currently make a meal out of crayons
By Debbie Farmer
Over the years my gardener, a wise man with six children, has taught me three very important lessons about life. He's told me to 1) use high iron fertilizer to make the lawn green, 2) always aerate in the spring, and 3) take good care of your children because, one day, they may be taking care of you.
Life being what it is, I'm usually thankful for any kind of free advice I can get. And I am, at least for the first two tips. It's the third one that I'm worried about.
Oh, it's not as if I don't take good care of my children. I do. But the thought of them taking care of me is a little, well, scary. I mean, it's somewhat disconcerting to think that the same boy who eats crayons and mashes peas up his nose might, one day in the not-too-distant future, be feeding me. Nooooo, thank you.
Now, being the mother of two children, you would think that if things didn't work out I could always fall back on the other one. But this isn't necessarily true. Although my daughter's not uncaring or anything like that, tell me, how can you fully trust someone who considers wearing a pink ballet leotard, a feather boa and plastic high heels, as high fashion? I can't help imagining spending my golden years sitting in a chair by the fireplace, dressed in cowboy boots and a bathing suit.
And that's not even the worst of it. My children's track record with living things is spotty at best. They've been the primary caregivers to a plethora of hamsters and goldfish, most of which have met untimely, tragic deaths. One time my son's pet hermit crab disappeared out of the aquarium, only to mysteriously reappear a week later in the stereo cabinet behind a Led Zeppelin CD.
But don't waste your pity on me. Save it for my friend, Laura, whose son likes to melt plastic army men with a magnifying glass, catapult them into the toilet with his toothbrush, then flush. Or my friend, Sue, whose daughter pulled apart her princess Barbie doll, then mounted its head on the antenna of the portable camper. Believe me, it's little things like these, that really make you think about your future well-being.
My husband who, as far as I can tell, has never given this a moment's thought, assured me that I'm getting all worked up for nothing.
"Of course the children will take care of us," he said. "After all, I've worked hard to raise them with a strong sense of duty and responsibility."
But the next morning, just to prove my point, I said loudly during breakfast, "Someone needs to feed the cat."
"Huh?" both children said without looking up from their cereal. "What cat?"
"The 10-year-old orange one meowing at the back door with its cheeks sucked in."
They looked at me as if I was insane or something.
It was clear from this that I had to talk to someone with first-hand experience on raising the kind of dependable child who would never dress someone in a bikini and snow shoes, or feed them chartreuse for breakfast. So I called my friend, Carol, whose doting adult son works as a fundraiser for a nonprofit animal rescue foundation. "Tell me how you made your son so responsible," I pleaded into the phone. "Was it the positive role models? High self-esteem? Public television? Free range chicken? WHAAAAAT?"
"I have no idea," she said matter-of-factly. "To tell you the truth, when he was little I caught him extorting lunch money from his little sister and stuffing the cat down the laundry chute."
You know, that's what I've always liked about Carol. She really knows how to make a person feel better
Debbie Farmer is the author of Life in the Fast-Food Lane: Surviving the Chaos of Parenting. Questions or comments? Email her at paradigm-tsa@familydaze.com.
|
|
|
|
Saratoga, California Since 1955
