With June being “wedding month,” I’ve been thinking about the only wedding I’ve had to be closely involved with so far, that of my son and daughter-in-law almost 26 years ago. I am proud of them for creating a long, successful marriage.
I am also proud to have had a lot to do with their success.
Several years ago my daughter-in-law told me, “I tell all my friends how grateful I am to you. Your son didn’t come into this marriage expecting to be waited on, or even cooked for.”
Don’t get me wrong. When David was growing up, there was always a meal at the house. Sometimes I even cooked it.
But I carefully shielded him from the knowledge that some women actually cooked three meals a day and cleaned up afterwards while the rest of her family sprawled in front of Monday Night Football. No point in setting up any false expectations.
As it turned out, my son married a vibrant, intelligent, resourceful woman, who, like me, wonders why anyone would get a thrill from chopping things all afternoon, then standing over a hot stove to stir them into a supper, then watching people push these things around on their plates and hide them under ketchup until they can slip them to Fido.
I was quite serious about preparing David for married life long before he entered into it.
When he became a teenager, I taught him to explain himself because every good husband has to know how to do that.
ME: (barring the door so he can’t get in) “Why are you late?”
HIM: “I was leaving the movie and this little old lady had a flat and I stopped to help her.”
ME: “That’s pretty good. You may enter.”
He also learned how to explain the need for money.
HIM: “I need $1000.”
ME: “So do I, but what’s your reason?
HIM: “I have a great educational opportunity to go on a ski trip.”
ME: “OK, here’s a check.” (That “educational opportunity” bit got me every time.)
I also taught him to take care of himself.
The first time he came home from Ole Miss for the weekend, I washed his clothes, explaining each stage carefully as I went, emphasizing what happens when you wash red shirts with white underwear. From then on, he came in the back door from school separating whites and colors and cranking up the Maytag himself.
I was working to provide tuition and extras for his great educational opportunity at Ole Miss. I figured I shouldn’t also be responsible for doing his menial labor. And I knew that a modern wife would feel the same way.
Sometime during his college years, I gave him this bit of advice: “I am the only woman who will ever love you unconditionally. Any other woman who takes you on will have conditions, like taking out the trash and changing the smelly diapers on your offspring.
“You can get over the notion that some other woman will love you for leaving a pile of wet towels on the bathroom floor or running out of gas in her car and leaving it where it died.”
According to his wife, he can make coffee, cook, wash a load of clothes, find a kid’s shoes, run down to the corner to get a pizza for dinner and gas up the car on the way home.
I’d say that’s a successful husband.
Parenting is not a give- and-take relationship. It is a give relationship. The parent gets to do the giving. He or she gives the effort, time, money, cleaning services, tutoring, and forced attendance at all the kids’ sports events and recitals.
The children are the takers. Mostly they just take the money and are oblivious to the rest of the parents’ efforts.
But this you-give-I-take relationship is not good preparation for marriage, which is supposed to be a 50-50 enterprise. Marriage doesn’t work as an “I win-you-lose” proposition... I go out with my buds while you stay home and cook...I complain, you comply...I mess up, you clean up...you make the money, I spend the money.
If you are one of those parents who is a martyr to your child, who gives and never requires anything in return, you may be setting your kid up for failure as a future spouse.
I know it will be tough, but try to wean him or her off the “you give and I take” system with a few easy steps.
Let Junior get up and make his own sandwich. Don’t pick up his towels. It won’t kill Junioretta to pull yesterday’s damp towel out of the pile she left on the floor and dry off with it tomorrow. Don’t keep the car clean and gassed up for her. Walking is good exercise.
I know you’ll get a dent in your martyr complex if you don’t make your kids’ lives perfect now, but your future daughter-in-law or son-in-law will thank you for your efforts one day.
