Parenting Never Ends; It Just Evolves

Your kids may be adults, but they never stop being your kids

Even when the sun sets. Parents are still parents. (Photo by Autumn Raine Photography of the author’s family; used with permission)

Being a parent — at least a dedicated one — is not for the faint of heart. Nor is it for someone without stamina. In fact, parenthood is the ultimate example of needing to read the fine print very carefully before signing on the dotted line. Here are just a few examples of why that is important advice.

• Every other job has hours you work and hours you don’t

• Every other job has days off and management to complain to when you feel you’ve been disrespected or mistreated

• Every other job has expectations and guidelines to follow, along with a list of Don’t Fucking Do This

• Every other job pays you

• Every other job is a thing you can eventually retire from

As crazy as that (incomplete) list is, most people who agree to the whole parenting gig don’t stick to doing it just once. They sign up for the same obstacle course again, and possibly more.

A big problem with the whole parent thing is when you’re, uh, applying for the position, you’re not exactly thinking clearly or with the correct head. Despite the job’s drawbacks listed above, there isn’t a more enjoyable interview process.

Interviewees’ results may vary. Male applicants can finish the interview rather quickly, leave the interviewer quite disappointed, and still get the job. Some candidates apply fervently, and it doesn’t happen. Some are all about the interview and prefer to ghost the interviewer later, out of fear of getting the job (or anything else for that matter). Others can even apply by accident and still be hired.

What can I say? It’s a flawed system.

There are other red flags. Once you’ve been hired and you’re officially a parent, you are hired for the long ass haul — unless you’re a poser coward who quits the job. (Abandoning your children is a topic for another day.) The point is, once this job begins, you never clock out, and you’re always on call.

Frank Buckman — played by Jason Robards — in the classic movie Parenthood (1989) says it well. (In fact, the scene is epic for a few reasons. It’s funny, sweet, and dead-on-balls accurate. Parenting never stops. It shrinks, expands, and adapts. But it doesn’t end.)

“It’s not like that all ends when you’re 18 or 21 or 41 or 61. It never, never ends. It’s like your Aunt Edna’s ass. It goes on forever, and it’s just as frightening. There is no end zone. You never cross the goal line, spike the ball, and do your touchdown dance. Never. I’m 64. Larry’s 27. And he’s STILL my son.”

It can be easy to forget that Frank Buckman was a shitty father and an asshole husband, and even he still nails the concept of being a parent. The thing is, understanding that parenting never ends doesn’t really mean jack shit if you’re not willing to step up and follow through.

So off we go with the long game.

There Is No Finish Line

Parents of newborns, toddlers, and school-age kids try to imagine their kids as teenagers, as young adults going off to college, and as functional grownups getting jobs, moving out, getting married, and having children of their own.

That line of thinking is inevitable, but in my experience, it also tends to be fleeting. It’s like thinking of the finish line five miles into a marathon. You have a longer way to go than you can comprehend, and there is some serious distance before you get there.

Which, again, you never quite do.

Being a parent is not like running a marathon. It’s not even an ultra-marathon or any other race you can think of. Until you’re dead and gone, no finish line exists for parents. And even then, haunting our kids from the great beyond should be a viable option.

To some parents whose kids have yet to reach adulthood, it can be upsetting to think there’s no clear-cut end to our labors.

Wait. What? They will move out eventually, right? They’ll have their own lives, won’t they? I’ll be off duty then, right?

Yes. Yes. And, no.

We become the savvy veteran of a sports team who never seems to retire, is always around, gives advice here and there, and every once in a while steps in to save the day. Still on call; just not the first option like we were.

Security blankets from childhood fade, become frayed and thin — and hopefully so do we. But we’re still there in a pinch.

That’s it. That’s our role. And I can think of worse things to be.

18-Year-Olds Are The Worst Adults Ever

There are people out there who will disagree and say that parenting does have a finish line. They think that a parent’s job is to get their kid to adulthood alive and well. From that point on, you’re on your own, kid.

The first perceived finish line is when a kid hits eighteen. After all, legally, children are adults at that point.

To that, I say, “HA! That’s three years from legally drinking alcohol.”

Adult, my ass. I’ve met 18-year-olds I wouldn’t trust to water a plant, let alone make an adult decision. At that age, they have a rotation of priorities that include sex, food, money, sleep, friends, and sex. Just like us at that age.

What really changes at eighteen besides being able to work longer hours because child labor laws are no longer binding? You can vote at eighteen and serve on a jury. You can go to actual jail instead of juvie.

At 18, you can feel like an adult.

Until shit hits the fan one way or another, and you have no fucking idea what to do about it.

Except call your parents.

I’ve never understood parents who kick their kids out of the house because they’re 18 and a legal adult. So are the parents. They know damn good and well their kid doesn’t know what they don’t know. And that lack of knowledge can be a throat punch on a good day. Even if the kid doesn’t understand that fact, parents should.

There are always counterpunches.

• “What if my kid wants to leave at 18?” Wanting to do something and having the means to do so are very different things. They may want to leave. But I’m guessing learning the phrases ‘first and last month’s rent, plus a security deposit,’ ‘reference checks,’ and ‘credit score’ may dampen their independence streak just a bit.

• “But I can’t afford for my kid to live with me.” Uh huh. If the parent can’t afford it, how can their kid afford to live on their own? Instead of staking out into the world, maybe your “adult” can help with groceries, gas money, insurance, or whatever else. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

• “My kid is annoying as fuck right now.” ‘Course they are. 18-year-olds are assholes. Assholery is largely the point of being eighteen. It’s also a frustrating time for them. They feel like an adult; they’re young, spry, and energetic as fuck. But they’re still stuck at home. That’s aggravating. For everyone.

We were the same way back then.

In any case, when your kid does move out — at eighteen or later — it doesn’t much matter. They will still text you and probably even call you.

Count on it.

Your Kids Will Always Need You

Our four daughters are 23, 20, 18, and 16. Those are four different stages of needing (and wanting) parental support. It’s never easy, cheap, or boring — ever.

Our sixteen-year-old just got her driver’s license. She works at our Taekwondo school, helping teach classes. She’s living at home. She is sweet, sympathetic, friendly, and needs us for just about everything. Natch. At this point, she hasn’t been infected with the independence bug yet.

Our eighteen-year-old just graduated and will be a freshman in college in September. She wants to major in Criminal Justice and eventually become an FBI profiler. She is smart, passionate, fiery, and loves to talk to the point I’ve long believed she has three lungs.

The latter daughter has worked at Dairy Queen for more than two years and is earning solid money. Despite that independence, she still needs us. She pays for her own gas and occasional personal items and treats. We pay for everything else, including her upcoming college education.

Our twenty-year-old will be a junior in college as an art major. She gets to spend next January across the Pond, in Oxford, with a small group of art students and a professor. She is quiet, creative as hell, has the best laugh in the world, and works intermittently at a nearby casino. She is a massive introvert with a brutal RBF that could make Lucifer apologize. Ironically, she has less money than her younger sister. She is also a wicked tightwad and relies on us a ton, although she hates to admit it.

Our oldest is a college graduate and is eloping in late July. She lives five hours away in (barely) controlled chaos with her fiancé, two other adult roommates, a five-year-old boy, and two dogs. She just started her dream job as the director of social media for a minor league hockey team. She is smart, driven, responsible, and swears like a sailor. (Appropriately, she’s marrying one.)

Despite being “on her own” for over a year, even our eldest daughter still needs us. I cosigned on the house they’re renting. She FaceTimes us consistently for anything from just checking in, soliciting feedback on wedding ideas, needing advice for something, to wanting to vent about some dumbass thing her man did or said (while ignoring her own dumbassery). We’ll help pay for her wedding next summer.

Now and in the future, we’re happy to provide support for all four of them. No, we are not rich. We’re teachers, for fuck’s sake.

Yes, our girls drive us crazy and do shit that makes us shake our heads to the point we could end up with concussions. But helping them to the best of our ability is right there in the parental fine print.

Not being done is better than the alternative

I just finished my 26th year of teaching middle school. I’m 54 years old. I’ve been asked countless times when I’ll retire. I would love to have an actual answer with a target age, but I don’t.

For the next four years, we will have two daughters going to college. From the elopement this July to the larger wedding next July, there’s plenty of financial need to be had. And who knows what will happen in that regard with our other three girls? Maybe they will marry or become partnered; maybe they won’t. Maybe it’ll be a split.

Either way, we are under no illusion that we’re “done.” We don’t want to be. I’ve seen what complete parental disengagement looks like. Being an active guardian is not for the weak, but neither is being an inactive one. It seems to me that would be worse. We’ve all seen older parents complain that they never hear from their children or grandchildren.

I am far from perfect at anything, fatherhood included. I have fucked up countless times and will likely continue to do so. For the most part, I own my fuck ups. (I’m usually to blame anyway.)

We remind our daughters not to be afraid of mistakes, own them when they happen, and learn from them. Otherwise, you’ll end up an asshole that nobody likes except for other assholes.

Parenting is one of those things that everyone says that they know it will change their lives. But no one knows a damn thing until you become one. You can’t. No one’s imagination is that deep or accurate. It can’t be.

It may have been impossible to foresee the depths, lengths, fears, joys, and perils of parenting, but now we get it. We’re still getting it. Hopefully, we’ll see our kids become parents and watch them power through like we have.

And if we’re really lucky, they will call to ask us things like, “I was never this bad, was I?” and “I am so sorry! How the fuck did you make it through that with us?”

That would be worth a touchdown dance for sure.

Thanks for reading.