A Call for Cultural Revolution
By Gregory Keer
The other night, my son sat up in bed as I walked out of his room following the pre-sleep cuddle. I had just finished preparing him for the fact that I'd probably be home late the next night because of what I call "crunch week," a time during which we put a magazine to bed. It usually involves a couple of late evenings and a certain amount of stress and preoccupation. It is common with most working people, but it is something most kids just don't understand. So, with the wisdom of a 4-year old, Benjamin says, "Daddy, maybe tomorrow you tell your work you have to go home. Maybe they'll let you go."
There is no greater leveler than a child with that kind of request. It's honest, pure. He wants me to be home like I usually am. He wants me to be available for the nighttime ritual of dinner, potty/story time, bath, reading, and snuggle. He wants me to be home so that when he sneaks out of bed, he can catch me red-handed with the chocolate-covered marshmallow Valentine that I thought he forgot he still had. He wants me home to carry him back to bed, reassured that I am one of the two pillars that will hold up his world as he reluctantly gives in to the vulnerability of slumber.
Guess what? I want to be home too. In fact, most parents do, unless they've got their priorities seriously out of whack. But, again like most of us, I struggle with the balance of work and family. I am forever mixing my beakers of ingredients, trying to perfect a potion for my life's responsibilities. I put a little extra work here and a little less of family there. Then I pour a little family back, taking from work. But somehow, I am never quite satisfied.
The onus lies with me, first. I must set up the goal to be more available to my kids. I'm missing too much already. Heck, I have a 4-month old who is hurtling into maturity. Every time I see him, he has reached another milestone of motor-skill mastery (he grabs onto anything in his view) and verbal prowess (he has this throaty sound between an "ooh" and an "ahh" that he makes when I talk to him). He's growing back hair (thank God, because he was looking like the lead character in Sling Blade and it was scaring me in the middle of the night when I'd check on him). He's bursting out of clothes that fit him a minute ago.
So what am I doing about it? One rule I am trying not to break is the rule of ritual. My kids love mornings and nighttimes being consistent. I am not real good in the morning; I am slow to rise and I dawdle when I do, which has always driven my wife crazy and was the source of much fraternal ridicule by my college roommates. But if I don't get out of the shower and sit my butt at the breakfast table, Benjamin refuses to eat and pouts to Wendy, "I'm waiting for Daddy!" Now that's incentive. I could go to work earlier to be home earlier, but I would miss breakfast on the mornings that I am scheduled to drive Benjamin to school.
At night, because of my busy schedule and my own propensity to get that one last e-mail written or phone call made, I am somewhere between 15 minutes and 2 hours later to home than I intend to be. Kids don't understand that kind of variation. "Why are you late, Daddy?" Benjamin demands, somewhat in imitation of his exasperated mother. "I had to finish up some work," I respond. "Do your work at home," he says.
Deeper commentary comes from my 4-year-old's recent pontification about getting married. He's even given his first proposal, over the phone, to his friend Jessica. When asked what life might be like once he's married, he says, "I'll work late and my wife will get home early and cook dinner." Holy Leave It to Beaver, this is not the example I was hoping to be.
OK, I've picked on myself a bit. Now it's time to take on the American work culture. Lots of lip service is paid to the issue of slower down the rat race, but we seem to be scurrying faster despite such tragic reminders as September 11. What we need are specifics, particular actions to move toward more balanced lives.
We need to challenge our idea of ambition and accomplishment, which is largely tied to professional success. We need to establish ambition for quality family time. We need to borrow from the concept of the 8-excuse me-10 to 12-hour days we expect of ourselves and each other and set standards for how many hours we require ourselves to be with family.
We need to not feel guilty-ever-for leaving on time to be home for dinner. We need to take personal days (or "hooky") to be home with family. We need to require vacations be taken. We need to volunteer for school field trips and playground duty (special challenge to dads to just do it). We need to put cribs and little desks in our offices so our kids can see the connection between work and family is seamless and that work is not only something that takes Mommy or Daddy away. We need to take our own parents to breakfast to catch up with them. We need to abscond with our partners to seedy hotel rooms
I will leave you with one last anecdote. On this one particular night, I am with Benjamin, enjoying Kidult, the terrific CD featuring Mandy Patinkin singing classic kid-oriented tunes. The song is Harry Chapin's "Cats in the Cradle," a heart-wrenching piece about a father who has not time for a child who then grows up to have no time for his father. While taking it all in, Benjamin asks me, "Why didn't he spend more time with his son
He has to."
And so it is said, so let it be done.
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