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Don't Get Me Started by Linda Sharp Parenting wars: Mean Old Mom vs. Daring, Adventurous Dad As mothers, it is understandable that we tend to be a tad protective of the life we are nurturing. It’s written into the code of our DNA. I well remember those nine months with our oldest daughter inside me. I monitored every morsel I consumed, I fretted over every kick and hiccup I felt, I read every parenting tome I could get my swelled up hands on. I could not wait for the baby to arrive so I could begin the process of raising her, protecting her, teaching her right from wrong, dangerous from fun, brush your teeth, drink your juice, don’t mix stripes with plaids. Rudy couldn’t wait for a playmate. Yes, my husband was, and continues to be, the patriarchal stereotype. Where I am functional – insuring lunches are packed, underwear is clean, schedules are kept – he is FUNctional – making sure they knock over lamps when wrestling, filth up their clothes, and eat ice cream for dinner when I’m at a meeting. He is the yang to my yin. In fact, he is really good at yangking my chain. But fathers are like that. They are, themselves, big kids, and do fill a definite place in a child’s life. I’ve often written that there is a part of a man that never evolves beyond 8 years old. They are the ones to roll around, flout Mom’s authority, and encourage them to do things we mothers would never let them attempt unless first swaddled in bubble wrap and a football helmet. Dads spell adventure. I often referred to Rudy as the “human jungle gym” when the kids were little. They lit up when he came home, knowing that fun awaited as soon as he could get out of that suit and tie. It’s not like a father encourages a child to run with scissors, but in all likelihood, he is the one to encourage them to use them first. I never even contemplated letting them help me cook when they were little. Rudy would sit them on the counter, make a chef’s toque out of newspaper, and teach them to chop, grind, measure, and even sauté. And where I always harp about cleaning their rooms, Dad’s happy to just clear a path so he can tuck them in at night. Then again, one look in his own closet will confirm his affinity with swine. I also think for a dad, boo boos are just no big big deal deal. They happen, you cover the leak, you keep playing. A mindset he reinforced in them one Christmas years ago by taking the first ride down the hill of our driveway on one daughter’s new Razor scooter. When I say he left half his butt cheek on the driveway, I am not exaggerating. He had road rash that lasted for a month, and scars you can still see today – well you can’t, but I can. He came inside, had me pluck the gravel from his caboose, patch him up, and then went right back out to try it again. In his daughters’ eyes he may as well have been wearing a Superman cape. Over the years, I have definitely seen that what once made me bristle, has purpose. Our daughters are now 15, 14 and 11. They are outgoing, adventurous, not afraid of leaving a little skin on the soccer pitch, and make an excellent chicken piccata. That’s not to say functional Mean Old Mom hasn’t taught them valuable lessons along the way, too. Like look both ways, be on time, keep that smile sparkling, and always – ALWAYS – keep a first aid kit and tweezers nearby.
Linda Sharp is an internationally read author, columnist and event speaker. Her work appears online at over 60 Web sites and in print publications from Maine to Malaysia. Sharp is also the owner/editor of Sanity Central.com – home to over fifty hilarious authors and columnists. Give her a Google and read till your eyes dry out! Learn more about Sharp at www.lindasharp.com. Check in with her daily via her highly trafficked blog, Don't Get Me Started and pick up a copy of her latest release, “Femail: A Comic Collision In Cyberspace,” available at booksellers everywhere.
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