June 29, 2009

Parenting requires wait-and-see attitude

The Family Guy
By Brett Buckner

I never really wanted children, and marriage was just as abstract a concept as well. It seemed like an arrangement filled with more limitations than possibilities, an end-of-the-road decision made by bored couples who believed the promise of a life-long commitment before God, Granny, Grandpa and a gaggle of like-minded friends was the way to spice up something that was DOA anyway.

“Commitment” was for the mentally deranged, involving not a wedding ring or a DJ spinning “Ice, Ice Baby,” but instead required padded cells, straitjackets, a steady dose of Lithium, and pools of drool.

These were the ill-informed opinions I spewed like cobra venom when the college keg party had been reduced to flat foam and all the other lost souls lingering in the darkness were down to their last cigarettes.

And to think I was single into my 30s, which was about the time my life began.
Before exchanging vows, I was doing little more than treading water in the pool of adulthood. My house was a rental, my dogs were wild and my refrigerator was equipped with little more than string cheese, Hot Pockets and domestic beer.

Getting married –albeit to the right woman – just might be the only correct decision I've ever made. There's a reason I call her My Lovely Wife, and it has very little to do with her looks (OK … so that doesn't hurt. I am a guy after all. To say I wasn't smitten with her beauty is as much a lie as people saying they bought “Playboy” for the articles.)

All the Hallmark card sentiment aside, being married has been a lifesaver. But the jury is still out on kids. Oh, I wanted Jellybean. And I love The Diva more than I'd ever be able to spell out in elementary language and pop-culture metaphors.

The glaring difference is perspective.

In marriage, there's a certain joy in the day-to-day routines. The home-from-work peck on the cheek, watching a movie that only the two of you enjoy, that first quiet cup of coffee before the chaos of the day and that single bottle of beer right before bed. (The running theme of alcohol is totally coincidental.)

But with kids, the view is different. There's way more to worry about and way more at stake because it seems that every decision, every conversation and every ignored outburst have potentially endless repercussions.

Not to sound too cynical. Raising children is filled with precious stolen moments – spontaneous laughter, revealing conversations, graduation day hugs and first steps. And yet it's all the second-guessing that makes being a parent so hard.

It's not the normal stuff. Heck, actually raising a kid is simple. Feed 'em. Bathe 'em. Love 'em. Clothe 'em. Discipline 'em. And they'll probably grow up just fine.

Then, 10 years later they're sitting on a shrink's couch complaining about the time they wanted you to read “The Giving Tree” one more time but instead left them alone to cry in the dark. All the sudden, you're the worst parent ever.

That's what scared me then and scares me now. There are days when I can actually envision The Diva standing at a fork in the road. Following one direction she grows up to be a successful, Nobel Prize-winning scientist who volunteers weekends at the Humane Society and donates money to homeless shelters.

One step in the other direction and she's a sociopath.

It's that clear in my head. Either we're raising Bono or Hannibal Lecter.

The same goes for Jellybean. Sure, right now she's a cute toddler who only wants “babies” and “Pooh,” who lives on slices of Kraft singles and giggles when she's flipped upside down. But how long can that last, when does every little thing start to matter so much?

Somewhere out there, Jeffery Dahmer's parents are sitting up, sipping coffee quietly in bed and wondering, “Where did we go wrong?”
 
As a parent, I know the answer is almost as frightening as the question itself – only time will tell.
Brett Buckner is an award-winning former columnist for the Anniston Star. He lives in Columbus, Ga. with his wife, daughter and stepdaughter. His humor column appears regularly in The Post. Contract Brett at brett.buckner@yahoo.com.