Raising Children

When I married my first wife (Jill), I hoped and expected to have a couple children, preferably a son and a daughter, not necessarily in that order. As it turned out, I did have a son (Jeremy) and a daughter (Jessica), and then bit a later on three more sons (Todd, Jason, and Jeffrey), when I married my second wife (Linda). It was a package deal. Three more sons became two more sons when new son the eldest (Todd) decided he had neither the inclination nor patience to break in a new dad (me). So he moved back in with old dad (to remain unnamed) who was, an irresponsible, abusive, conniving and cheating, complete and total jerk (or so I’ve been told), but who was already broken in, and even better, not so broke as new dad. Not to worry: an able replacement for departed son came packaged with my third wife (Nancy). Alex was quite young, had recently, sadly, lost his old dad (Ed), and probably figured that any dad was better than no dad at all. So a son and a daughter became five (or four, depending on your parameters) sons and a daughter, raised (well or poorly, depending on whom and when you ask) over the course of 30-plus years.

The raising has had its moments. When Jeremy was about four or five, he fell through the ice on a lake where we lived at the time. It happened when he was off exploring on his own (never allowed, but practiced none-the-less), and we didn’t learn of the mishap until he returned to the house wet and freezing. He was none-the-worse for the mishap, but remains disinclined to water sports to this day. When he was eight or nine, he decided it would be funny to hide under Linda’s and my bed and scare us when we retired for the night. Unfortunately, that particular night was “date night,” and retiring very quickly turned to “dating.” Too quickly, it turned out, for Jeremy to spring the joke: He snuck out later when he thought (or hoped) we were asleep. I hope he was none-the-worse for the mishap, and I sincerely hope he does not remain disinclined to “dating” to this day.

Jessica was not yet two when I decided to take her and her brother for a ride in our new canoe. Purchased to better enjoy the lake (you guessed it) where we lived at the time. I had responsibly outfitted her with an appropriately-sized life jacket, which she wore with great displeasure throughout the ride. Finally, as we approached the dock, I (irresponsibly) allowed her to remove it, figuring nothing could happen this close to the end of the trip. Of course, it was at this moment that she decided to exit the canoe. In trying to prevent her exit I, of course, capsized the canoe. The water was not deep, and Jeremy and I could easily stand on the bottom. Jessica, however, could not and, worse yet, was nowhere to be seen. We found her happily treading water under the overturned canoe, amazingly, not traumatized and wanting only to do it again.

I suspect she was traumatized when, a few years later, an accident occurred in the office where I worked as an architect. A blueprint machine, recently serviced, sat with its protective cover removed from the collection of gears that controlled the speed at which it ran. While I was running a few prints, and (irresponsibly) not paying attention to her, Jessica’s curiosity led her to try to feel those fascinating gears. Of course, two fingers were quickly caught between those gears and crushed. It seemed like an eternity before I could dismantle the mechanism and release her, and an even longer eternity before I could get her to the emergency room. She remained amazingly calm, more concerned for my well-being than hers. Ultimately the fingers were saved, albeit one a tiny bit shorter and the other with a distinctive twist. She has since forgiven me my irresponsibility. I doubt I shall ever forgive myself. She has probably not forgiven me for telling her that her back surgery for scoliosis a few years later would not be a big deal or cause her a lot or pain. It was and it did.

Three sons who became two were my sons for only a few years. It was a lengthy time, no doubt, for adolescent boys struggling to become young men. It was over in a heartbeat for me, and many recollections have faded. I do remember when Jason, trying to deal with being heavy, and having his first “sort of” girlfriend, and not having good grades, and not happy about having a stepdad with “rules,” decided to move out. “Moving out,” it turned out, was very little moving, and no out at all. He took all his possessions and “moved out” to the basement. He set up housekeeping with the aid of some camping gear from the garage and the mini-fridge from the family room. “Moving out” also did not mean eating out, doing without an allowance, but he made his point. I did thereafter cut him a bit of slack on the “rules.”

It was only a few months after Jason “moved out” that he wanted to borrow my car (actually a Chevy Blazer) to run some errands before school. I suspect the “errands” had something to do with the “sort of” girlfriend, but I didn’t ask and acquiesced to his request. It was the very same day that Jeffrey asked to borrow his mom’s car, also for some errands before school. I now suspect some sort of complicity, but was oblivious at the time and acquiesced to his request. They left the house together that morning only to return about five minutes later. For reasons unknown to this day and circumstances only to be imagined, Jeffrey had somehow managed to solidly rear-end his mom’s car into the vehicle in front of him, which had stopped at the intersection of our road and the highway. Of course, the vehicle in front of him was my Blazer, driven by Jason.

Alex, it’s important to note, is a YouTube filmmaker and wannabe actor. He has wannabeed for most of his life, so it should have come as no surprise when, at about 13 years old, he asked his mom to pick up a few items for him on her way home from work. The items included, but were not necessarily limited to, lipstick, make-up, panty hose, wigs, and a feather boa or two. Given that list, it should have come as no surprise when, later that day, I spotted Alex and two of his very guy friends, walking up our residential street in full-on drag, sporting dresses, accessories, full make-up, hats, high heels, and, of course, feather boas. They were on their way to filming a sketch, the content of which I could only imagine, and since have tried hard to forget. Don’t get me wrong: neither Alex nor any of his friends are homosexuals, transsexuals, transvestites, or cross dressers; not that there would be anything wrong with that.