“My father did his job. He provided a happy and safe home and supported me”
A COLUMN By Kathryn Ross
I can’t say whether parenting today is harder or easier on parents today than it was for my parents 70 some years ago.
I know my parents weren’t alone in raising my sister and I, they had help from their parents and siblings. Family was always there to offer a helping hand or an opinion or to step-in if help was needed.
Today’s parents often don’t have that kind of assist. Mom and dad are in Florida or back home. Families are far-flung. Siblings don’t live nearby or sometimes not even in the same country.
I remember once when I was 11 or 12-years old, my parents had to go to a medical appointment in Buffalo or Rochester, so I was going to be left on my own for the latter part of the day and early evening. For the first time there was no older sister to fix my supper, and back then there was no such thing as takeout. My trusty and protective dog, was there, so my parents had no worries about strangers coming into our home.
When it came time for supper I searched around the fridge until I found something I could cook. At about that time, the phone started ringing. For the next half hour each set of grandparents called as well as my aunts. “Yes,” I was fine. “No,” there weren’t any problems. “Yes,” I was safe and secure. “Yes,” I had something to eat and “Yes” my homework was done. When I finally got around to it, my dinner may have been cold but my heart was warm with the knowledge that my family was there for me.
When I was young, I was one of those kids that always had to, “wait until your father gets home”. However, at that time Dad worked the late shift at the Air Preheater. He was still gone when I went to bed and he was asleep when I woke up. Our paths only crossed on weekends most of the time.
Still, Dad was the authority figure. He was the one who handed out my 50-cent allowance after my Saturday vacuuming and dusting was done.
When he worked regular hours, he was the one who corrected my homework. Dad could never understand why I didn’t understand math the way he did. One night when he was trying to teach me long division or multiplication or something mathematical, he became angry because he just knew that I wasn’t paying attention and that I wasn’t applying myself. So, when I told him I needed to go to the bathroom, he wouldn’t hear of it. He became so irritated at my stupidity and obstinacy that he took me over his knee at exactly the same time my bladder let loose.
I don’t remember Dad spanking me before that night, but I do remember he never tried to spank me again. But it was not the last time he tried to teach me math.
During my junior and senior years in high school, Dad and I didn’t see eye to eye on much. I was a Vietnam protester. He was a World War II Navy veteran. There was not a lot of common ground between us. We weathered the storm, and he sent me off to college anyway.
Dad taught me to drive before Mr. Raykowitz did in school, but for the longest time he only let me drive in reverse. My guess is, it was slower and not as risky in the Big M parking lot.
I don’t remember playing catch or games with my dad. My dad was more practical. But he didn’t complain when we girls “borrowed” his quarter-round molding and made machine guns out of it so we could play “Combat” like the actors in our favorite television show.
The one thing I always knew about my dad was that he’d be there for me if I needed him, whether it was taking me to the emergency room after a lamp fell on my foot slashing it, or meeting the boy picking me up in his MG.
My father did his job. He provided a happy and safe home and supported me. He fretted that I would never make a living as a journalist but he took credit for everything I wrote.
For all he was. For all he did, I only wish I could tell him Happy Father’s Day.
