Boreal Witch

Balin brought home a note, a note about upcoming Grandparent's Day. Dad was still going to be in the state, so I took a chance and called him to see if he'd like to make the 2 hour drive south and if Gloria would like a night off.

He wasn't sure at first - which is not unlike Dad. He typically weighs all of his options at least four or five times before finally deciding what's best. If he's in Wisconsin, this usually involves consideration of how he stands with his sister, as the two can have epic head-to-head battles.

So I casually mentioned the possibility of coming down and visiting Balin's class. He said he'd think about it, which I assumed would probably mean no. A few days later he responded with a yes. He'd arrive Sunday afternoon and leave after the event on Monday.

Balin was pretty excited; how often does Papa come to his class? 

The two spent the morning eating cookies and reading a book together, writing and drawing, and making a pumpkin puppet. Then the kids sat in a circle and talked about what they liked best about their grandparents. 

After that, we went to Arthur's class. He promptly told us that his Grandparent's Day was a few days later: the day after Dad's departure. He cried when he discovered that Papa would be back in Anchorage by then. Later that evening, Robinson and I talked to him again. He understood, but he didn't like it. 

Sometimes I'm surprised by this relationship my boys have with their Papa. As a child, I was terrified of him - he stomped around our tiny apartment, yelling and screaming when he became upset over a mess we made or how loud we were. We learned to tread very carefully becuase we didn't want to be the object of the screaming. 

He's mellowed out as a Papa. He's different now, more relaxed, more fun. Perhaps it's the retirement or having an older grandson to practice getting it right - or maybe some of it's because I'm an adult and am out of his care, but he doesn't take life as seriously anymore. (Don't get me wrong. There's still yelling, but it's not usually directed at me anymore; usually Gloria, and on rare occasions, the boys when they are making mischief of one kind or another.)

I wonder, though, if Dad hasn't changed that much; maybe raising kids was too frustrating. I see it now, with my boys. I often joke that my blood pressure goes up with them around, but there's a kernel of truth to that. It's hard being a parent, hard trying to conscientiously avoid your own parent's mistakes, hard trying to actively alter your behavior so that you don't fall into that trap. 

My dad and I have similar personalities. It would be so easy to mimic him, to rule my home as a tyrant, ranting and raving - and though I do on occasion embarrassingly behave this way - I try to get my point across in less confrontational methods, too. I'm not perfect, but I don't want my children to be frightened of me.

I guess what I'm trying to relay is that we all make these decisions in raising our kids. None of us are perfect, but we control our own actions and no one else. 

Blessed be.