"You know, Mrs. Buckman, you need a license to buy a
dog, to drive a car - hell, you even need a license to catch a fish. But
they'll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father."
~
Keanu Reeves as Tod Higgins in Parenthood
(1989)
and…
“Ecclesiastes
assures us... that there is a time for every purpose under heaven. A time to
laugh... and a time to weep. A time to mourn... and there is a time to dance.”
-
Ren (Kevin Bacon) in Footloose (1984)
A two quote blog… must be a thoughtful
one…
As
a parent, there are many sacrifices you make for your children.
As a parent, you know that your children
probably will never realize just how much of a sacrifice you made until they
have kids of their own.
I know that’s certainly the case with me.
I was oblivious to the things my parents did for me – and not just until I had
children, but well into my thirties.
As a matter of fact, Here I am, six days
into the final stanza of my thirty-something decade, and they are still
sacrificing to help me.
I could never repay them for all they have
done. Ever. Sure, I complain about them, but they always have their hearts in
the right place, so my aggravation with them must always remain short-term and
never bring an impossible divide between us.
And while I can easily argue that they let
me out into the wilds of this world quite naïve in some very important areas,
one thing I definitely gleaned from them was the unconditional love and
never-ending support and sacrifice you have to make for your children.
I always tell people just how involved in
my kids’ lives I am, but I don’t think I ever realized just how deeply until
this past Saturday.
First of all, I skipped a trip to Montreal
– one of my favorite cities to visit as part of my job – to attend a regional
tap dancing championship.
The reason? My 12-year-old daughter and
11-year-old-son are both tap dancers (among other dance disciplines) and for
the second straight year were invited along with their competitive tap class to
take part in this competition.
The first year was a blast – and it was
nerve-wracking. We didn’t understand how it worked. There was disappointment
when we didn’t win a group trophy but then went absolutely bonkers and took
over the ballroom when we were awarded with the highest score in the entire
competition as they definitely wowed the crowd with their rendition of the
Brian Setzer Orchestra’s version of “In the Mood,” the Glen Miller Orchestra
classic.
This year was different though.
It was rooted in frustration, from the
minute we left our house for the event, to the pre-event nerves, to the awards
presentations afterward, to the late-night visit to the diner afterward.
And yet, between my heavy sighs and my
sunken eyes and extra pale complexion that would suggest I was truly fed up, there
were the big, brown eyes of my youngest children, looking into my soul, telling
me unconsciously that they were so happy to be where they were – and it was all
thanks to me.
But before we get into the details of that
night, I should provide some background.
Their mother, MOMC (read my previouspost), abhors the fact that they dance. She never appreciated the arts. She
never wanted to go to plays or concerts. She was even lukewarm about the
movies.
She gritted her teeth when I signed up
Amelia for dance. But she lost her shit when I signed up Andrew as well.
Because, in her cold, sheltered, WASPY New
England upbringing, boys did not dance.
They were teased. They were called “girls” at 10. “fruits” at 12 and
“fags” at 14.
Such a shame.
She couldn’t keep that narrow-minded
mindset out of the conversation with the kids either.
She constantly made fun of dancing school.
She tstill ells my son that she has to take him to “tippy-tap.” When it was
disclosed that for him to compete on a regional level that he would have to
begin taking ballet classes to work on his core strength, she tried to say no –
because it was on her custodial night, and she wasn’t taking him to ballet
class because “no son of mine will embarrass me and be in a ballet class.”
I threatened to take her to court. I’ve
done that several times since the divorce. I’ve even gone far enough to do so
on certain issues and won. I’m not afraid to fight for my kids, no matter the
cost. Even if I can’t afford the fight, I’ll find a way. After all, they’re my
children. I can’t let them down.
I have had some people try to tell me that
kids need to learn disappointment (foreshadowing for tomorrow’s blog) and I
agree that they do. But the disappointment shouldn’t be rooted in the
disinterest and flawed bias of their parent.
I’m sorry driving them 20 minutes each way
to dance class may be deemed inconvenient to MOMC. Suck it up. Be a nurturing
mother for God’s sake.
But, anything she says or does these days
doesn’t surprise me. For someone who was so hell-bent on being a mother four
times in her life, she has very few discernible maternal instincts.
Which has forced me to be both mom and
dad.
When my 17-year-old needed a ride home
from work, she refused to pick him up because he had decided to crash at my
house the night before and didn’t check in with her all day.
“There’s a bus that runs near his work, he
can figure out how to get home on his own,” she said.
I wasn’t close to home, so my dad went and
got him. He was rightly pissed off.
But, that’s a parent sacrificing for his
child AND his grandchild. It wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.
When I was going through my custody
battles with MOMC, she went out of her way to try to take the kids from me. She
made up a story and filed a phony police report that my mother tried to run
over my daughter with her car.
That was quickly dismissed.
She tried to have my oldest pulled out of
the public school he was going to because she insisted he wasn’t a resident of
the town.
Yep, I had to eradicate that one too.
She tried to fight my work schedule,
saying it wasn’t conducive to raising children.
So I changed it.
She even went so far as to insist I was
having an extramarital affair.
You guessed it, the judge found that to be
a frivolous charge as well.
Nevertheless, with Pennsylvania having
some of the most arcane custody rules in the United States, it took five years
for our custody battle to end.
Well… I guess it never really ends until
they are all 18… but it took that long to finally simmer down.
I feel I did very well for myself in
court. I have a brilliant lawyer. I saw her today briefly as a matter of fact
to catch up with her. My relentless desire to be with my children coupled with
her masterful lawyering came up with an end result that was pretty darn good.
It cost me my entire savings and put me
into further debt than I was already in, but it was so worth it.
And now, I do everything, and pay for
everything. MOMC pays for nothing.
I’m not kidding.
Something as simple as a $12 fee for a
class field trip was presented to her by my youngest and she told him, “make
your father pay for it.”
So, $5,000 a year for dance classes. About
$1,000 more for my oldest to play high school baseball. Field trips, health
insurance, iTunes accounts, Xbox accounts, dinner with friends at the local
pizza joint, ice skating, sports equipment you name it, I pay for it.
And what does she pay?
Nothing.
As a matter of fact, she refuses to give
my oldest $5 for lunch at school on the mornings he’s at her house.
So, he has to starve, and raid my fridge
when he gets home afterward.
There’s so much more, but I don’t want to
lose focus on the point of this post here.
See, my situation left me in a tough spot.
I needed a place to bunker down to right my ship.
So, I turned to Mom and Dad.
They took me and my kids in, for what was
supposed to be a temporary situation.
It lasted seven years.
Oh there were plenty of battles. A lot of
getting in each others way. And a ton of concessions made by them in what
should have been relaxing years for them.
But, they gave that up for me… and my
kids.
And although they’ve been wont to tell me
many, many times that I don’t appreciate what they’ve done, I couldn’t disagree
more.
Because who knows where we’d be right now
without them. Certainly not in the position we are in, that’s for sure.
So, back to Saturday. Here’s how it went:
-
Kids
slept at mom’s Friday night because I was out of town for work.
-
I
picked up my youngest son at 10 am to take him to a dance class. My daughter
stayed there.
-
After
dance we went back to my parents’ to pick up my daughter.
-
From
there we went home. They both needed to shower and get ready for the
competition which started at 6, but we needed to be there by 5.
-
Not
my strongest suit, my daughter needed her hair curled and makeup done. So we
went back to my mom’s at 4 so my mom could help.
-
Mom
blew a fuse in the bathroom, slowing the process. We couldn’t leave until 4:45.
The competition was a 30 minute drive.
-
My
daughter alerts me as we are leaving that she forgot her head band (all the
girls have matching head bands for the costume) and we had to go back to my
house to find it.
-
I
text the dance instructor to alert her that we are running a few minutes late.
-
My
daughter runs into the house to get the head band while my youngest and I sit
in the car.
-
Five
minutes later she emerges. Tears streaming down her face. Her makeup ruined.
She can’t find the headband.
-
I go
into the house, tear apart her closet in search of this thin piece of gold material
that frankly is immaterial as far as I’m concerned, but I don’t want to get a
tongue lashing from the instructor.
-
We
never find the head band.
-
Now
5:15, we finally leave my house. I phone the dance instructor to break the head
band news. As a gesture to save my eardrums from being screamed into, I offer
to run to the mall across the street from the hotel where the competition is
being held to buy nine matching gold head bands. I’m told not to worry about
it.
-
On
the way there, I’m so caught up with trying to calm my daughter down that I
drive past the exit off the highway.
-
I go
to the next exit, wait in ungodly traffic, make an illegal U-turn, curse out
every poor driver in my way, and head back to the hotel.
-
My
kids walk in at 6 p.m.
-
Luckily,
our group doesn’t go on for another hour, but that’s the extent of the good
fortune.
-
While
my daughter gets her make-up fixed, the instructr hands me a new pair of pants
for my son – she didn’t like the originals.
-
We
get him dressed… however the pants are too long and the belt is for a kid who
has my waistline.
-
So
the instructor starts hemming the pants, occasionally staring daggers at me. I
try to look away, only to notice that all the girls now have shiny, matching
silver barrettes in their hair. When I ask one of the moms (I am the only dad
in the dressing area – the others are all swilling beers at the hotel bar)
where they came from, she told me someone ran over to the mall and bought them
after I called. Guess I wasn’t capable.
-
We
then try to jerry-rig the oversized belt to my son’s waist. We use both
double-sided theatre tape as well as packing tape. It looks ridiculous on my
opinion, but hey, I’m in enough trouble. I keep my mouth shut.
-
I
check the massive crowd and see MOMC with her husband and youngest son (not
mine). They look thrilled, as always, to be there.
-
The
kids dance. They are awesome. Everyone is happy. I need a beer after my day. I
down four.
-
We go
back for the Awards ceremony. I noticed they were doing things differently this
year. First of all, they were awarding everyone. Seriously? (tomorrow’s blog
Anthony, focus on today).
-
Secondly,
they decided to compare different disciplines and age groups when handing out
the big awards. Also uncool and not fair.
-
Thirdly,
where the hell was MOMC? She left? My daughter said she saw her in her seats
before they performed, but that she didn’t even come over to congratulate them.
Really? You can’t even fake it? To be honest, it definitely tarnished things a
little bit for the kids.
-
We
won our group. It allows us to go to Nationals, if we want. We weren’t nearly
as excited as last year. It just kind of was a deflated balloon. Then we find
out bonus points are awarded to entries from schools who send multiple entries.
Why? So they’ll come back and the organizers can make more money? Lame. Lame.
Lame.
-
My
kids knew right away that something was rotten in the state of Denmark. They
cried foul to their classmates. My youngest was belittled by some boys in the
crazy dance troupe that brought 12,000 kids to compete. (Not relly that many,
but waaaaaaaaaay more than any other school – big surprise that they won so
much eh? And this isn’t sour grapes, but they really weren’t that good. That’s
not a knock on the kids – because they were trying their hearts out – but the
teachers who exploited the rules to their advantage, regardless of talent.
-
I had
to calm down my emotional daughter – who puts her heart and soul into the
rehearsal for these events. She practices at home daily. She gets on her
brother’s case to be better. She is determined. So, she was crushed, because it
was so blatantly obvious what was going on.
-
We
all went to a diner to celebrate our Pyrrhic victory. My son was cranky and
tired and didn’t eat. I was tired myself, it was a hell of a day. Nevertheless,
I was the last one to leave.
-
We
got home at midnight. At 8 a.m. we were back on the road, back to the same hotel
for workshops for the kids.
-
I had
breakfast with the moms. They want to know all the dirt about MOMC. I tell
stories with a smile on my face. But, it’s the umpteenth time I’ve told them.
-
Then,
as if the moms haven’t had enough time to chit chat, we all go to lunch after
the workshops.
-
We
head home. I pack for Long Island. I spend a day in Uniondale, N.Y. watching
hockey, driving both ways. (Worst trip in sports).
-
Today,
I run a couple of morning errands, then fly to Pittsburgh by route of China (it
felt like it) with delays on planes out the wazoo. My tail bone is sore.
But that schedule was gerrymandered for
one reason and one reason only - I will do anything – anything – for my kids.
And I’m not afraid to say, I learned it
from my mom and dad.
Until tomorrow...
