Not since the heyday of Dr. Spock has a generation talked, read and debated parenting styles as much as this one. Every week or so, we have results of another study that shows: children who go to day care are angrier than those who stay home with Mom. Or children who go to day care are better prepared for school and have better social skills, whatever that means. Take your pick. It’s just psychologists creatively spending their grant money.
Baby boomers, who were raised by the book, rebelled against their parents and pretty much all authority, became flower children. They turned on, tuned out and generally mortified their parents. Then they grew up, threw away their lava lamps, beads and tie-died clothes, and basically rejoined mainstream America. They got jobs, got married, moved to the burbs. Their parents breathed a collective sigh of relief, stopped asking themselves where they went wrong and prepared to become grandparents.
Mother’s Day tends to glorify that journey, the transformation of rebellious teens into decent, responsible adults who shower their mothers with chocolate, flowers and Hallmark cards that prompt tears. They care enough to send the very best, we think.
My three 30 somethings have each produced one child and their parenting styles vary widely, so I have little faith in the old axiom that mothers tend to raise their children the way they were raised. I certainly didn’t. I was spoiled rotten, but was expected to be polite to all adults and not engage in behavior that would disgrace the family. I had a nanny until I was nine.
My son and twin daughters, who certainly weren’t spoiled, have grown up to be moral, responsible, caring adults. Their values are traditional, even conservative. I resist the impulse to pat myself on the back for a job well done. I recognize that there’s as much of their father’s influence as mine, and a whole lot of luck besides.
They are the product of two self-employed parents, who worked long hours, but mostly at home. They never had the dubious benefits of day care. We had a series of au pairs, most of whom were from Latin America and had their own traditions of child care. Our favorite was Hilda, a bright, energetic young woman, who had been a schoolteacher in Bolivia. She had gotten divorced, not a popular option in Bolivia, from what I gathered had been an abusive spouse, and she had been forced to leave her two children with her mother there. She spoke little English, but I think my kids benefited enormously from her loving care. We were all sad when she left, but I was happy that she got visas for her two children to come and live in Santa Monica with Hilda’s brother, sister-in-law and their children. I hope they all honor her on Mother’s Day.
My first grandchild, now a rebellious teen, has not had the benefit of a stable, two-parent home, caring nannies, nor consistent teaching. Still, she is a sweet-natured child, struggling with all the insecurities of adolescence, peer pressure and the need for independence without the means to achieve it. I wish her well.
My almost-7-year-old grandson has survived a dozen injuries and illnesses and has benefited from some day care, which prepared him for school, gave him a measure of discipline, curiosity and the sort of social give-and-take that only children often have trouble with. Though both parents work, they spend lots of time with him.
My other daughter has put her career on hold to be a stay-at-home mom. Her baby daughter, now approaching the terrible twos, is shy and outgoing, sweet and spunky, obedient and independent. I think giving up work to raise this child was a no-brainer.
Are any of my kids raising theirs the way they were raised? Not really. Does this make me think I did it wrong? Well, no, but I could have done better. If I had it to do over, would I work less and spend more time with them? Probably. Am I sweating it that their marriages will thrive, that my grandkids survive the whole messy business of growing up? Of course.
Will I brush away a tear again when I read my Mother’s Day cards on Sunday? Well, sure. That is, if they remember to send them.