A hoop legacy
(This column was first published April 2, 2006 in the Oakland Tribune.)
MY FIRST LOVE was basketball, and my dad put up a backboard for me on the farm when I was a kid. Let me rephrase. He constructed a backboard for me and welded it onto a silo. My dad could have been a good engineer had he put his mind to it; that baby was solid.
Most days, I would dribble my basketball, over rocks and a dirt road, from our house to the mill where my dad worked. There was asphalt under the basket, so I could play year round. In the winter, I would play around the rain puddles.
Each time I went to shoot hoops, I would stop and see my dad, who was always busy but always had time for me. Occasionally, I would challenge him to a game of H-O-R-S-E or one-on-one to 11 points. We laughed and made fun of each other’s ability, or lack thereof. In junior high, I turned to wrestling because of my slight stature. I continued doing it for10 years through college.
My dad was a terrific athlete in his time, and was on the track team at the University of Nebraska in his youth. Even though I practiced basketball every day and he never practiced, our games were usually competitive.
I was thinking about that basket a year ago when my dad passed away, last April 10, after a four-year battle with lung cancer. He always thought ofthe little things, whether it was driving his truck behind my cross country-running oldest brother or being a mechanic in my middle brother’s pit crew for his motocross racing.
We never had a lot growing up, yet we had just enough of everything we needed. As an adult, I can see all the sacrifices my parents made for us. There were few frills in my parents’ lives. All their time went into work, church and family.
After my son, Matt, was born, I wanted to put up a backboard in my driveway but never could. The first seven years of my son’s life, we had a downhill driveway leading to the garage. From the bottom, I would have been shooting at an 11-foot basket instead of a 10-footer.
Since my divorce, I have lived in two condos. Putting up baskets over the carport is a no-no. We couldn’t even have a portable backboard because of space. Matt and I were always out playing some kind of sport, whether it was playing catch with a football or baseball or kicking around a soccer ball. I had a few neighbors who would get out of their cars and remind us that we were playing on a driveway that was intended for driving cars. Right. Now get back in your car and go watch TV. Or else your car is liable to get hit by the ball.
Living in a condo, I did what my dad would have done: I improvised. I was smart enough to buy a condo just a few blocks from a large city park. Matt and I would walk the few blocks to the park, taking turns dribbling the ball we shared. Matt and I played endless games of H-O-R-S-E and one-on-one games to 11. Or 15 if I won.
Like my games with my dad, my games with Matt were competitive and filled with laughter. Then we’d walk home together.
Today, the only sport Matt and I play together is golf. It’s something we can play forever, although we don’t play as much as we used to. I cherish those times when we are together and still competing. Even though I should get handicap strokes, we play even up. We’re too competitive to do otherwise.
Someday, Matt will get married and have kids and have a house in the suburbs. I just know he’ll call me someday, asking me to help him put up a basket in his driveway. I’ll make sure to stay in shape for those games with my grandson.
Doug Mead has been a single parent for 11 years. He and his son livetogether in the East Bay.You can e-mail Doug at doug@parentingsolo.com.
Another day to laugh, another chance to fish, with Dad
(First published June 16, 2002 in the Oakland Tribune.)AS A COOL BREEZE tickled the tops of the tall pine trees, a gentle wake started across Mirror Lake, some 8,500 feet above sea level on the western edge of Colorado.
Forty yards away, I watched from the bank as my dad slowly paddled out in an innertube and began crisply waving his fly rod back and forth, the fly at the tip of the line snapping at each turn, until the fly rolled out and rested atop the water.
There wasn't another fisherman around for miles. We had this tiny portion of this glistening lake all to ourselves. I watched in awe, smiling at this wondrous sight. Nearby, my 14-year-old son was baiting his own hook.
What's the big deal? A lot of 73-year-old grandfathers, their middle-aged sons and the third-generation grandsons go fishing in the summer.
But just seven months before, my dad lay near death on a hospital bed after doctors removed a third of his cancerous left lung.
In December 2000, doctors found a spot on his lung from chest X-rays taken after he caught a cold that didn't go away. On Jan. 10, I got the news that it was malignant, and the next day I hastily flew from San Francisco to San Diego to see him after the four-hour surgery. By the time I got there, it was 11 at night and I had to sneak into the hospital, seven hours after the surgery.
There was Dad, this once-healthy and strong-as-an-ox farmer, who labored outdoors for more than 50 years, lying still, white as a ghost. The only way I knew he was alive was by watching his heart monitor. His breathing was agonizingly slow.
His nurse gave me the low-down on the success of the surgery, but the next two days would determine his recovery. I spent three days with him at Scripps Memorial Hospital in Point Loma.
When I looked up, his eyes were open and he was smiling. He painfully tried to speak a few words, but I knew he was just happy his youngest of three sons had finally arrived to be with him in the scariest time of his life. My mom and my two brothers were gone for the night, so I had my dad -- 73 at the time -- all to myself.
I grabbed his hand and squeezed. "How are you feeling?" I asked. Slowly, he said his chest hurt, naturally. He closed his eyes again and dozed off, the morphine drip taking its effect.
The next two days were up-and-down for him. I watched this will-o'- the-wisp of a man brought to his knees by a disease caused by 57 years of smoking. A simple cough to clear his lungs was excruciating for him. I hurt just watching him. An inch-thick tube drained blood from his back.
My mom and my brothers came and went throughout the day. While others in the intensive care unit seemed morbid and saddened by their tragedies, my family chose to laugh and be excited at the prospects of my dad's recovery. I'm sure some people must have thought we were insensitive or even cruel, but the laughter was brought on by the knowledge that we would see our dad and husband for another day.
In the week that I had to prepare myself for the worst, I had made my peace. Somehow, I always knew my dad's horrible habit would lead to this. If cancer was to take him, I had 42 awesome years with a great dad. He was always there for us three boys, whether watching all of us in 4-H, my oldest brother running track, my middle brother racing motorcycles or me wrestling. No one sat near my dad when I wrestled, because his voice boomed across the gymnasium: "Come on, Doug! Pin him!"
Everyone who knows Ted Mead knows he is a man of faith who lives a simple life. He isn't preachy; he just tries to live every day with integrity. He was caring and considerate of others, always friendly, even though he preferred keeping to himself.
If I had any reservations about him dying, it was that my teen-age son wouldn't have nearly enough time to get to know my dad the way his family and friends did.
He wouldn't leave a lot of money or a business legacy behind, but he would leave behind a life that few could criticize or question. He was a good husband, father and grandfather, a good friend, a good employer, a good employee.
Dad's recovery was slow, made even more difficult because he had knee replacement surgery a month before, making walking painful.
I was stuck hundreds of miles away and unable to visit with him as I wanted to. I set my sights on August, when my son, Matt, and I would fly to Colorado to fish with my dad. I took a chance that he would be strong enough. It was a tradition we had started seven years before. Three generations of Meads fishing on a crystal-clear lake high in the Rockies.
In late July, the doctor gave a hesitant OK for Dad to drive with my mom to Colorado, a 14-hour trek to be made in a two-day stretch.
Matt and I flew and drove for two days to reach our destination, my aunt's rustic cabin in a canyon near Gunnison. When we arrived, I hugged my dad tightly and cried, a happy cry.
The next day, we rose early and went fishing. Just the men. Dad wasn't strong enough to be able to fish by himself. It didn't matter to me whether I caught a fish. I was watching my dad stroke his fly rod back and forth and cast on a ripple made by a rising trout.
When he pulled in his first rainbow trout a few minutes later, I cheered from the bank. "Way to go, Pop." Ten inches may not win any prizes, but to me, he was a trophy.
By the time we left five days later, my dad led the way with more than 20 fish caught; eight kept for our Friday feast. Matthew caught 11 and we kept six. I brought up the rear with nary a fish in my creel.
It didn't matter. In my eyes, fishing with my dad and my son was the limit in life. My dad was alive and fishing with us again.
When we left the next morning, I looked my dad in the eye and told him, "You're a terrific dad, and I love you." He told me I was a pretty terrific son myself. We embraced tightly. I didn't want to let go. I was crying, and this time, he was, too.
As I drove off, I said a silent prayer. "Please God, can I go fishing with my dad, just one more time? And maybe next year, I can catch a fish, too?"
Doug Mead can be reached by e-mail at doug@parentingsolo.com.
Lasting friendships are special
(First published October 3, 2004 in the Oakland Tribune.)
BRYAN LEK AND my son Matt sat next to each other in kindergarten, and they've been best buds ever since.
When the boys were in second grade, our families made a mutual decision to transfer them to another private school, with the caveat they be allowed to have the same teacher.
Their friendship even lasted through Bryan's family move from Concord to Pleasanton when the two were in seventh grade. The two are seniors now (Matt at Clayton Valley and Bryan at Foothill), and often go to the movies together or double date.
Along the way, Bryan has had dozens of sleepovers at my house, and Matt has been a guest at Bryan's an equal number of times. I don't know how many birthday presents we've bought for Bryan, sometimes after the fact.
For two summers, I dropped Matt off at a golf course in San Ramon to play with Bryan. I used to have Mondays off, and I often joined the boys for a round. I got to see them laugh and giggle their way around the course, the way only boys can do.
Relationships come and go in life. Bryan and Matt have had their fights and reunions, but they are still friends because they choose to be. Lasting friendships are always special, and the Leks fit in that category for Matt and me.
Bryan and Matt have gone to summer camp together in the Santa Cruz mountains. Bryan always went with Matt on his youth group trips with our church, skiing, camping and going to the beach. Matt has been to Bryan's church many times, often being one of the few white kids in the Japanese-Christian church. One of the things I'm proudest of with my son is he has never seen skin color with Bryan, and vice versa. Sports, girls, cars and money are their bond. Laughter and video games are the bridge between their childhood and today.
I occasionally hear them talking on their cell phones, laughing. I smile when they make plans to hang out on a Saturday night together.
At one time, they talked about being roommates in college, but their college desires have since grown apart. Still, their lives are so much alike in the way they react to situations. I have often wondered if one day they would be each other's best men in their weddings. Or godparents to each other's children.
This friendship is equally important to me. Bryan's parents, Ed and Sandy Lek, have remained my friends long after my divorce (for many years, Sandy worked with my ex-wife). The Leks and I have had countless talks about our boys as they've grown up. This summer, Sandy and I reminisced about how much our boys have matured. They both shave and have acne. They're almost men now. I told her how much it meant to me that the boys have remained buddies.
More than that, the Leks have offered Matt something invaluable: They offer a stable family. I firmly believe that children of divorce need as many stable surroundings as possible, from extended family, to their neighborhood, to school, to church, sports or whatever. It is easier to replicate stability if you've experienced it firsthand. Much of Matt's life revolves around chaos, staying one week with his mom, the next with me. Ed and Sandy have shown Matt what a loving marriage is like, something I can't show him as a single parent of 10 years.
Matt gets to see how two brothers (Aaron Lek is an eighth grader at Hart Middle School in Pleasanton) interact, and how kids talk to parents when both Mom and Dad are present at the same time. He gets to sit at a dinner table with more than just the two of us.
Matt needs to see that relationships can last as long as you work at them, that they are not just temporary. Kids of divorce often see parents' lives as nothing more than short-term. The Leks have been a constant in Matt's life.
Matt told me once that Bryan was a good influence on him. When Matt tells me he's with Bryan, I breathe a sigh of relief. That's the kind of friend we all need.
Doug Mead has been a single parent for 10 years, and he and Matt live together in the East Bay. You can e-mail him at doug@parentingsolol.com.
Please don't show your boxers to the world
(This column was first published August 22, 2004 in the Oakland Tribune.)
MY 17-YEAR-OLD SON, Matt, and I were golfing one hot Saturday evening this summer. The conversation of clothes came up in an abrupt way.
"Dad, untuck your shirt. And your shorts are way too tight. You need to buy some baggy shorts. And wear a belt. You're embarrassing me."
Golf for us at our local muni course is casual. Sometimes I wear untucked T-shirts, but on this day I was wearing a polo shirt. My shorts came down to my knees. Not the hot pants of my youth.
"Son, do I tell you how to dress? Do I tell you to tuck your shirt in? Or to pull up your drawers when they're dangling around your calves? No? Then don't tell me how to dress."
A few weeks later, he came home with a pair of khakis he had purchased for work with his birthday money. Matt is thin as a rail at 5-foot-10 and maybe 135 pounds. He was so proud of his new 34-inch waist pants. I teased him that they'd be around his ankles if he didn't wear a belt.
"Dad, you don't know how I wear my pants."
"Son, I wear a size 32, and if you have a 30-inch waist, it's a stretch. Those will never fit you."
"Dad, just leave me alone."
A few minutes later, he had already cut off the tag when he read the size: 36.
I laughed. "Did you even try them on in the store?"
"Noooo."
Undaunted and unwilling to give in to my suggestion that he take them back and get the right size, he washed them. The next day, he wore them to work, with rubber bands around his ankles to keep the cuffs from scraping the ground.
"They shrunk pretty good. I think they fit OK."
He didn't ask what I thought.
They looked like they were four sizes too big. I kept my mouth shut. But on the inside I chuckled.
Matt occasionally ribs me about my lack of fashion sense. I have about 10 wool suits and another dozen sport coats. Matching shirts and maybe 40 ties hang in my closet. My belts match my shoes. My shoes match the slacks, all with snazzy cuffs and pleats. All my suit pants have buttons for braces. I would never be caught dead wearing clip-on suspenders.
Shopping for Matt used to be easy. He went to a private school for eight years, and he wore uniforms every day. Drab tan, light blue and white (with ketchup stains) were all he knew. But in eighth grade, he transferred to a public school and discovered jeans, T-shirts, colors, stripes and patterns.
Until two years ago, I helped Matt pick out his clothes. But last summer, Matt got a job, and with his newfound wealth, the Ross, TJ Maxx and Marshalls stores no longer met his requirements. But my budget didn't allow for Echo, Abercrombie or Hollister.
So I gave him money for school clothes, drove him to the mall and sat in chairs reading while he shopped.
Now that he makes his own money, he is free to buy his own clothes, and he can drive himself to the mall.
Still, my prim and proper little boy sometimes looks like a cross between a hip-hopper and a country club golfer -- like most other teen-agers.
At his age, I looked like every other farmer in high school. I gained clothing independence when I went away to college and came back preppy, with turned up polo shirts and button-down collars. Matt is a senior in high school and a year away from going to college. I see that same independence in him.
Matt doesn't look as weird as other kids I see. He doesn't have any body piercings, purple hair or tattoos, so I don't fuss about clothes. I have two rules for school: wear a belt and don't show your boxers to the world.
Although that's a little difficult when you're wearing pants six sizes too big.
Doug Mead can be e-mailed at doug@parentingsolo.com.
Choosing the right college
(This column was first published October 16, 2004 in the Oakland Tribune.)
'SO MATT, what did you like about Arizona State University?"
"Nothing. I hated it. I don't want to go here. I liked everything about the University of Arizona better," my 17-year-old son said.
We had just finished a two-hour tour of the ASU campus in Tempe last month. Correction -- he did like one thing: the food court at the student union.
"Dad, you just put money on my credit card every month, and I can eat all I want." Taco Bell and Burger King were among the choices. Where are the fruits and vegetables?
Matt is looking for a school at which he can study landscape architecture, possibly play golf and be near my family, which means a college in Arizona.
Just about every college-bound high school student must contemplate such questions. While it's my job to help him get information to make the choice, ultimately, Matt must decide where he will be happiest and most successful.
Right now, he wants to go to the University of Arizona, which is where I went to school. Every father thinks about his son going to his alma mater. You dream of watching the Arizona-ASU football game on TV together every fall. Matt even asked about being a legacy at my fraternity.
Two of his cousins plan to go to school at U of A. Matt toured the U of A campus in April and came back in love with the school.
I want Matt to choose where he wants to go to school. Even though I went to
the U of A, if he wanted to go to ASU, I'd do everything possible to help him.
What is Matt thinking? How much does he tell me? How much influence do I have on him? What if he meets a woman and wants to stay closer to home? What if I don't agree with his college choice? Who decides? Can we afford it? He has until the spring to decide where to apply.
The main issue is finances. The estimated cost is $18,000 a year for out-of-state tuition and expenses and roughly $12,000 if he stayed in state for public schools such as Cal Poly-San Luis Obispo. His mom and I have agreed to split the cost.
How does a single parent pay for even part of the cost? It's tough, and it will mean work on both Matt's and my part. We'll have to apply for scholarships and financial aid. He may have to work part-time. I've started a side business on weekends to help with the expenses. And no, I'm not one of those parents who saved money over the years to pay for college. I rarely have any leeway in my monthly budget for anything other than everyday expenses.
Back at ASU, we saw an academic adviser that afternoon. The adviser had so much useful information for us.
She told us that Matt's chosen field, landscape architecture (golf course designer), entails general studies for two years and then two years in the professional college -- if he's admitted.
It's competitive. Anything less than a 3.25 grade point average and he has no chance. He would have to put in 20 hours a week or so in the lab working on computers and projects.
We left her office with our heads spinning, but now he knows what's expected of him.
Then there are the dreaded SAT's. Matt blew off the first test last spring and didn't score as high as he needs to ensure his acceptance. He's taking the test again next month, and this time he says he's going to study.
Next up is finding a golf-course architect for him to talk to so he knows what to expect from a career standpoint. How much money will he make? How long will he have to work for a company before he can go off on his own? Will he travel a lot?
Sometimes at night, I sneak into his room while he's sleeping and softly whisper Arizona's fight song in his ear. "Bear down, Arizona, Bear down red and blue. Bear down, Arizona, beat the tar out of ASU!"
It's so hard to sing it softly and without horns and cymbals, though.
Writer's note: My how times have changed. This spring, my son is making plans to attend a community college in Phoenix next fall with the intention of enrolling at Arizona State in the fall 2007 semester. I'm happy for him.Doug Mead has been a single parent for 11 years, and he and Matt live together in the East Bay. You can e-mail him at doug@parentingsolo.com
Car hunt is a science – until you find 'The One'
(This column was first published August 8, 2004 in the Oakland Tribune.)
THERE IT WAS, sitting in the driveway of an Oakley neighborhood one Saturday in January.
It was everything my son, Matt, had dreamed of for his first car. A blue 1994 Chevy Camaro. Mag wheels, a T-top, a sleek look. It looked fast.
And it had everything I wanted: low mileage.
We got out and quickly looked it over before knocking on the door to see the owner.
The owner must have liked our looks because he let us drive it without him. I gave the keys to Matt.
"Let's take it for a spin, son." His eyes glistened.
"Listen for rattles. Listen for pings in the engine. Feel for shakes," I told him.
We came to a stop sign with an empty country road ahead of us. Then the words every boy dreams his dad will say: "Floor it, son." We shot down the road and hit 60 in nothing flat.
This baby was hot, and Matt wanted it. But there was one problem. Matt had limited funds, about $500 less than what the owner was asking. And the asking price was really fair.
We sat on the curb across from the owner's house, talking dad to son, setting our strategy.
We'd be honest with him and tell him what our maximum was and that the money was coming from his savings.
We made our presentation. Then, silence. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he asked Matt, "Do you really want this car?"
My son smiled, his teeth finally free from braces. "Oh, yeah. It's a really nice car. I'll take good care of it," he said, hopefully.
"OK, you got a deal."
That night, Matt followed me home in his new car, proud as can be. On the way, he stopped and popped off the top, even though it was a little chilly.
The next day, I asked him if he wanted help washing and waxing it. I understood when he told me he wanted to do it by himself.
Car shopping with my teenage son brought back memories of my first car, a (sort of) green 1971 Oldsmobile Cutlass. The "Gutless Cutlass," my brother called it.
I bought it my sophomore year from the local Chevy dealership. I paid $1,400, with money saved from working summer jobs and from the sale of my 4-H livestock. On the drive home, it died on a lonely country road. When I got home, I washed and waxed it.
Matt's into cars. We'll pass a car, and he'll notice some detail that only car buffs notice. He watches car shows on TV; his favorite class was auto mechanics; his Web site history is filled with car places. He's always telling me what my 8-year-old Jeep needs.
He got his first job last summer as a busboy. I drove him 20 minutes each way several times a week while he got experience and saved money for his dream car, a Mitsubishi Eclipse. I came to treasure those 20-minute drives, even at 10 o'clock on a Saturday night.
Twenty minutes with a teenager is an eternity to a dad.
By the time he started his junior year last September, he had landed a job closer to home at another restaurant. I still drove him, but it was only five minutes.
His savings started adding up. At Christmas, he knew his purchase time was coming. He asked all of our relatives to give him cash en lieu of a present.
I couldn't wait to give him a hand with his car shopping. This was every dad's day in the sun: My son wanted my car knowledge, what little of it there is. He needed me.
He gave me computer printouts of car ads he had found online.
"Too much." "Too far." "Piece of junk." "Piece of cake." With any luck, this car search thing could drag on for, oh, months!
It lasted about a month. I tried to tell him how important it was to be patient and wait for the right car. Don't be impulsive. Get a good buy. Be in control of the situation; don't be controlled. That all went out the window at the sight of that hot blue Camaro.
It's what my dad taught me, what his dad taught him. And what Matt will one day teach his son.
Doug Mead has been a single parent for 10 years. You can e-mail him at doug@parentingsolo.com.
Laughter and survival -- a father's legacy
(First published September 4, 2004 in the Oakland Tribune.)WHEN MY SON, Matt, and I were renting a car at the Ontario airport, the clerk told us we could have a convertible for an extra $10 a day. The smile on Matt's face gave me his answer.
It was a mini-vacation, and I decided to splurge. We quickly put the top down. For all of two minutes. A temperature of 106 will do that to you.
“Now we know why the convertible was so cheap," Matt said, laughing at the thought of having the top down and the air conditioner blowing full-blast.
It was a four-hour drive to my parents' house. For five days, we would visit my family. The road from Ontario to Yuma, Ariz., where I grew up, was desolate. Before long my lanky 17-year-old was curled up in a fetal position in the passenger seat.
I turned off the radio and enjoyed the solitude, until the weekend's magnitude hit me. I wiped away tears as I drove.
This was not like any of the journeys I've made home since leaving 25 years ago. I was dealing with emotions I did not want to face. My dad has been battling lung cancer for the past 31/2 years. He had surgery for colon cancer in June, and now has two new malignant tumors near his windpipe.
Once home, the requisite hugs began. When I got to my dad, I embraced him tightly and held him in my arms, the way he used to hold me as a boy. He grabbed me back with the strength of his many years of farm labor.
I whispered in his ear, "I love you, Pop." I began to cry again. "You've been a great dad to me," I said, looking him in the eye.
"I love you, too, son."
He had decided not to start chemotherapy until after our visit, and I planned to go with him to see the oncologist.
My dad is slowly dying, and we are all feeling his pain. It may be six months, it may be three years. The strapping farmer I had grown up admiring is seeing his body destroyed by the ravages of 55 years of smoking. He coughed much of the weekend.
While Matt was off visiting cousins, I spent as much time with my dad as possible. The Olympics were on the agenda, and we watched whatever appealed to him.
This isn't one of those stories lamenting what my dad did not do for me. He has been a model dad from the day my oldest brother was born 52 years ago. He's been a great husband to my mom for 53 years.
My parents rarely missed any events we three boys participated in. It wasn't unusual for my dad to drive a group of us 10 hours to a wrestling meet.
I learned to be a dad from my dad. He taught me the word "commitment." I learned a solid work ethic from him, which I passed on to Matt, who worked three jobs this summer.
The one thing my family possesses that keeps us going through Dad's illness is our ability to laugh. When we all got together at my brother's house, laughter rang out, from my dad, the oldest at 76, to my 11-month-old nephew, Brady.
Matt, too, has a great sense of humor. Through the turmoil of his mother's and my divorce 11 years ago, to living so far away from relatives, he has become a survivor.
I told him how much I appreciated his constant wit, even if I did not always laugh out loud. He laughed and reminded me that I am not funny.
On our last vacation day, I stopped my dad outside the hospital. I grabbed him again and embraced him. "I love you, Dad, and I'll always be there for you." Just as he was always there for me. Just as I will always be there for Matt.
When Matt and I got home shortly after midnight, I was exhausted.
"I love you, son."
"I love you, too, Dad."
It was the first time I'd heard those words in months. I didn't push my luck with a hug.
Doug Mead has been a single parent for 11 years and has written about single-parent issues for several magazines. He can be e-mailed at doug@parentingsolo.com.
Parents have to be Hogan's heroes
(This column was first published July 24, 2004 in the Oakland Tribune.)
MY TEENAGE SON woke me at 3:30 a.m. "Dad, can you help me? The puppy threw up, and I need help cleaning it up."
What Matt really wanted was for me to clean up, by myself, the mess of our newest roommate, Hogan, a 12-week-old black Labrador mix. Hogan was, no doubt, scared his first night in his new home.
When I walked into Matt's bedroom, I saw that Hogan had thrown up on the leather bean-bag chair.
"How are we going to clean this up, Dad?" Matt said.
Dad to the rescue.
"Let's get it into the shower and rinse it off." This meant me standing in the shower with the chair, followed by Matt daintily drying it off with a towel.
When we got back to the bedroom, the puppy had made another type of mess, this time on the rug. "Ooh," Matt moaned. "Can you clean it up, Dad?"
I just laughed. No way, son. This comes with owning a puppy. Yesterday was fun, this morning it's work. I could see and hear Matt's frustration. I could see the scared look of this innocent puppy peering up at us, thinking, "What'd I do?"
Ten minutes later we were back in our beds. Three hours later, I pulled Hogan out of his crate to take him outside, in hopes he would pee. "That's a good boy." One for three.
Matt decided he wanted to look for a puppy on his 17th birthday, earlier this month. A local pet store was hosting a pet adoption day, in conjunction with the local SPCA.
We initially had a slightly different plan for finding a puppy. We wanted a puppy we could train from the start, one that wouldn't shed and would be about 40 pounds when fully grown. And preferably a female.
That all went out the window when Matt saw Hogan. Cute with floppy ears
beats logical thinking every time.
The puppy looked like he'd grow to about 65 pounds, Labs shed like crazy, and she was a he. At least he was a puppy.
"Isn't he cute, Dad? I'll take good care of him," Matt pleaded.
We decided to get our dog from the pound to save a life and to save me a few bucks. Besides, the two best dogs I've owned have been mutts.
For two weeks, we scoured the want ads and various pounds. When we found Hogan, an SPCA volunteer asked us questions, trying to ensure we would be a good match. She was worried that our condo wouldn't be adequate for a dog of this size. She wanted to know we would love him and not dump him at the first sign of trouble.
OK, time to sell Club Mead. We told her that we live next to a greenbelt, that we would walk him twice a day, that we would take him to the nearby dog park a couple times a week and to the water maybe once a month.
"I'll take him fishing with me," Matt boasted.
Then the closer: "And we already know the first year means lots of chewing, and he's going to shed," I added.
Sold.
After doling out $100 in fees, which included neutering, and another $100 for puppy stuff, we set about making a home for our furry roommate. We put together his dog crate with fluffy puppy pillows for him to sleep. We showed him where his water and food dish would be.
The puppy met us as Dozer (think sleepy) and walked out Hogan, after the famous golfer, Ben. Matt's a golf fanatic, and the week before he had brought home his newest purchase, a Ben Hogan club.
I think that pets are a prelude to having children. They're a warm-up for real life, and they teach kids responsibility.
Teenagers sometimes act selfishly as they learn to be independent of parents, but Matt will have to be selfless for a while. Hogan is counting on it. He's just a puppy, learning how to be a dog. Sort of like Matt learning how to be a man.
Some day, Matt and I will look back at that shower scene and laugh. Maybe when he has a child and has to get up in the middle of the night, or maybe when he gets a puppy with his son.
Just as Hogan relies on Matt, Matt relies on me for helping him sort through life. The day after the early morning crisis, Matt thanked me in his own way.
"I never would have thought of the shower," he said. I just smiled.
Doug Mead has been a single dad for 10 years and has written about single-parent issues for several magazines. He can be e-mailed at doug@parentingsolo.com.
Boys need encouragement from Mom
(This column first appeared in the Oakland Tribune on Nov. 13, 2005.)
CHILDREN SOMETIMES grow up to be just like their parents, even if they don't know it or want to be like them. They watch their parents as they grow up and take on the qualities they see, good and bad.
All the various relationships are important between parents and children: mother-son, father-son, mother-daughter, father-daughter. Children need both parents to teach them certain qualities necessary for adulthood.
People often say that a little girl wants to grow up and marry a man just like dad. Or the bride-to-be is warned to watch the relationship between the mom and her son before she marries him.
But what happens in divorce when one parent is not there to provide that part of the relationship that is vital to the child's growth and maturity?
For the past 11 years as a single parent, I've seen two relationships, in particular, that are difficult: moms and sons and dads and daughters. That opposite-sex relationship may be missing because of the breakup.
Parents often ask how to teach their child certain characteristics when the other parent isn't around or isn't responsible. A mom might ask, "How do I teach my son to respect me when he hears his dad bad-mouthing me all the time?"
I occasionally have to remind my son Matt not to talk disrespectfully toward his mother. If I allowed that, I believe he might someday end up treating his wife the same way.
I've been fortunate because Matt, now 18, and I can relate to what he's going through in every phase of his maturation. I have friends who are dads who I turn to for guidance. The wives of some of my guy friends have been unwitting accomplices in teaching my son the importance of hugging — by squeezing the daylights out of him when we visited.
I brought up parent-child relationships in this column two weeks ago by focusing on Emerson Eggerichs, author of "Love and Respect" (Integrity, $20). In particular, he had strong opinions when it came to moms and sons.
"It's huge as they move into preadolescence," says Eggerichs, who has raised a son and a daughter with his wife, Sarah. "Women understand how a father should treat a little girl. A mother will coach the father: 'Tell her she looks nice.' She knows what a girl is feeling instinctively. But they haven't told mothers how to react with boys. (Boys) need respect talk. 'I really respect the
way you did such and such.' 'I appreciate the fact you're going to be a man of honor.' It's an effective way (of communicating). 'You know what I love about you ...' (Boys) drink that in."
I can relate to that, because Matt loves it when I give him a pat on the back. He recently called me to tell me he got an A on an English paper, and I congratulated him and promised him dinner (the way to a teenage boy's heart).
Eggerichs says that women can learn how to relate to their sons as they become men, even without Dad around.
"Definitely. It's apart from the marriage issue," he says. "Parents often say 'This ("Love and Respect" communication skills) applies to my children.' You've got to write something for parents and children. I'm speaking to a high school group this week. Focus (a family magazine) asked me to write about 'smelly boys, icky girls.' It's love and respect between sexes at a young age. People have missed how little boys process their world. They have to understand the respect world.
"It's why boys gravitate toward male figures. Their needs aren't getting met elsewhere."
That's why it's important for boys to be involved in such activities as Boy Scouts and team sports.
And Eggerichs had a stern warning for moms "emasculating" their sons by trying to keep them from normal male tendencies.
"Mothers instinctively care for their sons," he says. "When the lightbulbs come on for their sons, women understand. They know their little boys are good little boys. But if they keep going in that direction (to think like a woman and not as a man), he's going to be divorced."
I try to give my son a strong male influence and tell him what I think is right and wrong about certain issues. But he hears with his eyes, too. He's watching me to see what choices I make.
Who would he learn from if I wasn't around?
Doug Mead has been a single parent for 11 years and lives in the East Bay. You can e-mail him at doug@parentingsolo.com.
Searching for truths on their own level
(This first appeared in the Oakland Tribune on Nov. 13, 2005.)
LIKE THE OTHER 350 participants at a recent Christian writers’ conference in the mountains above Santa Fe, N.M., I was there to land a book contract with a publisher.
I took classes on contract negotiations, picking an agent and pitching a book to editors. I was happy that three publishers asked me to send them my manuscript. Mission accomplished.
What more could I get out of the five-day conference? Plenty. When I failed to get a spot in a class called “Get Published Now!” I was irked at having to settle for my second choice,“Writing for the Post-Modern World.”
But a funny thing happened on my way to sulking in class. I learned something. The teacher was Jerome Daley of North Carolina, a post-modernist who calls himself a life coach. He was engaging and challenging, but most importantly he let us class members share our experiences about our relationships with people who are in their 20s and 30s.
Most of us were baby boomers trying to better understand the post-moderns. And many were like me, the parent of a post-modern child, my son Matt being a freshman in college. These are people who dress, speak and communicate so differently than we do.
Last summer, I wrote in this space about what it was like to watch Matt walk away from his faith after spending 17 years, some 765 Sundays, in church. Talking about truth is sometimes exasperating with a teenager. And finding relevance in my world is probably just as difficult for him.
I have a heart for this generation because I’ve seen the devastation of divorce on a culture that didn’t ask for their parents to split up. I was the son of parents who were married for 54 years. My son may never know what that
kind of commitment looks like.
For lack of a better word, this generation is pissed at the lot they’ve received, and they’re not going to take it any more. They look at my generation and the one that preceded mine, and they want more out of life than they can comprehend in a 70-hour work week, a BMW in the driveway and a $4,000 mortgage on a house in a yuppy neighborhood that requires that 70-hour work week to keep it. Relationships? Who’s got time?
The post-moderns want something that us old-timers failed miserably on: community, reliability and authenticity. Until we realize our failures, we may never get more than a cursory “hey” and “see ya.” For many adults, it may take a sincere apology for our actions and a change of course in how we live our lives before we can rebuild those relationships.
Do we have the guts to say, “Son, I’m sorry your mom and I divorced and caused you so much pain. Can you forgive me?” More importantly, can we hold it together while they watch and see how genuine we are in wanting a real relationship? Canwe take legitimate steps in trying to understand this generation, instead of trying to change them into replicas of us?
Can you blame them for being mad at our generation? Can you blame them for not being respectful of others or not being able to communicate on a level that doesn’t include yelling and screaming? Can we blame them for wanting instant gratification?
Can we blame them for their famous line “Whatever,” in response to something they see as injust? “Whatever” is their indifference to what they see as hypocrisy from us.
“Don’t talk to me with that tone. You will respect me ‘cuz I’m your dad.” Aren’t you the same dad who used to yell at my mom?
Oops. My bad.
Until we can hunker down and reach them at their level, we’ll never understand this next generation. It isn’t our job to change them into what we think they should be, it’s to help them find their purpose in life, in their own way.
After the conference, I have renewed hope in reaching my son in a meaningful spiritual way. But it’ll have to be on his playing field. He probably won’t find the meaning of life in the four walls of a traditional church. He may find it in a coffee shop or in a city park with others his age.
Who knows, maybe he’ll invite me into his sanctuary.
Doug Mead has been a single parent for 11 years. You can e-mail him at doug@parentingsolo.com.
Mama was a special friend
(This first appeared in the Oakland Tribune on Nov. 27, 2006)Mama was always my son’s favorite when he was a little boy. Wherever Matthew went, Mama was sure to be with him. Watching TV? Mama was beside him. Riding in the car? Mama was next to him. Sleeping? You could open the door to his bedroom, and he’d have his arm wrapped around Mama. Over the years, Mama got old quickly. She needed a few stitches to Keep her innards from bursting through her skin. One time, her eye popped off, and we had to run to the store to get a new one and glue it back on. After several years of being carted everywhere, Mama’s once furry skin began balding in places. At one point, I secretly tried to replace Mama but got caught and had to put her back.By now, you have realized that Mama is not Matthew’s mother. Mama is A stuffed gray bunny rabbit he got when he was about 3 or 4, probably for Easter. After his mother and I divorced when Matthew was 7, Mama was his constant companion. It didn’t matter if he had pajamas that went back and forth between our houses. The only thing that mattered was whether Mama was in tow. I can remember doubling back to my house to pick up Mama so that he would have her at his mother’s house after the drop-off. I knew he could not bear the thought of being without Mama.Mama was to Matthew what the blanket was to Linus in Peanuts. She couldcomfort Matthew in a way that neither his mother nor I could during those rough times. No doubt, he cried on Mama’s soft skin dozens, if not hundreds, of times. Mama was always there for Matthew. For several years, she was his best friend. He needed something to take back and forth between our houses. When it came time to retire Mama, I made sure she stayed at my house. I did not want her to end up in the junk yard, though the thought of her being picked up by some hungry, cold child was appealing.
Some day, I’ll pull her out and reminisce with Matt, as he’s now called at age 18. It’s been several years since he’s thought about her, I’m sure. I wonder, what kind of memories will he have of her? Will they be happy? Or dark? Is there some secret in her stuffed head that his mother and I are not privvy to? Possibly. I can assure you that over the years, Mama never shared a secret. Her lips were zipped. I know. I shook her a few times, trying to get a few tidbits out of her. She was a tough interrogation, but she never divulged any secrets she shared with her best friend. Mama will never know how much I appreciated her over the years. When I could not comfort my son, I knew I could find Mama and stuff her into His arms and he would soon be better. Many a night, I saw him nod off to sleep holding her safely in his arms. Many a time in the car, I glanced back in the mirror to see Matthew asleep using Mama as a pillow. Your child may have a comfort animal or blanket that he wants to have With him at all times. It may seem childish to you, but it’s important that you allow your children to keep those critters nearby, especially during trying times. Grieving is always easier with a friend nearby. Friends that never speak make great listeners. They will grow out of it. At worst, you may have to pry it out of his Arms when he goes to college. I recently found Mama sitting in a dark closet in my son’s room, Covered with books and board games. I pulled her out and gave her a new home. I debated whether to put her on Matt’s windowsill, where she could feel the warm sunshine every day, or on his bed, her traditional spot. I settled on his bed. Mama was home again. The only thing missing is The little boy. He grew up and moved out of the house. Doug Mead has been a single parent for 11 years. You can e-mail him At doug@parentingsolo.com.
Homemade presents are the best kind
(This originally appeared Dec. 11, 2006 in the Oakland Tribune.)
The other day, I dropped a coffee cup on the steps of my condo on my way to work. Coffee splattered everywhere. It was part of a matching set and I had 11 others. No big deal.
But had it been my "Dad" cup, I think I would have cried. I could see the mail man bringing a package to my doorstep. "What's wrong, mister?" "My coffee cup broke," I'd say, pointing to the ground with ceramic shards everywhere." "OK, mister, gotta go. Got lots of other houses to see, houses with good little boys." And off he'd scurry.
In that coffee cup lies a valuable lesson my son learned from me: Give something that person needs or desires. Matt saw me drinking coffee every day. What better way to share his love for me then to see me drinking coffee out of my "Dad" cup.
It's easy to remember your favorite presents you've received at Christmas over the years. For me, it was the Tonka truck, the bicycle my dad hid until all the presents had been opened, the mini-bike that never seemed to run or my beloved German shepherd in high school.
When you become a parent, you remember the gifts you gave to your kids. I can remember sitting up one Christmas eve putting together my Matt's first bicycle. I was up til midnight, and then when I was done, I was flabbergasted that I had a few extra parts.
Since my divorce 12 years ago, some of my Christmases with Matt have actually been on Christmas Eve or Dec. 26, or whenever. Most of those years, he's chosen to be with him mom on Christmas day because it's more familylike for him (she has a younger son from her second marriage). Plus it lasts longer than 10 minutes.
The actual presents are not the impetus in my household. It's the Christ in Christmas that we celebrate. But with kids that sometimes is hard to accomplish. The thought of waking up Christmas morning and realizing there's new presents under the tree is magical.
I've always believed in limits with presents, so Matt sometimes gets only one or two presents from me. Such as the year I got him a snowboard, or the time he got golf clubs. We try to spread out the love by stuffing stockings, but that's gotten old with Matt.
There's only so many pairs of socks and Reese's cups you can stuff into a stocking.
I've tried to emphasize to Matt the importance of giving. Every year, we adopt a kid from our church's angel tree and go off together to shop for the child's wish list. One year, we bought roller blades, while other years were simply warm clothes, such as a coat. Giving comes in different forms.
Still, you can't help but remember your favorite presents from your kids. For
me, it is an orange coffee cup that says "Dad" on it. At least once a week, I
hold cup in hand with warm coffee and I think back to the time when I received
it, and I smile.
He was maybe 10, so I've had a good eight years or so of drinking coffee out of that cup at least once a week. At the time, his little heart was tickled that I enjoyed my cup so much. I could see him smile every time he saw me drinking from it while reading the morning paper on a Saturday morning. I would save it to use until he was with me.
In recent years, my presents from my son have taken on two forms, either something he made or golf equipment. Either way, I'm happy, but particularly when Matt makes something for me.
A few years ago, he had an art class his sophomore year in high school that he dearly loved. In class, he made me a stained-glass trout. (Turns out, I gave him the money for the materials!) I can still hear the glee in his voice as he detailed how he made it.
You see, Matt and I have fished together dozens of times in the mountains of Colorado. It was precious for him to think of those times we had together. It wasn't a bass or a catfish we might have caught in Northern California. He was remembering Mirror Lake near Gunnison, Colo. Perhaps he was remembering fishing with my dad for the last time the year before.
When I get presents like the trout, I let Matt know how much I appreciate his efforts. It isn't the cost involved. It's the heart. I can remember when he bought me the cup, him saying something like "It didn't cost much Dad. Maybe I should get you something else."
No son, this is perfect. For the rest of your life, this is the kind of presents I want from you. When I'm old and maybe living in a seniors' home, I want to be drinking my coffee from that orange cup that says "Dad" on it.
"My son gave this to me, 40 years ago. Best present I ever got." With the little stained-glass trout shimmering in my window behind me.
Doug Mead has been a single parent for 11 years. E-mail him at doug@parentingsolo.com.
A diamond is something worth waiting for
(This originally appeared Jan. 22, 2006 in the Oakland Tribune.)
In the Academy Award-winning movie “Cold Mountain,” Aida watches as a man she barely knows goes off to fight for the South in the beginning of the Civil War. As the man, Inman, marches off with hismates, she makes a promise to him: “I’ll wait for you.”
The memories of their brief encounters keep Aida (Nicole Kidman) and Inman(Jude Law) going through trying times. When they finally meet again, they share how they lasted through their struggles while apart. Aida wonders howthose brief encounters could keep a man going. Inman calls those moments “diamonds.”
I have found a “diamond” in Susan. A friend introduced us at a dinner this summer. We started talking on the phone, doing the e-mail thing, going for walks, meeting at group activities. Then we started dating. I waited two months before I kissed her. This is one of those “head over heels” loves. She’s beautiful, intelligent, witty, fun to be with, a good mom and has her priorities in order.
So after five months, I thought I’d write about our sex life, or rather, our non-sex life. You see, it didn’t take me long to realize that Susan was someone special and that I wanted to treat her differently. One day I just grabbed her hand and looked into her eyes. “I don’t want to sleep with you unless I marry you. I’ll wait for you.” She smiled back. “OK. I’d like that.”
We’re in our mid-40s and have been divorced for a long time — 11 years for me and nine for Susan. We both realize that sex before marriage hinders intimacy, the very thing we both want most. We believe that abstaining from sex before marriage best prepares us for the trying times in marriage. When sex becomes a part of a relationship, that seems to become the priority. Instead of romancing the woman because you really like her, you romance her to get her into bed.
That isn’t an option for Susan and me, so we spend more time talking about our hopes and dreams. Don’t get me wrong, we have our heated moments, but I always go home and clothes stay on. And it isn’t that we aren’t physically attracted to each other. As Elvis put it so eloquently, “She’s a hunka burnin’ love.”
In my 11 years as a single parent, I’ve been celibate by choice maybe 98 percent of the time. Those times when I was sexual were fun, but it tended to leave me empty afterward. Sex makes it harder to be objective about who this person is.
Most single parents struggle with their sexuality after divorce or the breakup of a long-term relationship. That’s normal. But after my divorce, my son had to be my priority, and sex took a back seat.
Not once in 11 years has my son woken up with a woman in our house. Susan wants to set that same example for her 11-year-old son.
With Susan, I liked from the beginning that she set the standard for how she wanted to be treated, and frankly, I like a woman who sets herself above the others. “If you want to be with me, big guy, this is how you have to act.” And she respects me for honoring her desires.
I need to feel respected as a man, and Susan finds it easier to respect me because of the way I treat her. She feels more loved because I keep my hands to myself. Keeping my promises is important.
When I get married, I want to have certain habits ingrained in my personality. I
want to be a good husband, and I think this is the best way to prepare myself.
It proves to Susan that I have some patience and self-control. If we marry, she’ll feel more confident that I will be faithful to her. That’s important for both of us.
That’s trust, and we’re building on that every day. It’s like a storage tank, and ours keeps growing. There are no feelings of regret or guilt. “Did we sleep together too soon?” “Is he the right guy?”
Sure, it’s hard work, but marriage is hard. If Susan and I marry, we want it to be successful and to grow old together. We’re working together on our future. A relationship is more than the physical aspects. It’s about love, commitment, respect, honor, intimacy, communication and common interests.
Statistically, people who live together before marriage get divorced at a higher rate than those who don’t co-habitate. What does that say about test-driving a relationship?
The relationship is what’s important for Susan and me. We don’t want to make mistakes with the rest of our lives.
Besides, I think Susan is worth waiting for.
Doug Mead has been a single parent for 11 years. He and his 18-year-old son, Matt, live in the East Bay. You can e-mail him atdoug@parentingsolo.com.
Some kids haven't recovered from hurricane
(First published Feb. 5 in the Oakland Tribune.)I woke up at 5 o’clock to make breakfast for our roofing crew. As I entered the church and turned on the lights, I jumped a little. Jerry walked in right behind me. “Hey, what cha doin’?” as if this were an everyday coincidence.
“Jerry, what are you doing here at 5:15 in the morning?” I asked, sleepy eyed. “I stayed up all night,” he responded proudly, in his thick Louisiana accent. “I don’t want to go home. I’m staying up all day.” In his hand was an energy drink bought at the corner market that opened at 5 a.m.
Such is the life for Jerry, which is not his real name. My church, Cornerstone Fellowship in Livermore, has been sending relief teams to Hackberry since Hurricane Rita hit in September. Jerry, and his half-sister, Teri, first caught up with the folks from Cornerstone when they attended a Christmas dinner put on for the townsfolks. Since then, everyone that goes to Hackberry comes back with stories of Jerry Teri and their 6-year-old “sister,” Desiree.
It wasn’t unusual for them to be up at 11 o’clock at night on a school night. We had rules on hanging out with them, such as not spending time alone, but they had no problem quickly becoming friends with perfect strangers from 2,000 miles away.
So here it is in a nutshell. Eight people, by our count, living in a trailer perhaps a thousand square feet. The two teens’ mom lives with a boyfriend, who is the father of Desiree. The two teens have different dads and go by their mom’s last night. They have a teenage sister who has an 18-month old child. The baby’s father also lives in the trailer.
The first night we were in town, we picked up the three kids and took them to a Bible study out in the country, sort of an old-fashioned revival meeting. Desiree shared that her mom is mean to her, and that she drug her down the stairs once “and so I got this pink cast on my arm. She lives in Texas. My daddy took me away from her.”
That was the tamest of the stories my girlfriend, Susan, and I heard form the children in the ensuing week. It’s no wonder the two teenagers want to get out of Hackberry and come live in Livermore. For all they know, Livermore is the Barstow of California. All they know is that people from Cornerstone have loved them and it’s a feeling they want back. Desperately. For more than a week at a time. Susan and I had the feeling that when we left, had we left our suitcases open for a minute, they would have hopped in and come to California with us. Sight unseen.
For the week, we were there, I got to know the boy quite well. Except on school days (they go to school 2½ days a week because they share their school with a neighboring town whose school was ruined by Hurricane Rita flood waters), Jerry hung around the church as much as we allowed him to. We had rules about him not being at the church when we were on a roofing job around town. Our running joke was that Jerry had a knack for showing up at lunchtime. He may have been slow, but he wasn’t dumb.
I decided to take Jerry under my wing for the week, give him a positive male influence. Susan did the same for Teri. On Sunday, I drove Susan and Teri to WalMart in a neighboring town and sat in the parking lot while they shopped. Susan shared the facts of life with a teenager who had never heard them before. The basic message? You get pregnant, you’ll be stuck here forever. Learn to say no to boys. And trust me, they will be coming. She is already developing physically and she’s a cutie.
Susan and Teri became pals. We have the cutest picture of the two of them arm in arm and smiling. Perhaps a smile of relief, of joy, that she had discovered that there were nice people in the world.
Later in the afternoon, I took Jerry fishing. When I asked him if he wanted to
go fishing two days before, he immediately accepted. “I’ll get the poles and the
bait. Just me and you, right?”
Sort of. Susan took the two girls for a walk, so Jerry and I could talk. What’s your plan to get out of here? What about your education? What do you want to do with your life? He was thinking more along the lines of being rescued. He asked me point-blank to adopt him. I’d known him for five days.
He’s already flunked a grade once, and he’s a 15-year-old 7th grader. He admits he doesn’t read too well. I’m sending him a book to read and encouraging him to work at his studies.
It’s what my dad did with me long ago and what I did with my son, now a college freshman. But no one had ever taken the time to tell these two kids about life. We did it because we felt a burden for these kids. If we didn’t do it, who would?
What about their home life? What kind of life lessons are these kids learning? Why is it they want to get out of Hackberry so badly? It isn’t that Hackberry is a hick town without much to do – there isn’t a movie theater and there’s only one restaurant in town – it’s that they don’t feel safe. Yet, they felt safe with people they barely know who live 2,000 miles away.
This story isn’t to make you feel sorry for these three kids. If I told you the truth, everyone who reads this would be in tears. It’s to wake you up if you’re putting your children’s future on the line by living with someone who isn’t your children’s parent, who might be abusive. You might think “I can’t make it on my own” financially or “I have needs my kids just don’t understand.”
TOUGH! Being a parent is about making sacrifices for what’s best for our children. One of the things I like about Susan is that she holds that same value for her 11-year-old son as I do for mine. Money has been tight with me since my divorce. Getting a roommate would have helped me out a lot at times, but it wouldn’t have been best for my son. Getting remarried certainly would have made my financial life a lot easier, but it wouldn’t have been best for my son.
Raising a child in a safe and secure environment is what parenting is about. As a man, it’s my job to make my house a safe place to live. That goes beyond locks on the doors and windows. Every night of my son’s life, I want him to know that this is our home and no one elses. I don’t think Jerry, Teri and Desiree feel that way about their home.
Susan and I want to go back again, maybe in April. We want to take an even bigger group (seven went last time) next time, to fix roofs and visit old friends. And to go shopping at WalMart and to go fishing on the Calcasieu River.
Three kids are waiting for us.
Doug Mead has been a single parent for 11 years and lives in the East Bay with his teenage son. He traveled to Hackberry, La., last month to work on a volunteer roofing crew. You can read about his exploits on his blog at http://rebuildinghackberry.blogspot.com./ You can e-mail him at doug@parentingsolo.com.
Ten tips to befriending a child
(Published in the Oakland Tribune on March 5, 2006)
I’ve found the secret of entertaining an 11-year-old boy for 34 hours in a car.
“Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip. Five passengers set sail that day for a three-hour tour, a three-hour tour ... Here on Gilligan’s isle.”
Having a portable DVD player in the car for a long trip was a life saver on a recent trip I took with my girlfriend Susan and her son. And head phones! Oh. Who would have thought that a boy could become so engrossed in a silly series that lasted only three seasons. Yet every time I heard him laugh or share a scene with us, I was thankful for simple pleasures.
The wooing of my girlfriend, Susan, continued as we drove some 2,400 miles through California and Arizona to Meet the Parents. That part was easy. Susan’s dad lives in San Diego, and her mom lives near Tucson, Ariz. My mom lives in between in Yuma. We got everybody in one fell swoop.
But this trip also meant time for me to get to know Susan’s son. Susan and I have been dating for six months, and I recently got the OK to woo him, too. I had been keeping my distance from him, giving him time to accept me in his own time. I’m experienced at boy stuff, seeing as I raised a boy, now 18. But this is different; her son isn’t into sports, always my fallback. My palms are sweaty.
He’s into stuff like science, history, Boy Scouts, the outdoors and music.We’ve
made plans to go on a Scout camp out this summer. He plays drums, andI recently
went to watch him play in a concert.
My plan is to meet him at his level and look for a common ground. It’s his life, and I’m not here to change it. But there are certain things that are important for boys to know that sometimes fall through the cracks because of divorce. Teaching respect and honor for his mom are essential, in ways such as, “We’re the men, so we carry in the luggage and the heavy stuff.”
I believe in wooing a child only after mom’s heart has been won first. And there have to be rules, so here is my Top Ten list for wooing single moms and their children:
- Respect and honor: Boys learn honor and respect by watching how a man treats his mom. Open doors for them, carry the heavy groceries, fix things, speak with respect to her. Sometimes I just remind him how special his mom is. On Valentine’s Day, I took Susan’s son shopping for her. When she opened her card and read his note, he was beaming. So was she.
- Time: Give the children as much time as they need to determine who you are. I’ve known single parents who dated 4 1/2 years before getting married because their children needed that time to get to know the other adult.
- Affirmation: Kids want to know you like them for who they are. Affirmation goes a long way. Let them know when they do something well. “Hey, you really picked up boogie boarding today. Great job!” Thank him when he helps you with chores.
- Security: Every child needs to feel safe and secure in the home. No sleepovers when children are present because it invades their space. Their security is breached when an adult sleeps over. I often see children’s anger and resentment build after a boyfriend or girlfriend sleeps over when the kids are around.
- Discipline: You are not the disciplinarian of her children. If you see something you think is wrong, bring it to her attention and let her deal with it. In time, it’s OK to handle little things, such as manners.
- You’re not the dad: Let him know that you’re there to be his friend and that you aren’t there to replace his dad, especially if Dad is a constant in his life. If Dad is not a part of his life, it might be different, but it unfair to make kids choose between dad and boyfriend or step-dad.
- Give space: Sometimes, a mom and her kids need time alone. You must have the presence of mind to stay away. And don’t whine when mom chooses to be with her child.
- Ask permission: One night a few months ago, I was driving her son home from an activity. I asked him this important question: “I really like your mom. May I have your permission to continue to see her?” His answer was brief and succinct. “I don’t care.” But he does care. He now has a say in my being a part of his mom’s and his life.
- Lead by example: Show him how to fix things around the house, wash dishes, wash the car, wash the dog. Do them together.
- Have fun: Enjoy your time with mom and her kids, but don’t be a Disneyland boyfriend. Learn to have fun on a budget. Let your hair down and be silly with her kids. Here’s a great icebreaker when meeting kids: Have a Silly String fight. Then clean up the mess together.
Those are just a few of the things I'm doing for my new little buddy. I'm just trying to be a good role model, trying to fit in where I can.
Doug Mead has been a single parent for 11 years. He lives in the East Bay with his 18-year-old son. You can e-mail him at doug@parentingsolo.com.
Children's opinions matter in dating
Published March 19, 2006 in the Oakland Tribune"He's looking at me funny,” my then-girlfriend told me,somewhat exasperated. I looked at my son, who was 8 at the time. “She looking >looked at me mean first,” he said. “Like how?” I asked. Hescrunched up his face and eyebrows, making a scowl. I looked at her. “Well?”I gently reminded her that she was the adult and he was the child. Don’t confuse the two.Looking back at some of my early dating escapades, I can now laugh. At the time, it was painful that the two of them didn’t get along. It was a year after my separation and barely six months after my divorce was final 11years ago.What issues did the two of them have? Mainly, my son just wasn’t ready forme to date. After we broke up a short time later, I stopped dating for about two months. I needed to give my son some time. And me. What I’ve learned in 11 years of being a single parent is that parents often think they’re ready to date, and they can’t figure out why their kids aren’t jumping onto the bandwagon. Here’s an observation: Kids aren’t ready for mom or dad to have a steady introduced into their lives for at least three years. And for really painful divorces, it might take five years to accept the divorce.How many of you have children who had a relationship pushed on them too soon by the other parent? Do you want to do that to them also?Two weeks ago, I wrote about a few dos and don’ts of dating a single mom with a son 10 years or older. One of the dos was to ask permission from the child. If the child says no, accept it. They’re either not ready for their parent to date or they just don’t like you.Giving it time could remedy both situations. Do you really want to be involved in a relationship that has an antagonist that might be around for another 10 years?There’s a reason why second and third marriages fail at higher rates than first marriages. It might be partly because the adults rush into relationships and don’t give the children a chance to bond withthe new person.For some children, seeing their parent date means the end of the chance that mom and dad might get back together, so they fight it. If both parents remain unmarried, that desire for a reconciliation can last for years. If one parent remarries, that parent’s time with his children suddenly dwindles. It’s normal for the unmarried parent to have more time to spend with her children, even if the other parent is constant with his visitation schedule.If a parent hasn’t dated much for four years, then suddenly meets someone and falls in love, the child fears losing their consistent love and that this new person will interfere or change their lives. They’ve lost a constant in their lives when mom starts dating on Saturday nights and their usual movie and takeout is gone, and an unwanted baby sitter is now incharge.Age makes a difference, too. Young kids cling to just about anyone who plays with them, so it’s easier for them to deal with someone new. Adolescents and teenagers are at an awkward age when it comes to seeing their parents date, because the kids are facing so many hormonal changes. One minute they might like the person, the next, they might hate him.Also, kids who go through divorce as toddlers don’t seem to struggle as much with dating because they don’t remember much about life before the split. What dating cannot become is a competition. At one point in the relationship I mentioned, my girlfriend told me she felt like my son was fighting her. I realized my son wasn’t fighting her, per se; he wasfighting for me. Instead of doing stuff with just the two of us, suddenly, we were a threesome.As adults, it’s hard to put our hormones on hold, but sometimes we have to because our children need us. My son won his battle 10 years ago, and I could sense his relief. I’ll never regret choosing my son over dating. Over the years, I’ve had time to observe dating habits. What I’ve seen with my own son was that he liked some women, wasn’t so hot about others. He liked one because she provided him with a great playmate for a few months. I’ve introduced my son to five women in 11 years out of maybe 20 I’ve gone out with. Only three relationships lasted beyond three months.I often see single parents jump into dating relationships too soon, then wonder why their once calm child is suddenly freaking out. Put your focus on your kids, and dating will be easier in a few years when their lives stabilize.At Christmas time, I was upset with my son when he didn’t want to spend part of Christmas with my girlfriend — known as “GF” to him — and me. “She’s going to be around for a while, son. She’s someone special to me. ”His response? “Dad, when you get past six months, then I’ll think it’s serious. Until then, I’m not going to worry about it.”Finally he’s warming up to her. We just passed the six-month mark.Readers: I’m looking for dating input from single moms. What’s appropriate and inappropriate as far as interactions between men and your daughters? E-mail your responses to doug@parentingsolo.com.
