Some parents talk about their failures in raising their children. Of course, "failure" can be defined in any number of ways: Perhaps the child didn't follow the career path the parents wanted. Or he or she married the "wrong" person or didn't get married at all--or didn't have kids. Or end up with the lifestyle the parents envisioned.
I have to say, I am guilty on all counts. My career and lifestyle are nothing like what my parents--especially my father--wanted from and for me. And, yes, I married the "wrong" person--and never married again after that. But none of that is either of my parents' fault--really.
I will, however, admit there is one area in which I've failed miserably in the making of my parents. You see, I tried to turn both of them into cyclists--even to the point of giving them bicycles as gifts for some occasion or another. I don't think my mother ever rode hers (If I recall, it was sold when my parents moved from New Jersey to Florida.) and my father may have ridden a couple of times with me. Though his bike survived the move, it, too was eventually sold.
So...I can't say that my father (or mother) and I bonded over bike riding. For that matter, if I recall correctly, I didn't learn how to ride from either of them: I got those lessons from my grandfather (who died before I turned eight) and an uncle.
I failed, but I think my parents have forgiven me by now. A lot has been forgiven, or simply written off as vodka under the bridge, as Alexandr Revva might say.
(Why did I choose him? I confess: He's one of the few Russians whose name I can spell!)
Anyway, in the spirit of father-child relationships, I offer this, from one of my favorite comic-strip series:
Happy Father's Day!
I have to say, I am guilty on all counts. My career and lifestyle are nothing like what my parents--especially my father--wanted from and for me. And, yes, I married the "wrong" person--and never married again after that. But none of that is either of my parents' fault--really.
I will, however, admit there is one area in which I've failed miserably in the making of my parents. You see, I tried to turn both of them into cyclists--even to the point of giving them bicycles as gifts for some occasion or another. I don't think my mother ever rode hers (If I recall, it was sold when my parents moved from New Jersey to Florida.) and my father may have ridden a couple of times with me. Though his bike survived the move, it, too was eventually sold.
So...I can't say that my father (or mother) and I bonded over bike riding. For that matter, if I recall correctly, I didn't learn how to ride from either of them: I got those lessons from my grandfather (who died before I turned eight) and an uncle.
I failed, but I think my parents have forgiven me by now. A lot has been forgiven, or simply written off as vodka under the bridge, as Alexandr Revva might say.
(Why did I choose him? I confess: He's one of the few Russians whose name I can spell!)
Anyway, in the spirit of father-child relationships, I offer this, from one of my favorite comic-strip series:
Happy Father's Day!
