Saratoga News

Point of View

Carl Heintze

Somehow children grow up just fine

With Father's Day just past, I got to thinking, I can't imagine how I could have lived without children.

At the same time, I have to admit there were times when I didn't know whether I could live with them.

It's fortunate, of course, that I learned to live with them because I've had them long since. Or, to put it properly, my wife had them and I trailed along, as dads are supposed to do, bringing home the bacon--figuratively, of course, because bacon is full of cholesterol, and that's not good for young children.

There are a lot of things that aren't or weren't supposed to be good for children, young or old, a lot of things a parent is supposed to do for his or her child, a lot of things that aren't supposed to be done for one's children.

I thought I tried, but sometimes, I confess, I despaired. I wondered if I'd done the right things. I wondered what I'd left out of their growing up. I remembered the times they'd stayed out too late, the times I thought they did foolish things--things which I would never do. Sometimes I felt unappreciated, even though I know you don't raise children to win appreciation or even love. Sometimes I felt frustrated, as if no matter what I did, they kept on doing what they wanted to do.

And then suddenly, blindingly, in the space of a short time I found all these things were wrong. They did remember, they did excel, they made me proud not over any special thing, but rather a combination of events and conversations. I found to my great surprise that we could talk to one another, that they'd become knowing, functioning, wonderful adults.

And it now seems to me that is what life is all about. And that's why I can't see how life would be much without them. Because the dynamic of living is the tension between what you think your children ought to do and what they really do, about what you would like them to be and what they become and, ultimately, selfishly, how they reward you for what you put into their lives.

I know this sounds crass. It may be a cliché. Maybe so. But your children's lives are mostly what your life is, and what happens to them, the way they "turn out," is in good part how your life turns out.

Sometimes it seems as if it is going to be all bad. They don't do what you want them to, they seem unable to make the decisions you want them to make, they suffer (geez, you never had children so they could suffer!), you agonize over what you did wrong to make them apparently go wrong.

They grow older and so do you, and it sometimes seems as if they are never going to "grow up," which is a way of saying that they are never going to be independent of you. For a long time they seem to need nothing but money; they need advice (but seldom follow it); they make mistakes (How could your kids make mistakes? After all, they're your kids); they don't call enough, they move away (how could they move away when you were providing everything they need?).

But they turn out all right. They're successful, and you can't figure out how they did it. They act like adults. They are adults.

They have children. They have beautiful children who, surprise of surprises, look a little like you. Of course, they raise their children differently, not the way you did, not the way they should be raised, of course. But their children seem to be successful, too.

They get exemplary grades, they're theatrical stars, they're more athletic than you ever were. How could that happen? How could they turn out so well?

And finally they suddenly seem to appreciate you. They call on your birthday. They take over Christmas and other family holidays, organizing them better than you ever did, making them fun, thoughtful fun.

In a shy moment they even admit that they love you, that you're the greatest.

Then all the worry and tumult you somehow thought you were bearing alone, your hope that they will have life easier than you did, that they'll be more successful than you were, disappears. You've discovered that whatever you did and however you did it--perhaps even more importantly, what you didn't do--seems to have been correct. They've become what you wanted them to become all along.

Then comes the hard part. You also suddenly realize that there's not much more you can do for them now or later. Your life has been extended through them; through them you've achieved some measure, however small, of immortality. Through them you've extended the generations one more notch.

That's why I can't imagine living life without children.

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