Validation of Boomer Parents Parenting Techniques

Not that we need validation, especially when one considers that us Boomer parents are now in our 70's (more or less) and our kids are in their 40's (more or less) and thus are no longer children but full-fledged adults (more or less.) But an article in the NYT about some of the differences between how we raised our kids vs how parents today (the Gen X group) are raising theirs made me feel like we did all right.

Forty-some years ago, we were not helicopter parents.  We didn't have time for that. Most of us were working, mothers and fathers, and we left our kids to their own devices quite often. We taught them how to do their own laundry when they were in grade school, rudimentary kitchen skills so they could contribute to dinner prep, where the extra key was hidden in case they lost theirs.  Many of the Gen X kids (our kids) came home alone from school, got a snack, did homework, watched bad TV and perhaps indulged in nefarious behavior, all before the parental figures got home from work.  We had a necessary trust in our kids, trust that they would take care of themselves and each other and not break too many rules.

For the most part, that philosophy worked pretty well.  Of course, rules were broken now and then, kids got grounded and that trust had to be reestablished.  But giving them room to get grounded, to break the rules and pay the price, also gave them a measure of self-reliance and taught them that actions have consequences.  Their parents couldn't (and wouldn't) cull out all the scary stuff and pave the path with shiny yellow bricks as they skipped along to a perfect childhood.  

The NYT article (link at the bottom) asks this:

Do you offer your kids broad exposure to the world, in all its beauty and foulness, and hope they make good decisions? Or do you try to protect them from ideas and activities that you see as dangerous or immoral — and also hope they make good decisions?  

Two different parenting styles, of course, and I am so happy John and I, probably more or less unconsciously, chose the first option.  Our kids saw both beauty and ugliness, meanness and kindness,  safety and insecurity.  They accepted life as it came (although not without arguing quite often) and the lack of helicoptering, the lack of shielding them from danger and proverbial doom did not harm them. In fact, I argue that it made them strong and perceptive and bold.

This leads me to wonder what our parents were thinking when they raised all of us Boomer kids. Did they have a conscious idea about parenting, did they read the Dr. Spock book, was it all by the seat of their pants? As a victim  child of that era, I can say with conviction that there was little or no parenting "style" in my household. Too many kids, too little money: that was the relevant fact of my life as a kid, and probably the guiding force of my parents' attitudes as well.  There was certainly nothing like a helicopter parent, no one watched over us at all. There was guilt and shame, maybe those two forces were the guiding principles in parenting after the war.  But we survived.

As I said in the beginning, us Boomer parents really don't need validation of our parenting skills, it's too late for that anyway.  But it's nice to read an articulation of something we did because we knew no other way. Thank goodness it worked out!

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/04/28/opinion/culture/children-parenting-good-decisions.html

Baking bread, again

 I don't remember a time when I didn't bake but I can't remember how it began.  Perhaps I watched my Mom make cookies and maybe she drafted me into the baking world. I am certain I was making chocolate chip Toll House cookies, the recipe on the back of the Nestle's chocolate chip package, from the time I was about 12 years old. Then peanut butter cookies and oatmeal and cookies that were called Cowboy Cookies which had oats, chocolate chips, coconut and walnuts. They were delicious.

My baking branched out from there: brownies from the Joy of Cooking, from the Los Angeles times came the famous Sour Cream Coffee Cake with brown sugar crumbly bits and eventually Carrot Cake with cream cheese frosting. Linzer Tarts, flourless chocolate cake, Petit Fours, fruit crisps, biscuits.....  I baked everything.  I have even made two wedding cakes, one for Gabe and Annie's wedding and one for my brother John's wedding to Emily last year.  (Both were Carrot Cakes with cream cheese frosting, by the way.)

Somewhere along the way, when I was in my late teens, I started baking bread as well. No one in my family baked bread so it certainly wasn't a family tradition but once I started, I was hooked.  I loved the feeling of kneading the dough as it went from sticky to smooth and elastic.  Watching the bread rise over a few  hours was like culinary magic to me. Punching it down, rising again, popping it into the oven and smelling that luscious smell of baking bread.... few smells are better than that. 

Who doesn't like homemade bread? Who would say "No" to a piece of warm, fresh-from-the-oven bread slathered with soft butter? While I can't really remember what kind of bread I made initially, I am guessing it would be the honey oatmeal bread that I still make today.  It was a recipe in a series of cookbooks produced by "Woman's Day" magazine, in the section about  baking at Christmas. (I made dozens of varieties of cookies from that same Christmas section as well.) The honey oatmeal bread wasn't difficult and always turned out perfectly. It's slightly sweet, soft in texture with the nutty taste of oats. It makes perhaps the best toast in the world.

Lately I have been making a loaf a week. Sometimes it's honey oatmeal, often it's a plain white bread or a crusty loaf of rosemary bread. Making bread is very easy and is very cheap to produce. No preservatives, just simple ingredients: flour, yeast, salt, sugar, water or milk.  The rest (oats, honey, molasses, butter, eggs, herbs) are all optional.  

Over the years there have been dismal failures, of course. A few times I killed the yeast with too hot liquid, a couple of times the yeast was too old and wouldn't rise, now and then I bake it too long. But 95% of the time the bread is damned good.

It's time to make a grilled cheddar and tomato sandwich with the loaf of white bread I made yesterday. Sorry you can't be here to have one with me.  Maybe next time.

Saying "Goodbye" to someone I didn't know

 The father of one of my "extra daughters" died two months ago and there was a memorial for him today. His name was Jon Marshall. Other than being Stacey's Dad, I didn't know him. We met a couple of times, of course, because Stacey is a big part of my life, but we were, in essence, passing strangers.

It makes me sad to say that. It makes me sad because when you get to have an extra kid you should get to know from whence they came. The extra parent/adult should take the time to know the other real parents involved. But I didn't.

Today, hearing stories about Jon, listening to those who loved him tell their heartfelt tales about his influence in their lives, made me wish I had known him for real. The memories his kids and friends shared created a picture of a good, kind man who not only made people laugh but made people live. Jon seemed to be the one who could talk you into anything but knew how to make it all come out fine. Jon was the guy who was always on your side, never letting you down, always confident that it would work out well, but could also take your money in a wicked game of poker.  His kids and friends had great stories to tell about him. I wish I had known him.

There is something about being in a room with people who are there for only one reason: to honor one man. And that is profoundly humbling. It puts things in a perspective that haunts you as you drive home. It makes you question your small place in the world, with your kids, with your friends, with your family. And with yourself.

If we have learned nothing from the past two years, we must have learned this: embrace those you love, either metaphorically or really.  Tell them you love them. Be kind and help people. 

Yes, I know. I say this all the time but it's a preach that can't be helped. Do it. Just be kind. Love. Help. Reach out.  

I thank the Marshall/Jennings family for re-teaching me this today.

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A single moment of beauty

 The sun shines on spider web strings (actually called "draglines") all the time but this morning was the first time I've seen those single line webs glow iridescently.  It was early in the morning, the sun was still low in the sky, and there were dozens of single lines from tree to tree. They were like small rainbows, changing in color from blue to red to yellow as they moved in the breeze and caught the sunlight.  I cannot explain how incredibly beautiful these simple little spider strings were, shifting from one color to the next, iridescent, glowing. Line after line, one at a time. Each single line of spider string had its own color show happening and seeing so many of them all at once was a kind of light show in and of itself. My words can't do it justice, but it was mesmerizing. 

It's amazing, isn't it, that nature and the earth still manage to surprise us with such beauty? Something that could only be seen at that single spot, at that one moment, with the sun at that particular angle?  

Even in a world that has such ugliness and hate, if we pay attention we can sometimes find that small moment of beauty.  Be on the lookout for it. Be surprised. Be grateful.