Is Dad In Danger Of Losing His Job?
by Ray Lesser
My children treat me as though I'm part of their personal staff. And they don't think I'm doing a particularly good job.
My daughter wants me to be her secretary, and screen her phone calls. "If it's Kevin, tell him I already left. If it's Janet tell her I'll be over in a half-hour."
"What if it's just someone who wants to talk to you?" I ask.
"Well then, obviously, tell them to call my cell phone!"
My 10-year-old son wants me to wash his laundry, and then fold it and put it away in his drawers. "And I need new socks. Buy me some more when you go to the store."
"I don't really know what kind you want."
"Get me the ones that go up to the ankles, not high up on the calf, or low down at the heel. And make sure they have red stripes."
"Maybe you'd like to come with me and pick them out yourself?"
"Don't be silly, Dad, I've got to go to camp all day, and then I have a game tonight. That reminds me, I think it's your turn to bring treats for the whole team. And please don't get those crummy potato chips like last time. Everybody hated that. Get popsicles or ice-cream bars."
"Those things melt, unless you bring them right at the end of the game," I say.
"None of the other parents seem to have any problem doing that. Why can't you?"
Meanwhile, my older son is looking for an apartment with his buddies at college. He keeps faxing me application forms to fill out. "Why do you keep sending these to me?" I ask him.
"The landlord wants the person who's financially responsible to fill them out. And make sure you sign this one. You forgot to sign the last one, and the landlord rented it to someone else who had all their paperwork filled out correctly."
"Ari, this is the tenth of these applications you've had me fill out this week. How many apartments are you renting?"
"Dad, you don't seem to realize how tight the rental market is in this town. I need you to fill this out and fax it back right away, or we won't have a chance to rent this apartment, either. Oh, and by the way, you said you were going to rip me a copy of that Miles Davis CD. Have you sent it yet?"
When I became a parent, I realized it was going to be a lot of hard work. But I had the naïve idea that it would be work that I would be in charge of. After all, I'm used to being in charge of my work. I'm a publisher and editor. Besides that I'm the President of Funny Times, Inc. I'm the one who's supposed to have a staff to help me!
But try telling that to my children.
"Dad, you need to give me a ride down to the swimming pool."
"Why can't you walk?"
"Oh Daddy, don't you remember, I'm in a swim meet this afternoon. You don't want me to be worn out before I even get there, do you? Besides you need to go over to that neighborhood anyway to take the computer into the repair shop."
"What's the matter with the computer?"
"It's still doing the same thing it was doing before you tried to fix it. In fact, I'm pretty sure you made it worse. I think we need professional help."
"You can say that again."
Along with my wife, Sue, who hears and responds to even more of the children's requests and demands than I do, my staff jobs now include: chauffeur, cook, dishwasher, nurse, butler, launderer, cleaner, gardener, homework tutor, tech support, and, of course, banker. Despite my kids continuing criticisms of my work, is there any chance I'm in danger of losing any of these jobs? Where does it all end?
It must eventually get easier when the kids grow up and move away from home, right? I asked a 20-something friend if his parents still did his laundry for him. "No, of course not," he said. "I mean, I still bring my laundry over to do at their house, because I don't have machines. But I load everything in the wash myself."
"What about loading it into the dryer after it's washed?" I asked.
"Oh, my mom switches the loads for me. She doesn't mind. She's there all day anyway, and I have to go to workout."
Sounds like this job of being a parent could last for a long, long time.
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