A Mother's Musings and Mumblings

I’ve told this story before, generally when speaking to people about the trials and tribulations of co-parenting. Recent events have prompted a desire to tell it here in writing for all to see. Like all things that turn up on my blog, I don’t question why, I just write.

My parents didn’t have custody of me when I was growing up. I won’t get into the whys or hows (what if you held a custody hearing and no one showed up?) but my grandparents had custody while my parents each had visitation. Four days a month with no overnights.

By the time I was six, taking visitation was too burdensome for my Momster and she stopped showing up consistently. She’d drop by when it worked for her and leave me when there was something better to do. For the better part of a year the only time I had visitation with her is when she could take me to work with her (as a waitress at a truck stop) because it didn’t impact on her other plans. This post is not about her. I have other plans.

My Dad faithfully took his visitation. Every single week. Without fail. But as I grew up, things changed. I had friends, I had plans, I had a life. Stopping what I was doing every week to spend a day with my Dad was a drag and, like all tweens/teens, I didn’t want to do things that weren’t fun, interesting and of my own choosing. So I began to complain.

I was 12 at the time. My grandparents decided that 12 was old enough to make the choice of where I wanted to spend my time. My Dad decided that he didn’t want to force a kid to spend time with him if I didn’t want to. So at the mature age of 12, I got my weekends back.

When I was 15 I had the year from Hell. Seriously. I’m still hard pressed to think of other things that could have gone wrong that year. Among the highlights was finding myself essentially unwanted/unwelcome at Momster’s house after my Grandma had decided that she should raise me. Grandpa was dead. And where was my Dad? He’d moved out of town. Because I wasn’t spending time with him anyway so why would he stay?

When I was 21 my Dad died. Now, it’s never easy when a parent dies. My Grandpa died when I was 15 and I remember how hard that was. But the feeling that overwhelmed me when my Dad died was Guilt. Pure, unadulterated Guilt. Guilt for rejecting him. Guilt for choosing to watch stupid movies that I couldn’t even remember with friends I no longer saw rather than to spend the day with him. Guilt for telling him that of all the things in my life, sleeping in was more important than seeing him.

Another therapist sent her child to private school with the fees from that!

But what did I learn from all of this? One thing I learned is that teens/tweens are inherently selfish creatures. That’s just the developmental stage that they are in – their zone of proximal development. I also learned that this episode was as much a failure in parenting as it was a failure of my own – maybe more-so. The adults in my life, by virtue of being parents, had an obligation to teach me how to be a good person. They taught me not to lie or cheat or steal. Why couldn’t they also have taken the time to teach me (better) how to treat people?

It isn’t that my grandparents didn’t treat people well, just that they didn’t like my Dad. So they allowed me to treat him poorly. The result was I suffered – not just him.

This is a lesson I carry with me as I parent the Witchlets. I don’t allow them to beg me to skip family time at either house in favor of friends. I won’t allow them to incur that kind of Karmic debt. And yet I see it happen time and time again – other parents who think that their children know best where they want to spend their time. Parents who allow kids to make the decision to cut out their other parent. Because the so-called adult doesn’t value the other parent and doesn’t see why their child should either.

I’m sure there are plenty of therapists who need the income.