On The Clock
Don't talk unless you have something to say.
Ervin Madson aka Dad
My sisters say it's time, but what more can be said? Everyone has their own ideas which are more important to them than the ones which I think, especially since I spent nearly all of last week either trying to hack up disgusting substances from my lungs, sleeping off a variety of weird symptoms like a dull ache in my head, slightly undefinable; sinus blockages accompanied by various unappealing feelings of discomfort, or forcing myself through a Very Important and Urgent Task that could not wait. It makes me think of a sign I once saw in a fabric shop that I frequented often until this sign appeared.
"A lack of planning on your part
does not create an emergency on our part!"
There are a few times in the years since they went out of business until now when I've been tempted to say those words and maybe should have. Fortunately, thinking of the effect they had on me at that time gives me pause. Some things bear repeating. Some don't.
Not surprisingly, the business didn't last long. I don't know why they went out of business, but the sign on the counter seemed to be a representation of the atmosphere that prevailed in the store. I wasn't sure what offense had prompted the appearance of the sign and it didn't leave me with the general feeling that
life is good and while you're out and about we wish you a nice day.
life is good and while you're out and about we wish you a nice day.
I have often thought of the sign since then. I sure don't feel planning is my forte. In spite of a great example in my mom, an excellent organizer, I was known in the family(affectionately it seems)as the cow's tail. The sign could have applied to me had they chosen to leave me standing in a cloud of dust as they left without me. I will be eternally grateful that they never did, however justified it might have been.
I left the fabric store after each visit a little doubtful and uncertain. Had I done something to contribute to this rather sour message? I didn't think so, but the friendly smile came uneasily while I paid for my items and tried not to take the cryptic words personally. The sign was taped to the counter top and seemed somehow to be pointedly displayed in my peripheral vision. Seemingly suspended in my consciousness, the sign was waiting for an explanation. I stood as the items were being placed in a bag and watched out of the other corner of my eye for the smile which would have assured me of friendly intent. Oh, there it was. I think that tiny twist of the lips that didn't reach the eyes might have been a hint of friendly human - or maybe not.
Could it be I was going to be tested on this point? What item might I order in the future? What service had I asked for and then responded with offensive behavior? I was happy to purchase the quality thread and sewing supplies the shop carried in their inventory, so I wasn't pleased when the doors closed. I wasn't surprised either. Likely other customers were treated to the same coolly expectant stare. It was just a matter of time until I messed up, and we both knew it; it was just a matter of time. I almost would have sighed with relief when the shop closed but inexplicably the scene sometimes appears in my dreams.
It was for me, perhaps, a sign - a sign that I needed to put a little more effort into my planning. Since the people who lived with me are affected by my planning, I thought it would help our family if I could be more flexible when lunches and school work were left behind and I got an urgent plea from a child at school. "Mom, please, could you bring...?" We lived a block from school, after all and my job had a flexible nature, which I loved. How big of a deal was it to drop what I was doing and do my kids a favor?
Life within a family is fraught with peril. Whose schedule is more important? How do we fit everything in, and when we can't, what do we let slide? How do we react or respond when something gets forgotten that seemed less important last evening, but in the light of morning, suddenly reveals itself to be urgent?
These are the things a mother does, I learned. Mom went to school to talk to my fifth grade teacher. Mr. Swartz had some seriously awesome story telling skills. Mind you, it didn't take long for a class of fifth-graders to figure out just how easily he could be distracted from the lesson. I started bringing home some schoolwork every day that hadn't been completed.
My dad had other things in mind for the evening hours besides the paperwork that we brought home because we hadn't finished it in school. This little trend didn't have much chance of developing, and it wasn't a huge surprise to find that very soon I was asked for an explanation. I felt bad knowing that the work we now did in class instead of listening to stories was because of my mom's visit with my teacher about my dad's thoughts on the matter. Maybe everyone in the class enjoyed more free time in the evening. I hope they did because I sure did. I ran home almost every night that I stepped off the bus, partly to celebrate that freedom from paperwork! Oh, joy! What weightless freedom! It was worth missing a few stories. He still read chapters from a book to us right after lunch, and learning was easy in his class.
The moral of the story is that yes, we do have an effect on the time and schedules of each other. Parents really need to understand that when kids get in school there are things they are responsible to finish and turn in. We are so proud to see them do well, aren't we? Do we make sure they have the time they need to succeed at their work and do we acknowledge the importance of their work? If we aren't supportive of that, we shouldn't complain if their marks suffer. Maybe we should even share the responsibility for their less-than-wonderful grades!
We have probably all had the experience of a parent in a big box store pushing a child aside from the path of an overloaded grocery cart and admonishing them to watch out. I would like to acknowledge that the parents, by these actions, are trying to teach kids respect for adults. At the same time, is not your child at least as equally important to this world as some perfect stranger you may never see again? I appreciate your consideration, but if the child wasn't purposely causing blocked traffic, we can do a polite little dance in the aisles until we work out who goes where. I am just fine with that.
We need to understand we are placing a value on time every time we make a choice how we spend it. Is the message that we give our kids actually telling them that our time is worth more than theirs because we chose how to spend an evening without taking into consideration the projects that are due at school? Our evenings were spent remodeling our house. When the child was a two-year-old cutely dressed in baby blues including a darling stocking cap and hand-knitted sweater and wielding a favorite blue plastic hammer, those evening hours were serendipitous. When the child was in second grade and brought home a handful of practice work which was still messily stuffed in a backpack the next morning due to very interesting construction projects, the message wasn't quite as lovely. Does the teacher understand that the family value of time is different from hers and might create a conflict, or do we send our children off to school with that burden, unassisted, where he lacks the skills to explain his dilemma and gets a poor mark?
We can't solve every problem for the next generation, and besides, many of us start out parenthood very young, very naive and apparently in possession of several pairs of rose-colored glasses. Daddy goes off to work with his on: Got to keep the boss or customers and everyone at work happy so he doesn't lose his job and I would have to agree it does not get much more important than that! A lucky man he is if the mama is able to take care of paying the bills, like I did, washing the clothes and getting the meals on while saving money every way she can. Keeping food on the table and a roof over the head is numero uno in most families. Her pair of rose-colored glasses may be telling her she can do it all and keep everyone happy. Uh-uh.
Is it any wonder kids are ready to leave home and try something on their own? Mom and Dad pretty much screwed everything up, so that leaves the next generation with plenty of opportunity to do things better, no? I would like to think so, but observation tells me otherwise. Each little family struggles to get it right. As my dad would say, why should I think I was any different?
