A guy in his mid 30s bought the house down the street from me about a month ago. My neighbor said he hasn’t moved in yet because he’s doing some upgrades to his place first. My neighbor told me she met his mother, who helped her son find and buy the house. I’ve seen this guy’s mother nearly everyday. She’s been bringing him cleaning supplies, tools and bags of purchases to help him get settled.
The house across the street from me was just sold to a 30-something couple. The real estate agent told me that the couple’s parents live in our neighborhood. They helped their child (and in-law) search for the the home and buy it. Lately, I’ve seen the father everyday. He’s torn out the old carpeting and is installing new floors. The mother drops by several times a day to deliver supplies. I learned the couple has their first baby on the way and they are thrilled to be just few minutes away from the parents.
I’ll bet both parents are just as thrilled that their children bought houses nearby too.
I missed out on this with my parents.
My father disappeared from my life after he and my mother got divorced when I was 5. Other than an occasional card, I only heard from him 3 times in the next 45 years.
My mother focused her life on work. She spent very little time with me when I was child. I got myself to school, did the laundry, made meals, cleaned the house, did my schoolwork and more-or-less parented myself from the time I was 6. She paid rent, paid for groceries and some clothing. She rarely attended any of my events other than annual parent teacher conferences and school graduations.
After I met my wife and moved 5 miles away when I was 21, I would only see my mother on holidays and occasionally for dinner.
The thought of her helping me find a house, move, clean, fix my home, help with anything or take care of my step kids never occurred to me. She never did.
I never asked because it was unimaginable.
I used to be disappointed that my mother spent almost no time with my step-kids when they were little. I loved the kids. I had fond memories of “old people” who’d spent time with me when I was little: Aunt Essie, Uncle Bob, Grandpa and Grandma, and the multitude of aunts, uncles, cousins and family friends.
I was sad that my kids never got to experience this.
Even though I was disappointed, I didn’t expect my mother to act any differently. Her behavior was completely in character with how she raised me.
As for my father, he’s been a stranger my entire life. I saw him 4 times since the divorce and only once was it pleasant.
I tried to form a relationship with him as an adult, but we have none.
My wife used to say, “You can pick your friends, but not your family.”
She was aghast when she heard stories of my childhood. She told me she felt sad and angry for me.
I would tell her that my mother did the best she could.
Today, I would say I don’t know if my mother did the best she could. She did what she did.
I admire the parents’ involvement with my new neighbors. The parents and kids are lucky.
Throughout my pleasant suburban neighborhood, I see many families where multiple generations spend time together for celebrations, projects and simply to be with each other.
I think it’s really nice.
I was lucky to have a glimmer of this when I was really young and had my extended family who lived in the small coal town where I was born.
I’ve missed it ever since.