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It's Mother's Day, and these pages have recently featured discussions about the merits, or lack thereof, of single parenthood. Alas, I have something to say on the topic.
Back in 1979 or so, when our kids were pre-school toddlers, Martha had to go to the hospital, and I spent a week as a single father with a day job as managing editor of the local daily.
It was an afternoon paper then, which meant arriving at work at 7 a.m. Dutifully I set the alarm for 5:45 a.m., assuming that an hour and change would be ample time to rouse two children, and get them fed, bathed, dressed and delivered to a merciful friend who stayed home with children of similar ages.
But the time I arrived at work, at a quarter till eight,
I felt as though I'd already done a day's work. Well,
you're new at this,
I told myself, and surely this
will get easier once you know what you're doing.
Quitting time arrived, I fetched our daughters, and went home to cook dinner. The kids were not happy. For one thing, they liked playing with their friends and wondered why they couldn't just stay there, and for another, they much preferred Ronald McDonald's cooking skills to mine (so do I, for that matter). But at the time, the nearest McDonald's was in Cañon City, 60 miles away.
Eventually the girls settled down, even offering to help with the dishes. One problem with children is that when they're eager to help, they're too young to be of assistance. When they're old enough to be useful, they've got other things to do.
I noticed another problem shortly thereafter. I had fantasies about relaxing with a book after the dishes were done while the children played quietly.
Siblings don't play quietly. There were major disputes
about toys, turf and who hit whom first. Memory told me
that my brothers and I were like that, too. Whenever a
politician asks Why can't we get along like brothers and
sisters?
my immediate thought is We already do, and
that's why there are so many wars. Why don't we try
something else?
One of our daughters was two years old then. If you're watching a two-year-old, that's all you dare do. You cannot also read, watch TV, listen to the stereo, chat with neighbors or talk on the phone -- if your attention is distracted for even a moment, the toddler will start climbing the refrigerator, taste-testing dog food or insects, examining toxic substances you thought you had safely sequestered or otherwise endangering herself.
I finally got them to bed, and was too exhausted to read or write or indulge in any of those things that makes life worth living. I just collapsed, dreading the moment that the alarm clock would ring and start another day of this dreary ordeal.
I tried not to let my domestic life interfere with my professional life, but along about Wednesday at the office, I mentioned how damned difficult it was to tend children and hold a job.
It is tough, real tough,
a colleague remarked
sympathetically. She was raising a son on her own -- the
boy's father had decamped, gotten a divorce and fallen
behind on child-support payments.
Then her tone changed. And you've been at it for
what, three days? There are women here who've been doing
that drill every day for years and will have keep doing it
every day for years to come. They make less money than you
do, and their hours aren't as flexible as yours. So don't
feel so damn sorry for yourself.
I continued to feel sorry for myself (but avoided sharing those feelings) until that happy day when Martha came home and life could return to normal, when there was time for something besides work and domestic demands.
That awful week convinced me that children need both parents and the parents need each other. Parenthood is demanding enough under those circumstances, and tougher if one partner isn't around.
That ordeal comes to mind every time I hear a politician
denouncing single mothers. I, for one, am happy to credit a
miracle called maternal love
when I consider the
devotion and energy that it must take to raise a child by
yourself, and I'd like to see every policy-maker endure a
week or two of single-parenthood before making any
pronouncements about the subject. Some well-earned respect
would result.
To change the subject a bit, Happy Mother's Day to my mom, Dorothy Quillen in Longmont. Her husband and my father, also an Ed Quillen, turns 70 on Saturday, and Happy Birthday to him.
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