Robby Robbins Regret

Robby Robbins just stood there alone wondering why

While shaking his head as a tear filled his eye

What is the TRUTH, about all that’s not clear

In this quaint little town where I’ve lived for a year

He wondered and pondered about how it could be

That so many things were not what they seemed

Why citizens on committees need politic and lie

Why the policemen on duty do not even try

Why rednecks with pickups tear off their exhausts

Why realtors and lenders try ripping you off

Why contractors are lazy and remarkably inept

Why the trailer lined streets are trashy and unkept

Why progress is thwarted with such vigor and vim

As welfare and poverty continue settling in

What have I done? Robby Robbins demanded

Have I made a mistake, am I being reprimanded?

There MUST be a reason for these lies and deceit

He reasoned to himself with a sense of defeat

I thought that I left all this madness behind

When I left the big city for simplicity to find

Surely these folks in this small little burb

Are better then that and above acting absurd.

You see....

Robby Robbins had hoped that here was not there

And his duty and commitment would be met with some care

From the little towns people that he thought would be kinder

But the backbiting lackluster was a steadfast reminder

That no matter how far you move from the city

Acts of self-interest are common and shitty

Trustworthiness, reliance, duty, honor and care

Are all virtuous notions that no longer are there

Except for an occasional chap, who by chance

Will try giving small towns people another fair chance

But people are people no matter your town

And the moral of this story—don’t let your guard down!

Expectations misplaced of a neighborly concern

Are a sure disappointment and your likely return

So, be true to your self and never forget

That acts of good faith that have no regret

Are made by those persons who decidedly labor

For a purpose much greater than a rural town neighbor

And if your purpose to give is not philanthropic

Skip the small town and move to the tropics.

You can relax in the sun and breathe the fresh air

And save your poor feelings from hurt and despair.

If you think Robby’s troubles are not common and true

Robby Robbins has a story of regret just for you.

The Grandparent Effect

Do you remember how much we enjoyed visiting Grandma and Grandpa when we were little? For most of us our Grandparents held us in high regard—we were their little angels—we could almost do no wrong. Wasn’t it great!

They would spoil us, coddle us, encourage us, and sometimes even defend us from being disciplined too harshly by our parents. One might slip us a few dollar bills to spend at the dime store or give us the snack mom and dad would never allow. It was almost as if grandma and grandpa thought we were more precious than our parents, who were their own children. It’s pretty cool when mom or dad has to listen to grandma and grandpa!

Unlike the Butterfly Effect, this is not a story about traveling back into the past to change the outcome of the future. It’s not about how an insignificant occurrence halfway around the world causes a chain of events starting a catastrophe. It’s a real life example that looks forward at how we as parents might improve the outcome-of-life with our children by looking back into our past at the people who always seemed to make things better—our grandparents.

I believe that our childhood recollections may not be an abstraction of truth. I have observed through the years that grandparents often treat grandchildren much better, or at least much differently, than they did their own children. How did we as grandchildren become so much more cherished than our parents? More importantly, can we as parents become more like our grandparents were to us? I believe we can.

I also wonder how it can be that my mom and dad’s memories of grandma and grandpa are so different than my own. My mother spoke of a father who she recalls was an angry, drinking womanizer. But her father, the grandpa I grew up knowing, was the gentlest, most easy going person I’ve ever known. He never displayed anything but the utmost love and respect towards my grandmother. He occasionally indulged in a tipple of brandy, but never remotely imbibed the way my mother recalls, at least not around me. I’ve often wondered what happened to him between the time he was her dad and my grandfather. What caused the Grandparent Effect?

One of life’s unexpected turns has given me some perspective on why grandma and grandpa were so much different than when they were as parents. I, now in my early 40’s, am happily living in my second (and final) marriage. My wife, Amy, and I have a beautiful and bright 4 year old daughter named Emma. Emma was no accident. In fact, we often tell of how she was the most planned child in the history of the world. For six years we prepared our lives and careers anticipating Emma’s arrival. In 2003 that day finally arrived and life with her gets better every day.

But Emma is not my only child. I have a fantastic son, Ryan, who is twenty years old and his sister, my first daughter, Lindsay, who is going on eighteen, and is as bright as she is beautiful. Both of them are great kids from my first marriage to their mother, Wendy. Wendy and I were married just as I entered the Marines at age nineteen. A year later Wendy and I decided to start a family and Ryan was soon on his way. But the difference between Ryan’s father and Emma’s father is night and day. Same man, different dad.

Many people seem surprised when they realize the age difference between Ryan and Lindsay and Emma. We usually get the, “Oh, was Emma an oops?” Amy and I smile and tell them the story of how more planning went in the birth of Emma than did the Invasion at Normandy. As much as I love all my children equally for their own unique personalities, I admittedly am a much different father to Emma than I was to Ryan and Lindsay. It is something that is obvious to me on a conscious, daily level, and is equally apparent to Ryan and Lindsay as well.

I’m sure that Ryan and Lindsay have noticed the difference in my demeanor and wondered if I might love Emma more than I do them. I don’t of course, but it’s rational to ask since I am such a different person now than I was when they were Emma’s age fifteen years ago. Understanding enough about myself to intelligently talk about this subject with Ryan and Lindsay is very important to me. So much so, that I have spent a great deal of time comparing and contrasting myself between then and now. And there are a few conclusions on which I have settled.

Perhaps the biggest is my appreciation and value of life. In practical terms my life is really half over. Several people I know personally who are my age or younger have died, and our parents are now the oldest generation in our families. In my teens life seemed as if would last forever. I was indestructible, daring, a risk taker, afraid of absolutely nothing. Life was all about me. In my twenties life was still mostly about me. I began to interact with the world more, but was not mature enough, not fully capable, to selflessly put the needs and consideration of others completely before me—including my kids’.

Well, I’m not more different, I am completely changed. It’s now apparent to me that life is really short. And giving to others is what makes life the most rewarding. Sitting at the mid-point in my life, I look in both directions, backwards and forwards, hoping to make the next forty years better from the lessons I’ve learned. I’m bound and determined not to make the same mistakes twice, especially with Emma. I now have an appreciation of how fragile life really is, how terrible we can really be to each other, and how much value and meaning one person can bring into the lives of so many (or conversely, how much misery). I remember these same words and actions echoing my grandparents' sentiments.

Close behind came a change in me that I thought I’d never live to see—patience. I’m no saint yet, but I’ve learned to take a lot of crap. For me it isn’t that I simply learned to be more patient; I believe I wasn’t developmentally capable of a high degree of patience until I was older and into my thirties. It is undoubtedly unique for everybody as we are each affected differently by our environment and personal development. But generally, I believe that there is an age continuum that applies to each of us limiting our capacity for patience and maturity. The older we get, the greater our capacity for patience—to a point.

How I would have handled Ryan or Lindsay dawdling along when we were trying to leave the house is much different than how I handle Emma’s extreme pokiness today. Shockingly, I have even managed to make fun of her tortoise-like pace. The change in my capacity for patience has had a tremendous positive affect on the quality of my life and undeniably on Emma’s as well. No child like’s to constantly be hurried along or hastily scolded because mommy and daddy have some other priority on their mind. For me, the ability to exude patience is an extrinsic factor necessary for the quality development of my child’s life, more than it is an intrinsic need for my personal gratification. My grandparents were never in a hurry to do anything. They always moved at my pace. Like them, we only go as fast as Emma can handle. Which brings me to my next point—selflessness.

Selflessness is another critical characteristic that makes the Grandparent Effect possible. My memories of being a young parent, like that of so many I talk to, are filled with recollections of being mostly concerned with what I felt I needed to do; certainly not to the extreme that I would leave my children at home alone to go dancing. But rather a pervasive mis-focus of what’s truly important in everyday life. What I wanted to do often took precedence over what I probably should have been doing for my children instead. I should have spent less time worrying about friends, less time going out, and less time working, and more time playing with my children. My grandparents always had time for me. I always make time for Emma. A value I understand as part of the Grandparent Effect, but not one I could understand as a young parent.

Today, whenever Amy and I decide to do most anything, we stop and consider first the affect it will have on Emma: is she too tired, is it too cold, is she feeling snuggly. Sometimes she would rather stay home and cuddle on the couch than go to the store. So we stay home and cuddle. I am so deeply moved by a stolen moment to hold Emma in my arms, stroke her face, and tell her how much she means to me and mommy.

Looking back on the time since Ryan and Lindsay were small, it’s apparent to me now that we have so little time with them when they are little-people. We do not have much time left when Emma will want to be a cuddle-bug, so I take every opportunity and am thankful for every chance. My grandparents were much the same way. It didn’t matter where we were going or what we were doing, their focus always seemed to be on being there for us when we needed it.

Now, I am not necessarily old for a first-grader’s parent. I am older than most, but I certainly don’t look or act like a grandparent. I’m not ready for that. In fact I’ve told Ryan and Lindsay that if they change my name to grandpa before I’m ready—I’m gonna… What clearly sets Amy and I apart from most all the parents of Emma’s peers, is that we are about ten years older. We have also lived greatly and experienced much beyond our ten years seniority. What otherwise troubles many of the young parents, we seldom give much thought. I see many of the younger parents exhibiting the same behaviors I once exhibited: too little patience, too much self-focus, and an attitude as if life is going to last forever—it doesn’t, ask any grandparent, ask me. I sadly see many of these children becoming exactly what they live.

What I’ve come to believe is that my experience is the Grandparent Effect. It’s the appreciation and respect that can only come from experiencing more of life before taking responsibility to try and guide another. I see myself as my grandparents, only I am lucky to still be the parent. Statistically, Emma is likely to be ahead of her peer group. She is the only (household) child of a seasoned, married, professional couple who are educated and mature. She is certainly academically ahead of her classmates. Already she reads, writes, adds and has a remarkable vocabulary which she can effectively articulate. True, she is around adults a lot and probably has an advantage being nurtured in that environment. But she also spends time at school each day and with friends regularly. She is socially well adjusted and is very much a four year old girl, princess dresses and all.

But what is most important to Amy and me, more than all of those skills, is that Emma is emotionally strong and has a healthy self-image. Emotionally strong and emotionally-intelligent children typically become the most healthy, happy, and productive adults. They are less likely to enter into bad relationships and less likely to lose their way as young adults. I believe that Emma’s emotional strength comes from our behavior as parents who, in effect, act and feel more like grandparents. We embody behavior that brings with it a healthy respect for the brevity and value of life, patience to let the unbridled whims of childhood serve their purpose, and a spirit of selflessness that shows her that nothing is more important to us than her. It’s exactly the way I felt with my grandparents, and we are so fortunate to experience this as parents. But Emma is the true benefactor.

Waiting a little later in life to have Emma has brought more blessings than we could have ever thought possible.

Unfortunately, I cannot go back and undo the past with Ryan and Lindsay. My mission with then now is to try and impart the meaningful lessons I’ve learned—like the Grandparent Effect—in hopes they will have a richer experience with their children and as parents. If anyone ever asks me about our choice to wait to have Emma, I share with them the Grandparent Effect. It seldom happens, but if they offer any doubt, if they scoff at our view, I introduce them to Emma—she’s all the proof they’ll ever need.

Swim Against the Current

The Fighting Fish "Oy!"