Cats in the Cradle
Released in 1974, Harry Chapin’s Cat’s in the Cradle has withstood the test of time and is a regular selection on any 1970s playlist. The lyrics were taken from a poem written by Chapin’s wife and inspired by the relationship between a son and his politician father; evidently it was strained at best. It tells the story of a son who longs to spend time with his father, but his father is too busy building his career; in time, the dad retires and is ready to be with his son, only to find out his boy doesn’t have time for him.
I just returned from a father-son weekend with my only boy. We hadn’t enjoyed an exclusively father-son weekend in seventeen years; it has been too long. Fortunately, there aren’t, nor have there ever been, challenges for us or awkwardness; we have always been close. And yet, he frequently invokes Chapin’s songs when I reach out to him, and he is slammed and can’t chat. In fact, his modern-day version is a text response with a picture of a cat in a cradle.
As I spent time with him this weekend, I couldn’t help but reflect on the passage of years. He is thirty-one, married with an almost two-year-old son; he has a demanding job. Even though he was “away” for a few days, his life remained one big circus act; it was wild. He had business calls, numerous Facetimes with home, projects he seemed to want to move along, items on his to do list he hadn’t found time to do before and “stuff” he wanted to do on his laptop; it was exhausting watching him juggle everything. Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining at all; I enjoyed every moment of my time with him.
If you are like me, I am sure you will find great pride in your kids; it is the way it should be. I understand it doesn’t always work out; bad things can happen, and they can happen to good people who deserve better. Life can be hard and unforgiving and for my money, regardless of our situation, we should find time to be grateful for something. I heard it once said, you are only as happy as your most unhappy child; turns out that never changes, no matter how old they get. If they are happy, independent of what they are doing, then as a parent, you should be happy too.
Watching my son this weekend brought back lots of memories, some good and some not so good. Sure, I wish I could have done more, but that is a false hope. We all do the best we can, and when it isn’t enough, we get back up and try to do better. Kids are resilient and if loved, they can handle you occasionally missing a game; I promised I would never miss one of the kid’s games. Honestly, I don’t remember if I kept that promise; I don’t think it mattered. What mattered was how I acted when I was there. As I watch my son, I see him living two sides: his work and his family. He juggles them beautifully, and privately wants more family time than work; but he knows he is doing what he is supposed to do.
Times have changed in father/child relationships over the last several generations. My father was raised during a time when it was common for the father in the house to show little affection nor tell his kids he loved them; my grandfather grew up in the depression and WWII and struggled with sharing emotions. By dad’s generation began to see the world differently and often became more emotionally connected to their kids; dad told me he loved me, and I knew he cared. My generation took it a step further and, I think, have learned to show and tell kids, with more ease and emotion, how much they love them. My son’s cohorts seem to have taken it to a newer level; they talk about work life balance more passionately than prior generations and they mean it.
With higher expectations seems to come more pressure and guilt; it is only natural. How many times did I get on a flight for a business trip, feeling like I should be home helping my wife or doing something with my kids; too many times to count. I see the same thing in my son. It isn’t an unhealthy guilt; it is just more than he should feel.
When we had our kids, I stumbled onto a philosophy that said as parents we had two jobs: protect our kids when they couldn’t protect themselves from real harm and prepare them to live on their own as productive people. I work best when I simplify things, and to me that two prong approach captured it. We were very lucky, and it all worked out and I dare say, it works out for most people. Today’s parents seem to struggle with the first goal; I think it has to do with defining what real harm means. I don’t see this with my son, but so many parents seem to fear having their child get hurt from failure; in my view, that is a big disservice to the kid. If they don’t learn how to fail, they will likely struggle to know how to live. To paraphrase how Yogi Bera might describe this, success is seventy percent learning how to comeback from failure, twenty-five percent hard work, and fifty percent luck; you get the idea, the road to a happy life is meandering.
There is some merit to the lyrics “And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me, he’d grown up just like me, my boy was just like me.” If you have children, you see it, they tend to grow up to be like their parents; I saw that this weekend. Thankfully, just like former generations of dad’s learned how to better show their love, our children often take what they learn from us and find a way to do it better; it is rewarding to see.
Next time I text my son asking if he can talk, and he responds with a picture of a cat resting in a cradle, I will not only laugh but will smile knowing he is giving a nod to what he thought I did okay and improving on the things I didn’t do so well. It is the way it should be.
I won’t allow seventeen years to pass before our next getaway; it was too long. Soon his son will be old enough that the three of us can get away for a weekend; I very much look forward to that.
