On the (permanent) record

Classic phrases continue to characterize parenthood

One of the most enjoyable parts of being a grandparent is not having to be the heavy-handed one.

It is, happily, not my job (nor my place) to enforce rules and regulations with the grands. Neither do I have to be sure the little ones are gleaning from me the knowledge and wisdom needed to grow into adulthood.

That would be the responsibility of their parents. And from where I sit, those parents are accomplishing this splendidly, allowing Susan and me the privilege of spending time with six wonderfully bright, intelligent, well-adjusted young folks (he says without one hint of bias on his part) who bring joy beyond measure.

Before I start receiving critical emails, let me assure you, when they are in my care, my grandchildren do not run wild in the streets and/or eat candy at every meal. I will always see they are safe and, if I have been given instructions from their parents, I follow those. (Most of the time, anyway.)

It is also interesting (and fun) to witness my adult children as parents. Every generation of parents seems to have its own hot topics to deal with. Today’s parents are highly concerned, and rightfully so, about the effects of technology.

Because of that, life seems much more complicated. While we taught our children their home addresses and phone numbers, and how to put a coin in a pay phone so they could call us, I suppose today’s kids have to know Mom’s and Dad’s mobile phone numbers (and how to send them a text if their phones are on silent).

But how are they supposed to call Mom and Dad if they don’t yet have a phone of their own, something the parents might be trying to delay as long as possible? Because what’s a pay phone?

Again, all things I am happy to leave in the very able hands of my grandchildren’s parents.

On a more light-hearted note, I love hearing those parents use some of the same cliches we used. I have not yet heard “I hope your face doesn’t freeze that way,” but my son Daniel, during a serious discussion with his son Hank (now eight and probably around five at the time), told him he could stay in his room “till the cows come home” to help him get a grip if necessary.

Hank, who was (and still is) very literal, gave a puzzled look and began to ask specific questions about cattle and how they return to their homeplace.

My daughter Maggie is fond of asking her children if they need “an attitude check.” She may thank me later for that little gem.

My son David’s little guy Harrison is a couple of months shy of two. I look forward to the day Harrison might need some guidance on a task he has been putting off, and David tells him it’s “D-Day,” meaning there is no time left and it’s time to get on with it.

When David was a high school student and about to take one of the college admissions tests, his mother thought he had not made adequate preparations. I remember the early summer day she went into his room and told him time had all but run out, and it was D-Day.

I don’t recall his having much of an immediate response other than a possible rolling of his eyes. But I do remember, later that day, his telling his mom she was right, it was D-Day, because it really was. It was June 6th, the anniversary of the day the American troops stormed the beaches of Normandy, marking the liberation of Western Europe from Nazi control.

And yes, I had to go into another room to laugh as Susan dealt with the smart-mouthed (but immensely clever) teenager.

Going back to my own childhood, parents of my folks’ generation might have been a little looser with language, thinking nothing of a threat to “knock you into next week” without fear of being reported to the Department of Child Services.

They had their own precautions, one of which was to always take great care to not put one’s eye out. How this was supposed to happen was never elaborated upon, but a version of the warning was famously depicted in the movie A Christmas Story when Ralphie asks for a BB gun for Christmas. His mother was horrified and everyone from his teacher to Santa Claus told him, “You’ll shoot your eye out.”

Perhaps the biggest concern of Greatest Generation and Silent Generation parents, however, was their children’s “permanent record.” When you were still a small child, there was time for correction, but along about the teenage years, especially once you were in high school, what today might be considered a minor slip-up could supposedly do irreparable damage.

“You’ve done it now,” a mom or dad might have exasperatedly exclaimed when learning of a grade of D or F in your teen years. “This is probably going on your permanent record.”

Just how “permanent record” was defined was a matter of interpretation. Frankly, we probably did not ask for details, thinking we might be knocked into next week.

Each of us had our own view of it. I pictured a gigantic building in Washington, D.C. Doors along long corridors would open to huge rooms filled with file cabinets. Each room was presided over by a stern upper middle-aged woman, a retired schoolteacher perhaps, who had made her own permanent-record warnings over the years. For her, the chickens were coming home to roost (another good one) in one real time.

In one of those files, in one of those cabinets, was my permanent record, which contained every infraction of my life. It was permanent, of course (hence the name), so once it got in that file, there was no undoing it. (In today’s world, a permanent record might be found online but it would likely require a username, a password and dual authentication, so it would probably not be worth the effort to try to gain access.)

As parents, Susan and I bypassed “permanent record” and “that will put your eye out” and went straight to D-Day and attitude adjustments. Susan also had a fondness for “let’s cross that bridge when we come to it” if our children were, in the words of her own mother, “borrowing trouble” — worrying about potentially disastrous events that had not come to pass.

I still have some worthy words and phrases at the ready for my adult children when needed.

When they talk about being exhausted with diaper changing, night-time feedings, getting ready for school, doctor visits, drama with little friends or all the busyness that comes with this stage of life in general, I might give them a “You’re gonna miss this,” and/or, “The days are long, but the years are short.”

Because it’s God’s truth. And it will be till the cows come home.