Letter From The Other Side; From Cynthia

Tightrope Walking And Other Gymnastic Feats In Life. 

At the time of life when the children have left home you feel at last your days may become a little less frantic and easier there comes upon many of us a circumstance I for one, had never considered  seriously.

Like so many millions before us, we became parents-in-law and then we became grandparents.

‘Aaah’ I can hear you say.

After the initial shock of the empty nest syndrome begins to fade you  realize your children are no longer in need of your help and care and so you settle into the first tentative era of learning to become a mother-in-law and father-in-law, often followed rather quickly by becoming a grandparent.

 This in itself can come as a shock to those who find it hard to see themselves in the roll of the grey haired, wrinkly and lavender or tobacco smelling grandparents who walked slowly through the memories of childhood.

When a group of people our own age get together it is inevitable the difficulties of walking the tightrope between our own thinking and those of our younger generations of parents will enter into the conversation.

We find it hard not to compare our beliefs, experiences and opinions with those of our adult children.

From listening to many, I believe that the majority of us find ourselves always balancing in our minds how much we can say, or even if we have the right to interfere in a situation when our whole being is screaming at us to do so.

These conversations become animated and the volume rises a decibel or two as everyone feels the relief of recounting the latest happening along the wobbly highwires of life.

It is very typical of our society for both parents to return to work following the birth of a child and very often much of the task of caring for that child during some of its most formative years falls to grandparents. Many generous grandparents take on this task willingly in order to help make life for their families easier both financially and emotionally.

Largely, during our lives as post war children we were raised in homes with stay-at-home mothers, working fathers and children who went to school. We were expected to complete after school chores to earn our pocket money. We did our homework and tidied up our few toys before going to bed at an early hour. Our homes were orderly and the wider community was more disciplined. Most went to church on Sundays or special days such as Easter and Christmas.

It all seems so simple looking back. Mum was in charge when Dad wasn’t around and on the whole we didn’t speak back to them or our teachers, we were soon given a good whack with a strap if we did and weren’t allowed to go out to the cinema if we really stepped over the line of what was considered acceptable behaviour. 

The problem for our age group is we no longer know or recognise what acceptable behaviour is and are shocked at what it appears to have become.

Now when visiting family, we sometimes writhe inwardly wishing we could turn off a television program we consider unsuitable for a child to watch. We hold our tongues in the presence of over indulgent parents allowing vile table manners only to see them then succumb to whinging kids who won’t eat their meals but are happy to eat something that will ensure the dentist will be earning another hundred or so dollars from the family again in the near future.

We see playrooms,   - now here I have to pose a question-   how did we manage to live in our smaller houses with less mod-cons and bigger families? How did our parents remain sane without playrooms?....These playrooms are like a second wardrobe for a woman with too many clothes. They are filled to over flowing with toys; many of which have been discarded for months and should by now have been moved on to a charity store.

Sometimes the living room becomes a sort of shrine to the children’s needs. The books, toys, electronic things left strewn across the floor, the television, video, C.D’s everything tuned for the children’s enjoyment. No attempt is taken to turn down the volume of music or talk-back that no one is listening to but it still intrudes into and overrides any attempt at conversation.

Grandfathers suffering from years of working in industries without the now compulsory protection of their hearing sit in a soup of noise that prevents them knowing what is being said by anyone in the room and are then labelled by the family as ‘loosing it’, because they can’t understand a question.

 No attempt to tidy the mess of toys is made but heaven help any grandmother who stands up and twists her ankle on something unnoticed. She falls in an untidy tangle and during the trip to the emergency department of the hospital, is told she should have looked where she was treading.

Who is it really in charge of this home? The children or the parents? Are modern parents nervous of stamping their authority in the house in case they will upset the children or some unseen authority? Where is the guidance and the boundaries of behaviour which should be put in place early to help prevent the nightmare adolescents that are roaming our streets indulging in petty and sometimes serious crimes? It isn’t up to the police or teachers to do all the educative work with our children; it is up to parents and society as a whole.

In our group we all agree we love these people, not always sure why, but we do. What a pity we feel so relieved to get away from them after a few hours.

I believe it uses an immense amount of energy to hold in all the built up frustrations we experience so perhaps it is a good exercise for us in some absurd way.

Others complain of instances when a crisis looms in the young parents’ lives they are immediately contacted and the whole sorry story is poured out into their ever caring ears. They worry for days hoping to hear that all is well.

 Eventually after some time and nights of lost sleep they may contact the son or daughter only to be told ‘Oh that! Oh we fixed that days ago. Sorry I should have called.’ Yes, they should have, but didn’t.

Then there are the emergency calls for a babysitter. ‘The grandparents wouldn’t have anything much planned would they? They can drop whatever it is anyway and we can play on their guilt if they don’t show willing enough. Tell them how little what-his-name is really looking forward to seeing them.’

The grandparents in fact know only too well that little what’s-his-name has screamed and shouted at Mum and Dad in a spectacular tantrum that he doesn’t want Nanna and Grandpa to come because he knows they will make him tidy up after himself, clean his teeth after having not been able to wheedle a sugary bun or biscuit out of them and make him go to bed before 10 p.m. without watching hours of television.

Part of being a mother-in-law to your son’s partner is to make sure you don’t ever, ever, make a verbal slip that may give her a reason for her to feel you are worried that the state of the house could give rise to the next outbreak of bubonic plague.

Being a mother-in-law to your daughter’s husband is a little easier. He can ignore your presence, by watching a football game or go off into a shed somewhere a hundred yards from the house where the father-in-law will have to come into his own with good blokey sort of conversation and riveting stories about how he would have dealt with a burst water pipe or a broken electrical fitting. Thus encouraging someone who has already come close to blowing himself up and electrocuting himself, to have another try.

Another gripe is the lost joy of eating out together as a family. I say eating out together, but it rarely happens.

A friend and I were dining at a beautiful restaurant set in spectacular scenery of rolling hills, snowy mountain tops in the distance with deer and goats frolicking about in the paddocks around us. So much to look at and what were the groups of families at the other tables doing? Everyone, with the exception of the older generation was playing with their smart phones.

There was very little verbal conversation. They pushed food about their plates while pressing buttons and were hardly aware of the natural beauty surrounding them. The in-laws caught us watching them and a look of complete understanding passed between us as one of the young women went outside onto the surrounding balcony not It wasn’t to admire the view, the animals, birds or trees but to have a cigarette.

There is a very high percentage of older Australians who suffer from depression and or anxiety. If we didn’t have our clubs, Probus Groups, U.3.A groups and the like there would be many more.

I have acquaintances that barely see any family members from one year to the next, rarely get a telephone call and although communication is so much easier, they don’t even get a quick text or email. These are good people who remember the various birthdays and anniversaries and care deeply for their children and grandchildren’s welfare.

However we can’t blame the younger generations entirely for this situation because it is up to us make our own lives as liveable as possible and to reach out to others who may be in such situations.

Children are not born to provide parents or guardians with unalloyed satisfaction.

As parents we have all without exception been guilty of making a few mistakes and sometimes a very large hash of a situation.

We brought our children up to be independent and not clannish in their attitudes to humanity. We sent them off to study in overseas countries and to live hundreds or even thousands of miles from us. We succeeded in what we set out to do. They are independent free thinkers. So, our aims have been met. Some just missed out on learning to be considerate and are selfish and overly fixed on success and material things as the only means of obtaining that illusive state of mind we all seek. ……….Happiness.

I often read an alternative lifestyle magazine I wrote articles for during the 1970’s ,80’s and 90’s. I still buy it out of loyalty and read pages which contain ideas and written as if they are newly discovered and original. Perhaps the writer should read some of the older publications. He would save himself the trouble of repeating knowledge which has already been passed on. Then he could perhaps build on it.

History and the elderly repeat themselves needlessly in this world in so many ways.

Our daughter gave her dad a T-shirt a while back. On it was written

WARNING!

 I’M RETIRED.

 I KNOW EVERYTHING AND I HAVE THE TIME TO TELL YOU.

We know what we know and like it or not we cannot stop others from having to learn for themselves.    Unfortunately they sometimes learn the hard way.

I haven’t touched on extended families, step-families and mixed race families. That isn’t a highwire challenge. That is a minefield of human relations.

I do think however, if we can’t manage to have our families mix with love and acceptance, how can we ever hope to have the rest of the world live in any sort of meaningful respect and peace?

Try and think positive thoughts this week. It may help, 

Cynthia