I considered all kinds of horrific options as I sprinted up the block to the scene of the scrap. It might be a gang fight. It could be a mugging or perhaps just two drunks fighting. I even had the perverse thought that it might even be an impromptu sidewalk election debate between overzealous campaign workers. I thought I had considered all the options, but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
An aboriginal woman had pinned an adolescent boy to the sidewalk. He was doing his best to get away, squirming and screaming as if the woman was trying to kill him. I looked closer and saw she wasn’t hurting anything but his pride as she simultaneously restrained him and searched his pockets.
I asked the woman what was going on. She responded that this boy was her son. He hadn’t been going to school, hadn’t been coming home and was causing trouble in the neighbourhood. Having found him and caught him, she wasn’t going to let him go. She wanted him to come home.
I looked at the boy and asked for his side of the story. He didn’t dispute any of the school attendance or community trouble stuff. He said, “I don’t want to go home because she tortures me.” His mom responded, “I guess he figures that grounding him and taking away his video game and friend privileges are torture.”
A few passersby glanced at the group of us on the sidewalk. Most of them had that urban “I don’t want to know” look, while the faces of others hinted at mistaken assumptions about what was happening.
I looked at both again. The boy was calming down a bit, not trying quite as hard to kick or push his mom. It was obvious he wasn’t hurt. The mom, on the other hand, had tears welling up in her eyes. She had skinned her knee on the sidewalk while retraining her son, but I knew the tears were not about her knee. In her eyes was a painful mixture of embarrassment for having to parent in public and sadness for the attitude of her son.
He still didn’t want to go home, and I knew she wouldn’t be able to haul him home on her own. I told the boy that if he didn’t want to go home with his mom, I would have to call police to escort both of them home. The mom figured that would be the best option.
I admired the fact that, instead of covering for her son’s misbehavior or blaming others, it seemed this mom was trying to deal with it directly. I was sad for her, however, because it’s tough parenting a kid that doesn’t want parenting. And I felt bad for her boy, realizing that his wisdom and restraint are presently no match for his rebellion.
It’s not easy being a parent these days. Especially some parents. Especially some kids.
For the past few weeks, papers have been crammed with sale fliers reminding us that Father’s Day is nearing. Today the day is upon us.
But Father’s Day is not all it could be in many places in our city. Our streets abound with fatherless youth.
Any given year, any given place, you can be sure that there’s lots more people that celebrate Mother’s Day than celebrate Father’s Day. For some, the former is a celebration while the latter may as well be a day of mourning.
Don’t get me wrong. This is no slam on moms raising kids alone. The mere presence of some men may be worse than their absence. It all depends on the guy.
Some guys seem fixated on getting into a woman’s Fruit of the Loom, with little subsequent interest in the fruit of her womb. Others settle for maintaining a presence without ever providing an example for their kids.
As a dad who knows there’s still room for improvement, I’ve got a simple thought for my fellow dads this day.
Instead of waiting or wishing for gifts from your kids, do your best to make your life is a gift to your kids. A glance of love or pride from them will mean more than any gift.
Oh, and if you remember – say a little prayer for that 12 year old rebel on Maryland. It won’t be long before he can sire a child. I pray that he waits til he’s ready to be a father.
Rev. Harry Lehotsky
514 Maryland Street
Winnipeg, Mb R3G 1M5
(204) 775-4929
lehotsky@escape.ca