But Mom, It's My Birthday

My kids were born in the eighties, which means I now have plenty of time and energy to spend on important things like, riding my horse, Captain. That’s not to say my sons are not important. However, in the eighties, your main objective was to raise fully independent adults, so that you could move on to truly fun things.

In contrast, the nurturing Captain receives is much more representative of the twenty-twenties. He’s monitored, measured, protected, and pampered in ways that simply weren’t part of parenting four decades ago.

Secretly, I think my sons are a bit jealous. But they shouldn’t be. They had a chance to grow up before parents thought about adding enrichment to their kids’ lives. That meant they had more time to play, use their imagination and work out issues with each other and friends. Stranger danger was not a big thing, so they could still venture away from home on their own. They had sugar and as much screen time as the dial-up internet would allow.

In a way, Captain is like the grandchild I never had (at least not yet anyway). He’s the subject of videos, the focal point of pictures, the receiver of gifts, and the one that keeps me young. There may be a tendency on my part to spoil him and to overlook his tiny imperfections. He is a much adored dependent.

Recently, my youngest son called to invite my husband and me to spend the last weekend in August with him and his wife. From the kitchen wall, I grabbed the calendar to check the dates old-school style. “It’s finals that weekend,” I said. “Captain and I will be showing.”

“But Mom, it’s my birthday,” my son replied. His independent man voice had taken on tones once familiar in his boyhood years.

“Well, I have a great idea,” I smiled. “I’ll book an extra room, and you two can come and watch the horse show. Won’t that be fun?”