Is there a more subtle, exquisite scene in all literature, in all of life, than Dr. Gibbs’ gently chastising his son, reminding him of his chores?
Well, George, while I was in my office today I heard a funny sound…and what do you think it was? It was your mother chopping wood. There you see your mother…getting up early; cooking meals all day long; washing and ironing and still she has to go out in the back yard and chop wood. I suppose she just got tired of asking you. She just gave up and decided it was easier to do it herself. And you eat her meals, and put on the clothes she keeps nice for you, and you run off and play baseball…like she's some hired girl we keep around the house but that we don't like very much. Well, I knew all I had to do was call your attention to it. Here's a handkerchief, son.
There’s so much unstated and understated in George’s father’s tender prompting. “Here’s a handkerchief, son.” Beautiful. And there’s even more that goes without saying—that George accepts his father’s criticism, that George will assiduously attend to his responsibilities subsequently. In early 20th century Grover’s Corners, there is no vocabulary for George to respond, “You didn’t come to my baseball game, you’re always working, I hate you.” They didn’t speak Japanese in fictional New Hampshire in 1903; there were no words to express disrespect.
Which is not to say that life was easy. Danger was real. No twenty-dollar copay. No antibiotics. Emily dies giving birth to her second child leaving George with more to do than just chop firewood. And who am I to say if the marriages fictional or real were any good by the standards of today. Fewer than one marriage in a hundred dissolved in a given year back then, more now. And the biggest difference between dad’s house and mom’s house was basically nothing. Same values, same chores, same expectations, same town.
Fast forward a century and into real life. We can only make guesses as to what goes on at the other house based on imperfect reports from the children of our separation. How am I supposed to get the kids to put a plate in the dishwasher let along make their bed or do homework when at my ex’s place there are no rules, no responsibilities? a loving father laments. And I have every reason to believe her mom is encouraging bad judgment, behaviors I know to be unhelpful and dangerous. I think my 15-year-old daughter is allowed to drink alcohol. I would never allow that at my house he goes on. (He leaves out the part about how guilty he feels about being attracted to and having had a kid with that woman all those years ago, but I know he’s thinking it. It was so much fun to enjoy a pitcher of margaritas with her 20 years ago; it is a nightmare now to think that she is drinking with their adolescent child.)
Absent being transported back to Grover’s Corners, I have some advice:
1) Repeat the Serenity Prayer. “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference” and don’t address what goes on at mom’s house. There’s nothing you can do about it and communicating to your kid that there is something yukky—no matter how blatant—in their other parent is always a bad plan. The kids are half her after all. Suggesting that there is something one hundred percent imperfect with your ex is corroborating that there is something fifty percent wrong with your kid.
2) Focus on your connection to your kid, not your kid’s association with your ex. Take her hiking, teach her how to bake cookies or change the oil in a car, go to the batting cages.
Because there is nothing you can do about the other house, but there is everything you can do about what goes on in yours.
And who knows. By avoiding trash talking her other parent and with a little gentle guidance, your kid might even determine that she is part of a family, acknowledge her responsibilities, and chop firewood.
