There are all sorts of things I resent my parents for. I think both my mom and dad are lovely people, but I could pick apart and overanalyze their parenting styles until I am blue in the balls. And no I am not mixing metaphors. I do in fact have balls that I dip in blue dye when critiquing my parents.
One thing that I have really begrudged my dad for was that I felt like he didn’t play with me enough as a kid. Maybe that is because my dad was really fun to play with, and I always wanted more – so no matter how much time he devoted to my amusement it would never be enough. We had such stellar games as me pretending to be little red riding hood, my dad was the big bad wolf, and I would have him chase my down the street yelling “I am going to get you little girl” while I ran away from him screaming. I mean come on… I don’t know why my dad felt uncomfortable playing that one?
But I have to say that having a kid really puts my parents into perspective. I can look at all these judgments I have held onto and realize “ohhhhhh now I get it.” Although I am sure my dad thought it was fun to play for a little bit, he also wasn’t a kid and kind of wanted to live his life.
I relate to this aspect of my dad a lot. I really love hanging out with The Munch and playing games like where she pretends I am a baby and shoves pacifiers in my face – but sometimes I would rather be reading or writing. I know this time with her is fleeting, and she wont be a kid forever and I have to cherish these moments, but now I understand why my dad would play the dictionary game with me so often. (The dictionary game was a game my dad made up while he was working and I wanted his attention. He would find a word in the dictionary, like endoplasmic reticulum and then have me find it in the dictionary. Considering I was 5 at the time, it took kind of a while).
(Here are my dad and I at a Grateful Dead Show… Yeah… that really happened)