Ignored and Irrelevant

IGNORED AND IRRELEANT

         I came home the other day after a long afternoon of playing golf. I was pretty tired but most of all very hungry. When I walked in the backdoor of home, my oldest daughter Marie was sitting in the den watching television; my youngest in the computer room probably doing her thing on the teens & young twenty-something’s seeming favorite website these days, My Space.
         There was no dinner waiting, of course. Of course, because I am learning that it’s not just my kids, but it seems we have a generation for whom cooking a meal for the family or even for themselves is just about out of the question. So, like any rational, red-blooded, starving father, I invited my two favorite females in the entire world to go to dinner with me. If they were hungry, I could never tell because of the reason stated above. However, that didn’t matter. I was hungry, and didn’t want to eat alone. It didn’t matter either what it might cost. I actually love being in their presence, and sitting eating a relaxed meal would give us time away from the familiar surroundings of home to enjoy each other. I think that it is worth noting here that my two daughters are twenty-five and twenty-one respectively. One is a recent college graduate. The other will graduate college next year in the spring.
         As the time at dinner unfolded, I began to notice more and more, that my daughters were not the least bit interested in including me in their conversation. I am not at this point going to try to qualify their conversation. It is not my place to determine what is quality talk to someone and what is not. They bird-walked from topic to topic, and for probably eighty percent of the time we sat there, the daughter who was sitting beside me at the table, not only did she not attempt to include me in the conversation, her body language so much as said, I was not welcomed nor expected to make a contribution. For probably thirty to forty-five minutes, she never looked my way; never angled toward me to even the slightest degree to invite a contribution to the talk. If we were separated by twelve inches, I am probably being generous by at least a couple. When it became apparent to me that I was the invisible man, I sat there quietly, listening and not listening at the same time; becoming increasingly irritated by their insensitivity to the place of utter insignificance to which I had gradually been relegated. I was feeling a whole lot ignored and maybe just a wee bit irrelevant. Was their talk so elevated that I wouldn't know how to contribute any way. Was the social coutesy of inclusion passe, even if it is just a parent we're talking about? I admit to experiencing a combination of feelings at that moment, none the least of which was probably a little bit of self-pity.
         If this had been the first time I’d felt this, I might not have been so alarmed at my reaction, but it was not. I remember the first time I experienced such feelings was three years before when I was out then with my two favorite females, just a few days before my youngest daughter would be leaving to go off to college for the first time. She and the oldest were going to be attending the same school. We were out having smoothies, and throughout the afternoon Marie, the oldest, pretty much dominated the talk, but not by including her sister and myself, but by talking directly and only to her sister, while making it obvious, that she was not that interested in having me share in the conversations at all. Any contribution I attempted to make just sort of fell on dead air. Indeed, I did notice it, but chose not to make too much of it. There were other occasions during the three years, that caused me to stand up and take notice whether a pattern was being established. Alas, between the trips home from school for one break or another, gradually it was pretty much confirmed, especially with my oldest daughter, that growing into her own womanhood, her own adulthood; in attempting to solidify her rank in the family, she was ostensibly pushing her father to a place on a backburner. Mind you, this is not a tale of the intrusive parent being told in some subtle fashion, to butt out. I am not that person. It is the voice of a very proud man, who though not perfect as a man or father, has done his best to be responsible and responsive to his children’s financial, emotional and psychological needs, from the time they were tots, on through to their young adult lives.
         Now for the preachy part of this. Young adults, especially those who are college educated and kick-starting their professional lives, hear an insight that might help you to avoid some testy encounters with your probably now middle-aged parents. Every morning that your late forties to fifty-something parents look in the mirror, they see that their youth has faded. The physical tell tale signs of aging, and yes, growing old are sometimes a handful to cope with. They are not able to perform the physical feats they were able to pull off while they were raising you. What is more, for many the desire to do so even, just is not there any more. Your parents are probably passing through one of many psychological and emotional transitions they will experience on the way to growing old, and yes, even dying. They want still to connect with you. They still want to count in your lives. They do not want to become irrelevant to you, or to anyone for that matter. Middle-aged parents are people too, and they want to be acknowledged still as having the intelligence and wisdom that have come with their years. If your parents are professional people, chances are they are still very much counted on by their colleagues and supervisors at work to provide meaningful contributions to the ongoing success and profitability of an organization. Time and experience has made it more likely than not for them to probably have rank at their jobs.
         In America, it is tough growing old. Sadly, few of us pay old people any mind. They are not heard; their causes are not championed by voices that speak very loud for very long. Many spend their days alone, forgotten or ignored by friends, family, and children alike.
         After my daughters and I arrived home from dinner, I wasn’t sure if I should, but I stopped them before we separated to let them know how I felt that dinner encounter had gone. They apologized, of course. To a young twenty-something their apologies will usually sound something like “I didn’t mean to …….. “ or “I’m sorry if ……….” You know how it sounds. Kids, it’s not about your being sorry. And it's not, because we're not talking here about a right versus wrong behavior. It is more about being aware; about being sensitive to the occasion, sensitive to the moment; about being sure that you do your best to make the parents whom you have always and still dearly love, understand that in your lives they still count; that they are still relevant.