That was the title of a 1972-1974 Hanna-Barbera prime time animated sitcom featuring Tom Bosley of Happy Days fame. It was also a popular refrain in most households when I was growing up. The moms of my era did all the grunt work and kept the homesteads running and the ever present warning of Dad finding out what you did wrong at the end of the day kept most of the kids in line.
The parent child dynamic is very unique. Love, guidance and nurturing are all very important in raising a child.(I’m kind of guessing here, since I do not have children) But, a little dose of fear can go a long way to keeping one on the straight and narrow. That was definitely omnipresent in my youth. I loved my dad and looked up to him, but knew full well there would be repercussions if I misbehaved. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about sheer terror at some horrible punishment, but, rather the subtle anxiety of the stern voice handing down your sentence. I’m sure I had been spanked on a few select occasions, but that was not the norm.
It was like that for years, though I must say that I was for the most part an exceedingly well behaved child, perhaps, the best behaved(or boring) of the five children in my family.
Then one day the entire father son relationship took a startling turn(cue dramatic music, da da da). I was a junior in high school and had been accepted into the National Honor Society . I was fairly ambivalent about the whole thing and wasn’t too sure if I would even bother to attend the induction ceremony. I had reached the sullen moody phase of my teen years. Well, my proud mom went out and purchased some new clothes for me to wear for that occasion. She presented them to me when I returned home from school that day and rather than thank her like a good son, I went ballistic and started yelling at her for buying the items. I let her know I wasn’t attending that stupid event and I stormed off.
Now, before I finish this story, you need to know the effort my mom put into buying those clothes. First off, she didn’t drive, so she walked close to two miles each way to our downtown shopping area and it was quite possible that she had worked the 11-7 night shift as a nurse the prior evening. No big deal, right?
I was sulking in my room later that day when my father came in to address the situation. Uh oh, I was in for it. I waited for the yelling, but all I got was a quiet, “Kevin, I want to talk to you about how you treated your mother today.” He went on to tell me that my mom was proud and just wanted to make sure I looked nice and went to a lot of effort to do that for me. He continued with a comment that your parents are your best friends and you can depend upon them no matter what. At this point, I wasn’t feeling enough like a jerk, so my dad finishes with the tale of when I was very young and I would often come running back into the house because I forgot to give my mom a hug before I went out to play. Geez, couldn’t he have just kicked the crap out of me instead? It would have hurt a lot less.
Needless to say, I never treated my mom that poorly again. Strangely enough, neither did I apologize. We did not express a lot with words in my family, my father’s little talk being the exception. To this day, I’m not sure there is anything I regret as much as that moment when I yelled at my mom for simply being a good mother.
The transition of the relationship between my father and I from fearful child and stern disciplinarian to mutually respecting adults did not reach completion until a couple of years later. I was just out of high school and working in the small neighborhood grocery store my family owned. My older brother was in college, so I was second in command. On occasion, my parents would try to sneak away for a brief vacation or over night trip to celebrate their anniversary. I would run the store with my two younger siblings. Quite a bit of responsibility for a twenty year old, but I never gave it a second thought. After one such trip, my father returned to discover I had forgotten to place an order for some meat. Often quick to anger, he started yelling at me for “screwing up”. Understand, my parents had everything on the line with this enterprise including a second mortgage on the family home. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, I heard myself yelling back letting him know I did the best I could and then(wait for it) I even used the “f” word! I had never spoken that word in front of my father, let alone shouted it at him(for the record, I didn’t say “f” you. I merely used it as an adjective). Well, I paused for a moment and started to ponder exactly where I was going to be living the next day.
I took a half step back and waited for the yelling, but all I got was a quiet, ” you’re right, Kevin, I’m sorry”. From that moment on we worked as peers and my dad would often consult me regarding the business. If you’ve never experienced it, I can’t explain what it feels like when your father stops saying, “because I told you so” and asks instead, “what do you think?”. He told me my parents were my best friends. I guess he meant it. They were, they are…