I have some friends who recently became grandparents, and they have been proudly showing my wife and I pictures of their new grandson (who, truth be told, is a cute little fart).  As I look at the pictures, I can’t help but reflect on my own kids, and the job my wife and I have done as parents.

We raised our girls to be smart, independent young women, and now that they are both young adults, they are out in the wide, wide, world – trying to make a place for themselves in it and write their own life stories.

Oh sure, we still get constant phone calls and petitions for advice.  My wife usually gets the “emotions” phone calls (i.e. relationships, gossip, and overall mental well-being), while I tend to get the “practical” ones (i.e. finance questions, car questions, mechanical issues, etc.).  Mine are much shorter and to the point, thank the maker.

Now that both of the girls are past the age of eighteen, it has taken a while to realize that our role as parents has moved from that of a supervisor to more of a poorly compensated and often ignored consultant.  For example, I can tell my youngest that she should establish an emergency savings account or NOT to get a tattoo, but I can’t make her take that advice.

I harken back to my own youth, when at that same age, I thought my father was the stupidest man alive, out of touch with the times and not really understanding what life was about for a young man of my age.  Over the years, I realized that he was the wise one, and I have discovered that by trial and error (mostly the latter), I probably should have listened more to what he was trying to tell me.

Hence the dichotomy of being a parent.  We’re here to impart our own experience and pass along our suggestions onto our own kids so that they don’t make the same mistakes or endure the same hardships, but alas, some things have to be experienced firsthand in order to make a lasting impression.

I can hear it in my girl’s responses even now when I offer some suggestion or observations.

“That dear old man, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

I get it.  I was once that same youth, full of confidence, optimism, and a touch of arrogance.  It takes a lifetime to figure it all out, and truth be told, I’m still working on it.

I meet my mother every Saturday morning for coffee, and as I relay these stories of parenting to her, I can see the slight twinkle in her eye as I’m telling her tales that every parent has gone through with their own kids.  It’s a rite of passage.  An initiation.  A “welcome to the club” moment, but thankfully, not an “I told you so” moment.

Even today, she’s still showing me the way.  A parent first and foremost, full of patience, understanding, and grace.  Always there.

My girls will hopefully understand what my wife and I are trying to tell them some day, and we’ll gladly listen as they tell us tales of their own child-rearing triumphs and failures.

As parents, it’s what we do.  It’s a job with no end date.

Thank goodness for that.