Parental Predictability

With Mother’s Day barely in our rearview mirror and Father’s Day on the horizon, I admit I’ve caught myself reflecting on days gone by. I find that I do that quite often as the days of my childhood were some of the best. I like to park there frequently and these holidays give me another great excuse to do just that.

Mom went to her heavenly home three years ago; dad ten years ago. They were best friends since five and six years old. Just this week, I heard the story how they came through the back door of Grandma Esther’s house, holding hands. Ruth at six years old announced quite adamantly to Grandma Esther, “we’re engaged.” It had to have been one of the longest engagements in history, but sure enough, in their early twenties they made good on their oath and were married in the little Methodist Church in McLean NE where they had both been confirmed together years before.

A year after they were married, my brother Dave came along. Three years later, I was born and six years after that, Connie arrived. I’ve been contemplating what might have been the greatest influential factor that this couple utilized that contributed to giving us those great childhood memories. We weren’t rich, well traveled, or surrounded by extended family. In fact, just the opposite. After Dad would milk the few dairy cows we had, Mom would separate the cream from the milk. The cream we hauled to town and sold, gave us the means to afford our Sunday trips to church. As far as traveling – we once took an eight hour memorable trip to Wisconsin to see Uncle Wendell and Aunt LeVila. Memorable because none of us have forgotten how we continuously chewed bubblegum to plug the hole in the gas tank. And extended family? The closest were more than three hours away so and we didn’t see them nearly as much as we would have liked. No…we can’t pin a badge on any one of these things as the reason for a pleasant childhood.

As I pondered this, one word kept coming forward in my mind – predictability. If there was one thing Mom and Dad were, it was predictable. They knew what they could expect from each other and they conveyed to us kids their expectations of us as well. Even if Mom and Dad didn’t agree on something, they could expect that the other one would stand by them. They had that ever-lasting stability that served them well through sixty plus years of marriage. I’m sure they had some disagreements at times, as all marriages do, but their commitment to each other and to us was unwavering.

As kids, this predictability brought safety and security. We didn’t have to wonder how our parents were going to react to situations. They were as steady as Nik Wallenda on his walk across Niagara Falls. We didn’t cause trouble in school; if we were to try that, we could expect it wouldn’t go well at home. Predictability. We knew if we had any extracurricular activity that the public was invited to – they would be there. Predictability. We knew if the neighbors called and needed help, Mom and Dad would be leaving. Predictability. We knew if we knocked the mirror off the Rambler at the mailbox, we’d get a talking to. Predictability. (I only did this once.) Most of all, we knew, no matter what happened – whether good, bad, or ugly – our folks would be there to walk through it with us.

Yes, I think that’s what I liked most about my childhood. There was no need to fear the unknown – we always had at least an inkling ( and most of the time a good idea) of what was ahead. This predictability wrapped us in a snug blanket of security. I doubt my parents realized how much that meant to me. I wish now that I had told them.

How I wish every child could be so fortunate. But of course, that’s not the case. This month as a good friend and I were traveling in search of the northern lights, she pointed out a bar we passed. “My mom used to load us six girls in the car and bring us here. We would stay in the car for hours while she went into the bar. We never knew how long she would be in there.” The only predictability these young girls had were that their mom would come back to the car impaired.

Thank goodness for the parent we can rely upon when we can’t rely upon our own. Psalms 68:5 tells us that God is Father to the fatherless. He promises to do what a parent is designed to do, but for whatever reason can’t or won’t. I like to personalize Psalms 121:7-8. The Lord will keep me from all harm – He will watch over my life; the Lord will watch over my coming and going both now and forevermore. Now that my parents are gone, I find security in that.

Until next time – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.