It's not sacrifice

My whole life – at least my adult life, so that would be the last few days, anyway – I’ve read and heard frequent references to the sacrifices parents make on behalf of their children.

While I understand what people mean I’m not sure the characterization is apt, at least not for people who earn the right to be called Mom or Dad. The truth is, I think I’ve done okay as a parent and I don’t recall making any sacrifices.

Perhaps I just have a bad memory or perhaps I’m misconstruing the term but I don’t think so.

Mary and I entered into a pact early on that served us reasonably well throughout our child-rearing years. We would face what came at us while trying to tend in the direction of positive outcome. And when we had to make a choice between our comfort and our children’s well-being, we would opt in favor of the kids.  I know, that sounds very ‘well duh’ but really, that’s sort of how we planned our life as parents. We voiced nothing more or less philosophical than that.

So as the challenges came, as we knew they would, we just did what parents do. We had a white wing chair in which one of us spent most of the night every night for well over a year. Having a sick baby meant Mary and I were both able to recite the Nick At Nite rerun lineup and I’m pretty sure I memorized a couple episodes of The Donna Reed Show in their entirety. Came to hate a certain purple dinosaur but that may have just been a matter of druthers.

I recall some long periods of budgetary skinniness when we had to pony up for choir fees and tour costs.

Mary and I both volunteered for various and sundry kid-focused activities over the years. We’ve stood out in the cold with cookie-hawking Girl Scouts, chaperoned car washes, built scenery and a portable puppet theatre, provided refreshments, swept up after, you know how it goes.

Mary and I volunteered for most of Two’s high school volleyball games, Mary as scorer and yours truly as line judge. I can tell you now without fear of scarring my daughter too badly that I really hated that gig. I would much rather have watched the games and line judges are not well respected in high school volleyball circles.

More than one Christmas, Mary and I limited our largesse for each other in order to make sure the kids got their fave toys and yes, there was at least one Christmas Eve that found us frantically trying to find the favored toy of the year.

It’s not sacrifice. It’s something good, perhaps even mildly noble. But it’s not sacrifice. Because the whole point of being a parent is the creation and nurturing of something better than oneself.

And besides, how can it be sacrifice when you end up with these daughters?