Summer of 1974: I’m 9 years old. By 7:30 a.m., I’m already out of the house, or if it’s Saturday, I’m busy doing whatever my dad, Big Mike, instructed—whether it’s mowing the lawn, raking leaves, digging holes, or washing the car.
Fast forward to this summer: I’m quietly slipping out of the house, trying not to disturb my kids, who will likely sleep until noon. They might tackle a couple of chores from the list I’ve left on the kitchen counter, or they may opt for some stale snacks that have been hiding in their rooms for days to avoid the kitchen entirely and “not see” the list.
It appears we’re getting the short end of the stick when it comes to parenting. When did we become so concerned about our kids’ happiness, safety, or popularity? I can assure you that Mike and Ginny weren’t spending their time wondering if my brother and I were fulfilled. Dad was busy working extra hours to save for retirement while Mom kept us out of the house and chatted on the phone with a cigarette in hand.
Meanwhile, we were off three neighborhoods away, playing with strangers, having crossed two busy highways on our bikes with barely inflated tires. One of us had probably wiped out and was bleeding, but no one cared. We were kids, and if we weren’t providing free labor, we were expected to be out of the house.
I truly believe that the same “overly concerned” individual who decided that 4-year-olds should receive party favors also decided that we should be serving our kids instead of the other way around. Think back: What was your Halloween costume as a kid? If you were lucky, your mom might have taken an old sheet, cut out some eye holes, and voilà—you were a ghost. If a friend came over to do her hair and arrived early, good luck getting a proper costume; you’d be stuck with one eye hole while the other was a mere afterthought. I watched my cousin run into a parked car while wearing a similarly constructed costume one year. He was still yelling, “Trick or treat!” as he slid down the rear of a Buick, slightly concussed. When my son was 3, his grandmother spent more on a custom clown costume than my prom dress.
Somewhere in the last couple of decades, the dynamic changed. Parents now sacrifice for their kids, getting by in older cars and on budget clothing while the kids enjoy the best of everything. We invest in private lessons, the latest sports equipment, and adhere to grueling competition schedules. I’m as guilty as anyone, having shelled out for that $300 baseball bat instead of contributing to my retirement fund. Remember Hank Aaron? He didn’t need a $300 bat to excel. Your child isn’t going to go pro, and neither is mine, but guess who’s going to get that phone call when they can’t afford rent? Yep, us.
Consider your childhood wardrobe—did you ever have that desperate yearning for authentic Converse shoes? Did you get them? Probably not. It was a real blow when my mother handed me a pair of Archdale knockoffs she found somewhere. Did I complain? Not a chance. I’m still here, right?
Now we have a generation of children drooling on outfits that cost more than my monthly electric bill. Designer baby clothes didn’t exist when we were young. Why? Because our parents knew better than to splurge on $60 outfits that would end up soiled. They were focused on saving for the future and paying off the mortgage. The irony is that these kids aren’t likely to land jobs out of college that afford them the lifestyle they’ve grown accustomed to, so guess who will be getting the call when they can’t cover their bills? That’s right, us again.
Let’s flashback. Who did the housework and yard work when you were a kid? You did. In fact, many people had kids for free labor. My mom supervised our chores and the house had better be spotless when Dad got home. The battle cry was always, “Oh no! Your father will be home in 15 minutes! Get those toys put away now!” Our evenings were spent getting up to change the TV channel for Dad and only to what he wanted to watch.
On weekends, Dad was in charge of yard work. If you were thirsty, you drank from the hose because spending even a couple of minutes in air conditioning might make you soft. Who does the chores now? A cleaning service that comes every Thursday and a landscaping crew that shows up bi-weekly. Most teenage boys have never even touched a lawnmower. If you asked my daughter to clean a toilet, she’d come back with a detailed report on the various harmful bacteria lurking there. Everyone is too busy with activities to take care of what they already have. But let’s be clear; they aren’t working. Juggling schoolwork, extracurriculars, and spending our money could get stressful if they had to hold a job.
I don’t remember anyone worrying about my workload being overwhelming. My dad probably didn’t even remember my birthday until a decade ago! My parents had grown-up things to manage. As teens, we navigated our own social lives and academic matters. If Karen, while flipping her hair, told me my new perm looked terrible and that no one would date me, my mom wouldn’t have known, let alone called Karen’s mom to resolve it.
Moreover, no calls were ever made to teachers or coaches on our behalf. If we sat on the bench, we sat there. Our dads were busy working anyway. They only knew what we told them. I can’t even imagine my dad leaving work to attend a game. If I got a B, that was it. No threats or bribes to change it to an A. Just to be honest, in my case, it was more like an 84.9999. I was the poster child for mediocrity.
High school was like a practice run for adulthood. We took jobs to earn money for cars and gas and to buy the clothes we wanted. No one got a new car. I was considered lucky because my parents even bought me a car. I use that term loosely. If I tell you it was a red convertible, you might think I was special. In reality, it was a red MG Midget—a death trap.
Look at your coffee table. Now picture it with a steering wheel. I assure you, it’s larger than my car was. The starter was faulty, so after school, I would pop the hood and use two screwdrivers to start it or wait for the football players to push me while I popped the clutch. That’s a memory that no modern teen will ever share. And those new cars? They don’t offer the same stories. The best tales from my teen years involve quirky cars and misadventures, not something shiny and new.
To top it off, many teens head to college with no clue how to search for jobs, apply, or show up on time. If they do have a job, it’s usually due to a favor owed to their dad, and they only work when it fits their busy schedules.
We all adore our kids and want them to be happy and successful, but I worry we’re depriving them of the experiences that create memorable lives and develop their capability as responsible, confident adults. Most of the nice things I had as a teen were things I bought after saving for ages.
Our children receive almost everything, and sometimes I wonder if it’s more for their benefit or to ease our own conscience as parents. Ultimately, you never value something you were given as much as something you worked hard for. There were lessons in our experiences, even if we didn’t realize it at the time. All those teenage squabbles and run-ins with teachers were opportunities for us to learn how to negotiate and compromise. They also taught us that life isn’t fair. Sometimes people just don’t like you, and sometimes you can work tirelessly and still face setbacks. We graduated high school as problem solvers, while I fear our kids are leaving with their parents on speed dial.
We seem to lack the courage our parents had. We’re reluctant to tell our kids they won’t have something unless they work for it because we can’t bear to see them struggle or fail. We’ve showered them with material possessions—things that will break, wear out, get lost, go out of style, and depreciate. As parents, some of us take pride in how we’ve contributed materially to our kids’ lives and paved an easy path for them. But I don’t, and I know many share my frustration. I worry about what we’ve taken away from them in our quest to provide everything.
Understanding Delayed Gratification
Understanding delayed gratification is crucial. It teaches perseverance and how to assess the true value of something. Our kids don’t know the meaning of waiting for what they want. For them, the concept of delayed gratification means waiting for a notification tone on their devices.
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In summary, modern parenting has transformed significantly, with a focus on providing for children in ways that can sometimes hinder their growth and resilience. While we want the best for our kids, it’s essential to remember the lessons that come from hard work and the value of experiences.