There are times when children's accomplishments make a parent proud, like a vocal solo at school concert, a fine play in an athletic competition, or when a child just says something heartfelt and memorable. I have many such fond memories, and they serve to punctuate the years of family love that sustains us.
Then there are the weeks in which you would swear your children are suffering from some collective illness that saps their common sense. The specific acts are less important than conveying enormity of the mass dementia that seems to have enveloped my otherwise lovable kids.
My wife and I have had some trying times of late with our progeny, all of whom have now reached the age of majority. Now, most of these issues are relatively minor, but I feel like Moe Howard of the Three Stooges: I just want to line the lot of them up and do one of those patented multiple slaps Moe was so good at.
I know that my perception of my own younger years becomes biased, but I cannot recall being as foolish and impulsive as my kids have been lately. True, maybe my middle-aged memory omits certain incidents, and maybe I just didn't get caught in some moments of questionable judgment, but I am certain I exercised better judgment between the ages of 18 and 22.
Maybe it's just the sheer volume of questionable decision-making in the past few weeks that is bogging me down and forcing me to "parent" my adult children on issues that we should be long past. I trust that in a few weeks time evidence will appear to verify that my kids do indeed possess the needed intellectual skills for making sound judgment.
Until that time, I am keeping open the Moe Howard option.