"Yep," I said, getting out and slinging my haversack over my shoulder crossways, and putting on my battered old Tilley Hat. "Kid's gotta learn sometime."
"Okay, well... guess we'll see you in a couple hours, then."
A year ago August, Kid One was just freshly nineteen, and rankling a bit under the operational rules of the household he was living in.
Ours.
He'd just spent the summer working at Canada's Wonderland as a games barker for his second season - and the two school semesters prior discovering he wasn't really interested in University.
No, I don't find fault in that. I wasn't until I was twenty. The up side was I'd been out in the world for a couple years prior, and had come to recognise the other options were... not.
Anyway, he'd been making noises about moving out and finding his own place, on his own. His Mother and I were a little concerned that he mightn't have a clear understanding of the reality of that. He'd argued vociferously with his Mother about that before his shift.
So I was bringing the reality to him.
He seemed a little surprised to see me walking up to him. "Where did you park?"
I asked to see his cell phone and wallet. I put the cell in my pocket - with his bank card - and handed the wallet back to him.
"What's going on..." he seemed a little... well. I certainly had his full attention at that point.
"You've moved out on your own. You can't afford more minutes on your cell phone, and you just have enough money in your bank account to pay your rent. So. How you gonna get home?"
I turned and started walking.
Ten steps in, I turned around to find him still standing where I left him.
Staring. Open mouthed.
"I recommend you try to keep up," I told him. "I'm the one that knows the way home." And I started walking again.
My kids are Millennials.
I've read the blogs, seen the jokes, all that. Let me tell you a secret. If someone is suffering from an irrational sense of entitlement, it's because their parents failed to train it out of them.
I've seen that illness before, in my own generation. I feel like my parents were successful at killing it in me... but I'm probably mistaken. I can pretty much guarantee in a Freudian sort of way that each generation to the dim distant past was seen that way by the one prior.
That's because we forget that we all got it trained out us. All that we recall is that our lives weren't this easy - and that's how it's done.
The Herd thought I was insane, of course. “Gotta be at least a 10 km hike.”
“12.7, according to Google Maps,” I replied. That works out to nearly 8 miles for our American (and British) friends.
I wasn't concerned.
I'd spent a lot of my youth walking that far as a matter of routine. As a result, when I got the job that would eventually sustain me through University, I didn't bat an eye at the fact it was across the Oldman River and a hike across town from where I was living. I just packed my uniform in a gym bag and hoofed it. Buses didn't run at that time of night anyway.
Night shift.
Also, I'd been telling all my boys that I would never make them do anything I wouldn't do myself. So. Time to pony up.
Periodically I'll jokingly send my Beautiful Wife an image like the one at right when she expresses what is probably a legitimate concern a parent should have about one of our boys. It's intended for both of us to check our behaviour... and to guard against the behaviour indicated in the image.She has, on at least one occasion, threatened my life as a result... but I digress.
I misspoke when I told my brother-in-law Ardy's wife, Lane, that I’m careful never to set my boys up to fail. What I meant to express was that I never give my boys a challenge that I’m sure they cannot accomplish.
Very often, they are sure they cannot accomplish these little challenges, and yeah, they just might land on their faces once or twice. But I have more confidence in them than they do.
I think the real issue might be that we are all proud to be able to provide our children conveniences we never had, and that we enjoy the comfort they provide for us too. I guess the key is to get our kids to know – that is to Understand and Appreciate - that that cell phone–big screen TV–gaming system–Internet access–ride to school/work/friends/Brampton is a privilege, no matter what they think.
She and I work pretty hard at that.
They've also learned - the hard way - that fair is a bad word at our house. They don't like fair. Fair is a serious downgrade.
Took me a few minutes to convince Kid One that he could actually walk all the way home. Once he decided I was serious, he got down to business. At the end of it all, he seemed to really enjoy the walk and the perspective. He said so, anyway.
More than I did, actually. I had a little flare up of the injury that got me out of the Armed Forces - about 20 minutes in to the walk - and went the next 2 hours or so on a nasty ankle sprain.
No, I wasn't gonna call in for a pickup at that point. I'd committed to the principle. Seems I'm a bit dogged about that kind of thing.
Didn't even limp until the last 10 minutes.
I reminded him of that evening 13 months ago just the other night. He was worried that his new job – and a 3 am wake up time – would get the better of him.
“You can get used to anything, Kid,” I told him. “Look on the bright side - it's only a 10 minute walk.”
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