“Pull your pants up and face forward, got it?” I said. “They’re in high school, pal!” He never turned around again.
About halfway through the concert, one of the security guards finally took pity on me. He came over and handed me some bright yellow foam earplugs. I’d like to tell you they helped, but my hearing was already shot.
Four hours later, I understood exactly how my mother felt the day she took me to see Soupy Sales. I was awakened from my pounding, bass-induced state of semicatatonia by a transparent circle that detached itself from the stage and transported Drake skyward about seventy-five feet off the floor of the XL Center. While a DJ played sexy beats, Drake started pacing around the circle, talking to the girls in the audience from his lofty perch. “I see you . . . and you . . . Hey, you, in the leopard suit . . . I see you. Ooooh, pretty mama in those hot pants . . . I see you.”
He did this for twenty minutes. Leila and her friends were ecstatic, hoping and then believing that Drake was pointing right at them.
In fact, the crowd was going nuts. I’ll admit—he held them in the palm of his hand for that entire segment of the show. It was around this time I decided to take a video on my iPhone and upload it to Vine. It’s pretty much a still shot of me looking like a miserable zombie, while everyone around me is enjoying the show. It was like I was frozen in time while everyone around me was moving, dancing and having fun. My expression conveyed what I was thinking: “Why am I here? I am way too old for this!” This wasn’t a concert to enjoy; it was a test of endurance.
But then I realized I was wrong.
You see, I got to spend some quality time with my daughter doing something she liked. Plus, Leila and her friends were having a wonderful time. And the more I watched her smile and dance, having fun with her girls, the more I realized that none of this was about me. These experiences are all about my kids.
My parents’ passing left me thinking about my mortality a little more often than I used to. When you have parents, there is a symbolic buffer between you and the abyss. But now I was much more grateful for every moment. And as a parent, this is what I’d signed up for—concerts, Disney On Ice, amusement parks, school plays, dance recitals and all of the other things that we sometimes moan and groan about having to do—especially someone like me who is a slightly more “mature” father. “Why am I here?”
Because this is what we do.
We sit through the recital—watching other people’s kids dance right alongside our own.
We spend weekends at soccer games and horse shows and yes, even concerts.
Not because we have to.
Because we want to—because we don’t know how long we have to share those moments with our children or how long they will want to share them with us. If I didn’t take Leila and her friends to see Drake, another parent would have, and those memories would be someone else’s to hold on to. When I weigh out the options, the truth is, there’s no other place I’d rather be than watching my kid have the time of her life.
After the show, the girls were so excited, laughing and being silly, like young girls can be. I will admit, that made me feel pretty darn good. And then I heard, “Thanks, Pappers!” That’s what Leila calls me. In that moment, despite the fact I hadn’t fully regained my hearing yet, my heart was full of pure love. I had forgotten all about my misery and replaced it with her joy. I smiled, knowing I had done something good that night. It was worth it. And so what if I’ve lost a little bit of my hearing? It’ll come in handy when Leila asks me to go to another concert.
DEBORAH
Mom Guilt
I am an overscheduled, goal-oriented, people-pleasing, career mom who just can’t seem to say no. Here’s how life generally works for me.
The minute I hear of a hot story, I’m on it, lobbying to do it for 20/20. If a producer pitches an intriguing idea, even while I’m on a plane in the midst of another shoot, I am quick to say, “Let’s do it!”
When Nicky asks for pancakes at six thirty a.m. before school, I am whipping up the batter by six forty-five.
At least two days a week we find ourselves racing from the breakfast table to the garage so I can drive both kids to school across town and hopefully dash back in time to squeeze in a two-mile run.
If a friend asks me to swing by a charity reception, I vow to make my way there, even if I’m still in the audio booth at six p.m., the event starts at seven and I still need to get home and change clothes and I’m freaking out in Manhattan evening traffic to get there.
If Al suggests a long-overdue romantic dinner, I feel I should accept his sweet gesture even though I’ve got a bad case of acid reflux and I’ve promised Leila I’ll watch Pretty Little Liars with her. I quickly snuggle up with her when we return, to squeeze in a dose of what’s left of Mommy.
Whew! I’m exhausted just thinking about it! But I’m also riddled with guilt, because I can’t be everywhere I want to be all of the time. Oprah Winfrey, who’s been an acquaintance for many years, calls this the “disease to please,” and boy, do I have a bad case of it.
The worst kind of guilt is Mom Guilt. Like so many mothers with demanding jobs, I feel that I need to sacrifice myself for my children. In order to be more there for them, I have to give up time for me.
If Nicky is feeling anxious about a test or has a tae kwon do competition, I want to make sure I am there for him. When I missed Leila’s basketball game or her beloved hamster Buttercup died while I was at the airport, I worried about whether I let Leila down by not being there.
I kick myself when I have to tiptoe out of the house before my kids wake up, or when I’m traveling somewhere for work and can’t tuck them in at night, or when I’m working on a weekend and miss out on going to church or to the movies with Al and the kids. I realize that I am there more often than I am gone, but somehow that rational thought is suppressed by the dreaded Mom Guilt.
I am determined to change this because I understand it’s wasted energy that doesn’t make life better or happier for anyone—most of all me! As women, we too often beat ourselves up for never being in the right place. If I’m at work, I feel like I should be at home doing more. If I’m home, I’m e-mailing and trying to figure out how I can get more work done. Like so many others, I’m constantly wondering if I am a good enough mom.
Did I say the right thing when Leila dissolved into tears after a disappointing audition?
Was I too harsh on Nicky for sneaking his iPad to school?
I know I am not alone here.
Please tell me you’re nodding your head in agreement.
No matter how well things seem to be going at home, I constantly wonder if the grass is greener on the other side. Recently, I had lunch with Karen, a dear friend who exited off the career freeway to stay home with her four kids. Whenever we meet, she breezes in looking serene, and I secretly and enviously wonder, “Should I do that?”
I never stop to wonder, “Could I do that?”
If I did, the answer would probably be, no way—at least not long-term. I am too driven and career-minded. Last winter, when a snowstorm closed New York City schools for a highly unusual two days, Al was stuck at work, reporting the weather for nearly forty-eight hours straight. I stayed home with the kids, thinking it could be a treasured bonding experience. I imagined us playing games and doing homework together before baking cookies and eating them in front of the fire. Instead, Leila and Nicky were at each other’s throats within hours, and I was haranguing them to walk Pepper, make their beds and turn off the TV. I was exhausted by lunch (which I made, of course).
The next morning, itching to get to work, I decided to keep my appointment to do an interview downtown. The acerbic comedian Gilbert Gottfried had been fired by Aflac after making some controversial remarks, and I was going to ask him how comics know if they’re going over the line. It was straightforward enough, so I decided to take Nicky with me. “I
can be a mom and a reporter at the same time,” I thought.
Wrong!
As the cameras began rolling, we could hear Nicky cheering and jeering as he played Angry Birds on my phone. Gilbert, himself a dad, good-naturedly shouted, “Shut up!” And then laced it with an obscenity.
Oh, that Gilbert!
We all laughed and soon finished the interview, but I learned a big lesson. Assuaging my guilt by bringing my son to work only made me feel more stressed and, in the end, guiltier!
I often assume the kids are feeling slighted and are suffering emotional erosion when I am at work or not entirely focused on them when we are together. But I am slowly learning that it isn’t always the case at all.
In the midst of another guilt trip, after a shoot that required me to work the previous weekend, I decided to spend a Saturday alone at our weekend home with Leila while Al and Nicky stayed in the city for a birthday party. I was in the throes of a complex three-part story for 20/20 about a father who had mysteriously vanished and the piece was due in a few days. My producer, a smart go-getter named Alyssa, who was also a mom, offered to begin in the edit room and work with me by phone for the day so I could keep my plans with Leila.
Leila and I were looking forward to snuggling together on the sofa, eating some popcorn and enjoying an afternoon movie. Just as we pressed play on the DVD player, the phone rang. Alyssa wanted to talk through some concerns about the script. I grabbed my iPad and began rewriting a few paragraphs. Then, as often happens when I’m engrossed in script writing, I had a new thought and then another. I carefully and specifically gave her directions as we rewrote a page or two. We said good-bye. Ten minutes later the phone rang again. Ever the careful journalist, Alyssa wanted to confirm a date in the story that seemed questionable.
Half an hour later, I hung up, feeling guilty that I had shortchanged Leila on “our” weekend.
I apologized to my daughter because I wanted her to know I respected our time together and didn’t take it for granted. But before I could finish, Leila threw me a serious curveball.
“Mom, you’re really cool,” she said.
Huh? I didn’t see that coming.
“The way you juggle everything and the way you always try to balance your work life with your family life means a lot. And your patience with your producer was amazing,” she added.
Wow! I was floored!
Here I was thinking that thanks to my career, I was wrecking a beautiful memory and providing fodder for therapy one day, and Leila made me feel like a million bucks.
It took my teenager to drive home a serious message. I was so busy feeling guilty, I never once stopped to consider that I might be successfully setting a good example about being flexible, accomplished and nurturing toward a coworker. I knew I wanted to be that kind of mom. I was trying to be that mom. I just didn’t realize that I was that mom. Al often tells me that women should take a page out of the guys’ handbook and feel less guilt. I think he’s right!
When it comes to parental G-U-I-L-T . . . Guys Understand It’s Less Tricky!
Somehow they have a way of feeling half full about life rather than half empty. Al doesn’t dwell on whether or not he missed Nicky’s school assembly three days ago; he focuses on how he raced home in time to take him to swim class today. Somehow he holds on to what he accomplished and lives much more in the moment—and for the moment—than I do. A few weeks ago, as we were lying in bed after a long, exhausting day, I asked Al if he ever feels like he is screwing up as a parent, or not doing it right.
“Nope, not really. I made Nicky’s lunch this morning and sat in on his tae kwon do class. I feel pretty good about how I’m doing,” he said with great confidence.
Granted, he has been through the parenting thing before, raising his daughter Courtney, so he had a little experience under his belt.
Look, I am not saying that my husband is immune to guilt, but he doesn’t carry it around like a weight around his neck. Why fret over what he didn’t do last week? He reminds me that he can’t do anything to change the past. Similarly, my mom used to quote Old Testament scripture that essentially says, “Once you put your hand to the plow, don’t look back.”
That lesson also applies to parenting. I am trying every day to take it to heart and to teach my children that no matter what happened yesterday, we are now focusing on today and what lies ahead. Feelings of regret and guilt are wasted emotions.
Thankfully, I am blessed to have a supportive husband who understands that. He also seems to recognize when I need to step away from the stresses to reclaim myself.
When my good friend Jerri moved to London a few years ago, she invited me to come hang out for a girls’ weekend. Now and again I mentioned it to Al, and for months I came up with dates that worked and then excuses for why they didn’t.
“I should go check in on Mom down in Georgia and see how she’s doing” or “Leila needs help with that project” or “Nicky really needs a new winter coat.”
Before I knew it, a year had passed and we still hadn’t booked our trip. Finally, Al took matters into his own hands.
“Let’s book this trip once and for all!” he said as he took out his iPad and began searching for flights.
Al was forcing me to do something wonderful that I felt slightly guilty about doing for myself. He knew I needed this getaway more than I did! A weekend away from the kids, with no stress, no pressure, no one pulling at me and no guilt was a gift beyond comprehension.
I boarded my evening flight with a joyful ease that I rarely feel when leaving home. My thoughtful, kind husband had booked me in business class. Woo hoo! When the flight attendant offered a glass of champagne and eye shades, any misgivings I felt soon melted away.
Soon I felt like a giddy teenager playing hooky. Jerri and her husband, Gregg, gave me a beautiful weekend getaway. We enjoyed shopping, sipping English tea and long, beautiful walks around London. What a joy to sleep late and worry about absolutely nothing except which hot new London restaurant we should try next! When I called home, Leila quickly remarked that I sounded so relaxed.
“You should do things like this more often!” she said.
At that moment, both she and I understood the power of taking a deep breath . . . even thousands of miles away.
I hung up with a happy smile—and best of all, no guilt!
Since I came home from that trip, I’ve strived to remember and hold on to that relaxed feeling.
Of course, it doesn’t always work. Oh well. Maybe another trip will help. I hear Paris is nice in April! As they say, practice makes perfect!
AL
The Opposite of Mom Guilt
If your life is anything like mine, you’re in constant motion, doing your best to keep up with your obligations at home and at work. The idea that you could actually stop and take a breath every once in a while sounds pretty good, though most of us don’t give ourselves that much-needed break. When we do get free time, we feel like it should be spent with our kids or doing things around the house, to make up for the time we spend away from home.
That’s why I love business trips. I am a firm believer in the value of getting away from the home front for a period of time, leaving a little early and taking an extra day or night to relax. I don’t fill my time away with unnecessary dinners or meetings that merely fill empty space. I am busy enough. I look at these windows as an opportunity to slow down and take a breath.
Deborah is the complete opposite.
I think it’s her Mom Guilt—which is what moms get by putting the weight of the world on themselves.
I have the opposite of Mom Guilt.
Would I rather be home? Absolutely.
But I don’t feel like a bad guy because my job takes me away from time to time. It’s part of the gig. Working in morning television is like belonging to a small fraternity. There are only a handful of people wh
o have the same experiences that I have, not to mention the hours. While there are definite perks, there are, of course, drawbacks. I go to bed early and am awake well before the crack of dawn. I am often in bed before my kids and can’t be at home in the morning to put them on the bus to school. On the other hand, I can be there to pick them up at the end of their day, help them with their homework and make dinner. I’m usually home before Deborah, which means I’m waiting for her with a glass of wine in hand and a home-cooked meal waiting on the table. It’s a bit of role reversal that I rather enjoy.
Matt Lauer and I don’t sit around trading parenting tips, but we do talk about what we do in our off time, such as traveling to horse shows because his wife and his daughter ride. We’re just like every other dad who wants to attend every swim meet, chess tournament or spring concert we can. I can recall one occasion when Matt couldn’t make his son’s baseball game because he had to do a big interview, and I could see in his eyes he was disappointed. I think it’s great that today’s dads are much more involved. When I was growing up, fathers weren’t expected to be at parent-teacher conferences or art shows. Now when I go to school during the day, at least half the parents there are dads. Even President Obama finds the time to attend his daughters’ school and sporting events! He has the weight of the free world on his shoulders—if he can make the time, anyone can! The problem is that dads get a big pat on the back when they come and often get a pass when they don’t. Moms are expected to be there, and when they can’t make it, they feel guilty about it! Even when no one else is putting that pressure on them, they put it on themselves.
Whenever Deborah has to travel for work, she prefers to leave the morning of her interview, rushing to catch her plane and then rushing right back home, getting back late at night, long after the kids have gone to bed.
Not me.
I prefer to leave the night before, get in a workout, have a nice dinner, get a good night’s sleep, do what I need to do the next day and take a decent flight back.
Been There, Done That Page 12