The Missing Parent

I have four sons and a daughter. As my sons were growing up, they all did different adventures and trips with my husband. As adults the boys did an annual fishing trip with him and the fish stories began to grow like the hair on my sons’ faces! My boys will never forget those Dad times, especially since he passed away a few years ago.

The hard part about being the parent who is left is that those kinds of outings are hard to do with grown sons. It’s not like I’m the Dad figure who hunts and fishes and fixes car engines with them. I’m the Mom. I’m the cook or the comforter and all those other things Moms do.

When my sons start talking about their hunting expeditions or how they caught fish up in Canada or some other “manly” activity, I zone out! I start to think of things I want to paint or knit or sew. I don’t want to hear about where the deer got shot and how long they followed the blood trail. Ew! It’s like listening to what they did to the neighbor’s cat when they were little boys! (Believe me, you don’t want to know.)

So what’s a mom to do? Do I become a gun-toting hunter? Do I learn how to gut a deer or a fish without losing my cookies? Do I start wearing camo gear as my new fashion statement? What’s the answer to this challenge?

The way I have it figured is this—I am now officially a senior citizen, as much as I hate to admit it. I doubt I will become a licensed gun handler. I further doubt that I will ever enjoy processing deer meat or fish—I’d rather have an aquarium! So I’ll just fry your fish, cook your venison, and tell you when I hear a funny noise from your car. What do you say, boys?