While I have sympathy for people who are currently caring for aging parents, I can’t help envying them a bit as well. My father died more than 40 years ago, before any of his three children had graduated from high school, let alone started their own families or established careers. My mother saw my two siblings and I reach adulthood, and was fortunate enough to meet all six of her grandchildren before she passed away in 2007. A day doesn’t go by when I don’t think fondly of one or both of my parents. I really wish I could confirm for them that anything about me that’s even moderately good or attractive is a direct result of their encouragement, role modeling, diligence, and faith.

My mom and dad never lectured us about the importance and value of sacrifice; they just put their family first, every minute of every day. They didn’t tell us to treat others the way we wanted to be treated; they just lived their lives doing that very thing. They never harangued us on the value of hard work; they just labored honestly and ceaselessly themselves, every minute of every day. From watching them, my siblings and I learned that while it’s mean to laugh at someone, laughing with someone isn’t just okay; it’s fun for everyone involved.

My father loved working with his hands. Our family never owned a new car. My dad would purchase sad-looking jalopies on the cheap, go to a nearby junkyard to pick up whatever parts were needed to make them operable, and after some hard work (and occasional loud and incredibly imaginative cursing) he’d have them running efficiently. When he and his brothers-in-law built an extension onto the small house we grew up in my dad not only did all the electrical wiring, he built a fireplace and an accompanying chimney by himself, even though he had no previous experience with masonry. He also dabbled in carpentry and plumbing when the situation called for it.

My dad was passionate about fixing things, and worked hard to interest his oldest son in picking up the sort of know-how he had acquired from others who had generously shared their knowledge with him. But I was too busy immersing myself in things that were more fun and required less work, like baseball, basketball and football. I suspect my dad knew that lecturing me on the value of acquiring expertise far more useful than picking up ground balls or making left-handed layups would have been a waste of his breath, but he had to have been frustrated by my inability and/or unwillingness to pick up important skills which he himself had worked long and hard to attain.

It wasn’t just my father’s pursuits I turned away from. My mother’s passion was music. She sang in a local choral group, played a variety of musical instruments, and encouraged her offspring to do the same. My younger brother played both the guitar and the trombone; our sister was a pianist who later played the French horn in the high school band. I willfully and proudly distanced myself from all things musical.

If I could talk with my mom and dad today, the first words I’d say would be, “Thank you for your patience.” The next ones would be, “You were right and I was wrong. I should have learned about carpentry, or how to change the oil, or sung in the choir, or tried playing the trumpet.”

Whoever said, “What goes around, comes around,” knew exactly what he or she was talking about. I am now a parent of a trio of children myself, just like my mom and dad were. All three of my kids know of my lifelong love for athletics in general and basketball in particular. My oldest child, who as an eighth-grader has reached a height I didn’t attain until my junior year in high school, is merely disinterested in the game. His brother and sister, however, each professes to hate it. My current passions are reading and writing; all three of my brood claim they hate to write, and although they will read from time to time, they’ll only do so when neither of their parents is around to witness and/or encourage it.

I can’t say I know much about what awaits us after our earthly time is done. But if there is indeed an afterlife, I have no doubt my sainted mom and dad are currently spending at least a small chunk of their time in Eternity sharing a chuckle over the irony of how their grandchildren feel about their dad’s obsessions.

But that’s okay. I can deal with that because I know they’re laughing with me, not at me.

— Andy Young teaches in Kennebunk and lives in Cumberland.

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