P is for Parenting

A funny memory bubbled to the surface this weekend when my son wished aloud for a new bike.

"A new bike?" I asked incredulously to the recipient of a nice new set of wheels last year. "Do you want to hear about the bike I rode in college?" 

I proceeded to set the scene for the summer of my nineteenth year when I arrived off the ferry in Martha's Vineyard with a duffel bag and just a little money in my wallet. I was headed to a room I was renting with a college friend, a boyfriend was not far up the road. Other than some part-time hours on an organic farm, I had the vague promise of a job in a joint called Jamaican Me Crazy, but by the time I showed up, the retailer was practically off his rocker. Not only did I need money for rent, but I needed a way to get around, so I scoped out one of the bike rental shops. 

Practical or not, I had a vision. I wanted good ol' fashioned granny bike with a basket and a big seat with handle bars that stretched high up front, and that's what I found. Too bad I barely had money for groceries that week. I called my dad up, collect, from the pay phone in Oak Bluffs. Beverly, his secretary, and I exchanged pleasantries before she connected us, and I asked him if he could wire me some money. 

"How much do do you need?" He asked, calm as always.

"Just about $70," I replied, apparently not savvy enough to pad the cost of the bike with any bonus cash. Next, he connected me in a three-way call with Western Union, and I could taste freedom in the breezes that blew in from the bay. 

Back then, I fancied myself as privileged, summering on the Vineyard and getting money wired to me on the fly. But now that I'm a mom, I don't have to wonder if I'd consider sending my kids to set up their own rental for the summer with no transportation in an unfamiliar place without a cell phone or cash. I tuned out fine, I guess. My parents loved me then, and we all still love each other today.

My husband (yep, the boyfriend mentioned earlier) and I imagine our oldest may someday want to work a summer or two on Norton Farm. We might not escort him to the door, but my guess is that we'll make sure he has some money in his pocket. He'll have a bike, but I'm putting my foot down here. It won't be the latest model.

Life lesson: Just because you walked two miles in the snow to school doesn't mean your own kids have to.