Deer In Headlines II
By Gery Deer

They came to the open houses and sat in the freezing cold at Friday night football, watching me high step across the field with the marching band. They scrounged the money for chemistry lab fees and ensured I had a ride to my 4-H meetings. Somehow, no matter how difficult things might have been for them, Mom and Dad were always there for us.

My mother was a force of nature, a five-foot-four powerhouse of the gentlest nature imaginable. She was creative, brilliant, strong, and vulnerable but never mean or judgmental, even if she was mad at you. And if she was mad, you didn’t have to guess.

Dad was a whole different story. He was resourceful, smart, and could do anything with a truck or tractor. On the outside, he was confident and controlled. But inside, he was conflicted. They’d been together since high school, and he was thoroughly dependent on my mother for his sense of self and family. As Alzheimer’s took her from us, I watched him slip away, too.

Although we had a good relationship, growing up with my parents wasn’t always easy. Raising good parents never is (as my brother likes to say). Sometimes, it was their job to tell me I was wrong, and they never held back. The resistance they met was inborn, however. Generations of stubbornness wound through my genes like a snake through tree branches. We argued, I stomped off, grousing like a teenager does, and then it was forgotten – usually. The irritating part was that most of the time, they were right.

If you have siblings, each experiences the parent in a slightly different light. My brother, 15 years my senior, constantly reminds me of how tough he had it from our father. Dad was strict with him, almost to a suffocating level. Our dad’s mother died when he was just three, and our grandfather left. Since he was raised largely in poverty by an aunt and grandmother, his upbringing was remarkably different from how he raised us. My guess is that he maintained tight control over his firstborn out of fear and inexperience.

As for me, because of our age differences, Dad held more of a grandfatherly position, and my brother did most of the fatherly stuff. He taught me what I needed to be independent and helped ensure Dad didn’t overprotect me. I think it all worked out for the best, even if my brother is still a little bitter. Clearly, even a sibling can take a parental position when there is such a perceived generational difference.

But regardless of the relationship, I think most of us have a singular and somewhat distorted image of our parents. Whether our relationship with them was close, distant, tumultuous, or nonexistent, I believe we can forget that our parents are just people. Like you and me, they have flaws, failings, dreams, regrets, all of it. But we likely still see them only through one kind of lens. What’s worse is that the incomplete picture can become more distorted as they age.

My siblings and I were there as my parents aged became ill, and finally passed away. As I helped to care for them, I learned much more about who they were along the way. Growing up, I never imagined I’d have to take on all you do for your elderly parents. Showers, medical care, managing the finances; there can be so much you never expected. The experience was simultaneously rewarding and painful. We also grow more protective of them as they get older.

But we must keep in mind that, barring dementia or some other kind of mental illness, they’re still the kings and queens of their castles. If they’re dealing with health issues, mobility, whatever, we can and should help and let them be who they are, even if, as adults, we still don’t understand it.

Parents also need to realize that such a myopic view of the individual can go both ways. Our kids are more than we see, just as we are to them. In the end, we are all just trying to take care of each other as best we know how.