My Parent My Child

Political correctness is the business of the day. You never know where you “stand” with a person. People are concerned about not offending or making anyone feel bad or sad. That concept is designed to boost one’s ego. The truth can be painful but will liberate. Sex and more sex are needed for movies to sell. Molestation of students by teachers and the lack of chastity are common in today’s society. According to the pundits, my generation is part of the baby boomers. Some of my generation was “hippies”. If it felt good, you had the right to experience it. My life started in 1950 in a small southern town. We do not get to choose the family that we are born into. There are four things that we cannot control (gender, age, genes, and race). The eldest child in a family is usually expected to be the leader and assist the parents with many tasks. We have all heard that the eldest is mentored to become a leader. The youngest child is often thought of as being spoiled. My parents lived in a home that was heir property. My grandmother and several of her children owned the house. My mother’s name, along with her other siblings, was on the deed. My grandfather had died before my birth. My maternal grandmother was still alive, and we loved in the home with her. She was a sweet dear lady with a giving attitude. Having a strong work ethic was a way of life in our family. My mother and father worked many hours. Grandmother was the one who stayed at home and cared for us. She cooked, provided comfort, love, and discipline for my siblings and me. We grew up calling our grandmother “mama.” We called our mother “madear.” Mama stayed with us until I was six or seven years old. I remembered one day a car arrived from California with several of her children. They had arrived to take her to California to live with them. I remember the pain of her leaving as if it were yesterday. She was not a young woman at the time of her moving. Years later, I visited my grandmother in California. She lived to be ninety years old. She was independent until several years before her death. Her two younger children cared for her. She did not have to live in a long –term care facility. Baby Boomers are living longer. As we age, our parents are getting older and might need our assistance. We are the “sandwich generation”. That term accurately describes my situation with my mother over the last twenty years before her death in 2012. The sandwich generation causes a great deal of conflict. You are trying to live your own life, but you are torn by loyalty to a parent or parents. There are only twenty-four hours in a day. There are tasks to be done and things to accomplish daily. Being caught in the middle of a family leads to strong emotions of guilt and inadequacy. It took me a few years to learn some caregiver’s survival skills. This is my reason for writing this book. I want to share my experiences and what I have learned to help others.