I was not where I wanted to be. In the car, weary, and heading across the city. At rush hour.
My son was next to me in the passenger seat, navigating by two maps printed off Google; we were trying an alternate route to avoid tie-ups, but some were inevitable. I was leaning against a heating pad in the driver’s seat, plugged into a gadget in the dash, and blowing cool air on my face. Sick, aching, likely to get lost with hastily found directions, and trying to beat the clock.
No. Definitely not where I wanted to be.
It’s amazing what lengths we’ll go to for our children. At any age, including when they’re teens and they’re constantly pushing our buttons. My son is certainly no exception, and I’ve been forced to learn the art of the deep breath, before I react. I haven’t mastered it yet, believe me, but I do say yes far more than I say no. And generally, it’s appreciated.
Rush Hour Parenting
Admittedly, a tinge of single parent guilt is often in play, but it’s been long enough that I recognize that isn’t always the case. More to the point – I am an engaged parent. Fully engaged. If I can provide experiences that will enrich my sons or facilitate their forays into the world, I move heaven and earth to do so. I believe that it is my job. My parenting profession – whether anyone else views it that way or not.
Of course, the realities of my situation mitigate against some of this: no partner to assist, a budget that lives in the red, physical inconveniences that make things challenging, including something like driving across the city, or finishing the task of teaching my son to drive.
So there I was. Nervously and uncomfortably heading through an area where urban decay comes with the anticipated landscape, even as we passed strip mall after strip mall of closed stores, more recent spillage of our city’s economic woes.
And all this, for Mr. Cartoon.
Mr. Cartoon, Tattoo Art
No. It had nothing to do with little kids, or even cartoons. It had everything to do with a Los Angeles-based tattoo and graffiti artist, of considerable reputation. He was making a promotional appearance to which my son was invited along with other city high school teens, compliments of his art class. That we knew nothing about it beforehand, and that I’d have to haul my weary bones through the city was unexpected. And while I wasn’t up to it (and tattoos are not my thing), my son wanted to go. And I needed to know that I could do this for him, that I could still make my way through traffic and distance if tired, stressed, or in pain, in case of emergency. It was a test for myself, I guess, as much as something for the son I love so deeply.
The escapade turned out to be a four-hour adventure; the canvas on which Mr. Cartoon drew as he talked was interesting enough, and my son enjoyed socializing with two girls (of course) whom he knew. And anything to do with art – graphic art, fine art – gives him more fuel for the creative fire. Yet he said he was sorry he’d dragged me out for this; my fatigue was apparent.
Nonetheless, it was Mr. Cartoon himself (Mark Machado) who most impressed me. His easy manner while speaking to teens, the way they seemed to relate to him. It seems that Mr. Cartoon is in fact well known in the world of ink, in the Los Angeles community of graffiti art and muralism, and certainly to hip hop circles for his tattoos and logos, as I found out in Latin Rapper. He is a squat man with close cropped hair and neatly trimmed beard. His tattoos and manner would’ve frightened me on the street (I admit it), but here, in this place, I saw a man speaking to kids. And later, I saw a father.
I introduced myself at the end of the presentation as “a mom and a writer” and I asked if I might photograph him. He was gracious enough to oblige. There was a skull on the canvas, and tattooed names on his hands. He smiled and said “my children,” as he showed off his artistry, and I snapped another photo.
Parenting Style
My son and I headed back through the city as rush hour eased. Halfway home, I pulled into an empty lot so he could take the wheel. That pleased him, of course. He’s gotten few opportunities to drive because I’ve been too tired to take him, too tired to nudge the job of teaching him more quickly. It is a source of frustration for him, and he has been patient with me. What he cannot comprehend, and I’m glad, is my fear, triggered any time I sit in the passenger seat. Fallout, from the accident three years ago.
This was a tight two lane avenue, which opens onto a three-lane highway that cuts through the city. He needs this experience though I don’t need the stress. Still, I have no choice but to risk these moments. As many of them as I can. 
Some parents ink their children’s names into their flesh.
Some parents push themselves through ache and fatigue.
We are not so different. We love our children, whatever our side of town.
Absolutely beautiful. You are a wonderful mother. Your children are very fortunate to have a loving, engaging, and inspirational role model. I really enjoyed this. We all have different lifestyles, and different parenting styles, but loving our children unites us.
you are a FANTASTIC mom! boy do i know from guilt, and feeling manipulated. i’m still working to get a handle on it. it’s so great that you’re encouraging his artistic pursuits.
and i’m really, really sorry you’re still feeling so awful!!! ugh. 🙁
p.s. tattoo on the arm of the person in the photo i emailed to you: the initials of his four kids. oy.
Oh wow. You are now my hero (well, you already were, but now even more)! My kid would’ve passed out if handed this opportunity. You are definitely both an expert and inspiration in our “field.”
You know, Mr. Cartoon was a nice guy. An artist. A guy who figured out how to take his skills and street smarts and put them to work. And another cool thing – I really was pretty sick during the time we were there. My head down, sitting on a chair in the back. A security guard came over to me – huge man – probably half my age, and asked if I was okay. He took one look and saw I wasn’t, but just kept talking to me, and even was showing me some exercises he does for certain pain that I mentioned (and he knew exactly what it was).
Turns out, he’s been studying massage therapy on the side. So here’s this big guy helping this little woman hold it together, while demonstrating how he lifts his knees and twists his hips to stretch certain nerves – all to potentially help a stranger.
There is incredible kindness. Everywhere.
This lovely post has me in tears. Crying during double naptime. Unacceptable usually, but I’ll make an exception for you, BLW.
What I found most moving is the continuity and contrast between Mr. Cartoon’s engraved hands and your engraved heart. Beautiful.
I also appreciate your use of the word “engaged” to apply to your parenting style. Often we hear the word “present” and I find myself wondering how to define it and how to apply it. “Engaged” makes more sense to me viscerally; it feels more active, more, well, present than “present.”
Indeed, you are not so different. Parents endure all varieties of pain for their kids. Kudos on successfully making the trip, although I’m sure you’re paying the price now in even more exhaustion and pain than usual.
You’re a great mom, BLW. This was really going the extra distance.
J’admire votre courage. Et j’aime beaucoup la comparaison de la manière dont vous élévez vos enfants contre la sienne. C’était une rencontre unique ou, en effet, une collision heureuse.
Very wonderful post! I think it’s great that you sacrificed a bit of yourself to make such a trip for your son, espeically when you didn’t really want to go. This might sound lame, but I think you’re a great mom.
Gorgeous post. I love the simple and universal thread that runs through your words here: That we parents love our kids. As always, a beautiful story and example. Thank you.
I am deeply moved by your words. Like Kristen, the word engaged is so applicable to what parenting is. The tough drive you endured, the sketchy neighborhood you braved, the fear of being in the passenger seat, and how you connected with Mr. Cartoon as a parent — beautiful mothering, beautiful being. Thanks.
Hi BigLittleWolf,
I have four kids (well not so much kids anymore). They’re all out of the house pursuing there own lives. We live in LA too and the driving… Your post reminded me of the constant schlepping (play dates, school, games, parties, teacher meetings, the bar mitzvah circuit (a year plus when they were 13), etc.) And especially teaching them all to drive. Fear from the passenger side … I remember it well, with each one. Looking back they were busy days, full of activity, hope, worry, questions and progress. Looking back it passed in the blink of an eye but I’m so happy to have experienced it. Thanks for sharing your stories.
You had to have spent years on that schlepping! Juggling four must require eyes in the back of your head at all times (though one of my great blogger-readers, Nicki, has somehow managed to raise six on her own – I’ve decided she’s a saint and simply won’t admit it). Some of it does seem to pass too quickly, doesn’t it. In the car? Not so much. 🙂
Great post. Though I’ll stick to ache and fatigue over tattoos. Just my thing.
He will remember that you did this. A parent that can be engaged thru their pain is one I’d consider pretty damned awesome. Beautiful post.
You know – this is a lovely thought, Maureen. For me. And it leads me to mention some issues I’ve been mulling.
Honestly, what I think my son is more likely to remember is not that one incident, but that there were frustrating months and even years when he couldn’t have access to things he routinely wanted, or the access came along with a mother who was tired, weak, complaining, or popping ibuprofin through what other parents could do without issue. Or, things that his older brother had access to at the same age, with fewer impacts.
I would guess he will recall this outing and other incidents through the eyes of a teen, because he is a teen. I think he’ll see me as stubborn, in that I refused to let him drive that afternoon/evening. (He’s only driven in rush hour once, briefly, and not yet on a major highway. For him to drive would’ve been nuts.) I think he will just remember that I was tired and uncomfortable and hunched over as usual – because that is part of the “usual” that has become the past 6 months. I think he’ll remember being amused that the big man in the uniform was so earnestly demonstrating some sort of exercises, and he may remember the pleasure of taking the wheel for part of the way home (certainly not my white knuckles during those miles).
As parents, we want – and hope – that our kids will know something of the sacrifices we’ve made for them. On the other hand, it shouldn’t matter. We want them to love us and respect us, but we don’t really want them to experience the depth of our challenges. They’re kids. We want to keep them hopeful about their own futures, and not feeling responsible in any way for things that may cause us pain.
I know I’m going off on a tangent here, but I’ve been thinking about this. Mulling. The parent’s need for certain things, for a tangible Return On Investment during the process of parenting. Our need to believe certain things, versus what is genuinely the better, richer, or even more “teaching” experience for the child.
My son and I lived the same four hours. We experienced them very differently. His memory of the event, if he retains one at all, will surely be very different from mine.
Oh boy! Where do I begin. I am delighted to read your words. I grew up in Los Angeles. I just taught my son to drive. I am heading down to LA this week. Will I let my son take the wheel in the city of never-ending freeways and traffic jams. I don’t know if I will be that brave. Yes, his perspective will be different than yours but your love will be shared. Forever.
I have been seen standing outside my house in my underwear waiting for my 16-year-old to return home from a solo expedition.
The fun awaits you.
I worry that I am an overly-engaged mother. That will put him on the couch for years!
Oh, I’m laughing, Terry! Psychologists need work, too! (Isn’t it nice to know that as mothers, we will always have a role in their future employment.)
I’m actually not in L.A. – I’m in an East Coast city, with notoriously terrible drivers and high-speed highways. I’ve been through this once before (with my older son), and in fact, we were in an accident when he was driving with his permit. That’s also part of why I’m slower to teach my son this go-round. I know what can happen in a flash. I also know how lucky we were, all things considered.
Ugh. The standing and waiting after those solo expeditions. I know. Been there, done that, with my older son. I still do it, but shhhh. Don’t tell.
I worry myself white-knuckled when other responsible, experienced adults drive my children around. I don’t know how I’ll make it through their teen years! Hats off to you, BLW, and I’m wishing you bon santé.
Being in LA, and with my oldest soon to start driver’s school, I related in many ways to this… but particularly to my experiences of pushing through various sicknesses to rise to some occasion or other in the service of my kids—and often finding that this was somehow healing. The tattoo artist also reminded me of one of our cousins who struggles hard, coming from the other side of the tracks, with the stories and tatts to prove it… and yet he too is an incredibly sweet man, and his setbacks have been all the sadder when they happen (despite a lot of love around him in the family).
I can’t get past the description of yourself as an engaged parent. I love that!
Lovely post. It reminds me of the time my son made me drive him to an author reading at a bookstore far, far across town because he’d read every book in this series (I think it was Warrior Cats and he was in the 5th grade). We get there and there are only girls in the audience, girls dressed up as cats, girls as far as the eye can see. Who knew?
So my paranoid son hung back, refused to acknowledge he was there for the author, and pretended to be a shopper.
The things we do for those we love. (And what’s the use of etching their names on hands when they’re etched permanently in our hearts?).
Like Kristen I was very struck by your use of the word “engaged” to describe your parenting style. I like that, makes sense, describes exactly what we should be and an approach that can help us make a difference in their lives, particuarly when they are teens. I think there are many parents out there who lose their relationship with their kids in adolescence because they aren’t willing to take this active interest in their interests. No doubt, I’m certain there are times when it would be hard, but I think it speaks volumes that you did. It’s a lesson I’m tucking away for down the road. A reminder I’m certain I’ll need.
Love everything about this post. Truly magnificent.
what Amber says * 2
Ah, BLW! I am speechless on the beauty of your writing.
In my defense, I am not a saint by any means. I have lived the pay check to pay check in jobs I don’t want to allow soccer leagues, music lessons, extra language lessons. I have driven four hours one way to go to a one hour college honor society induction and turned around and driven home. I had done the three and a half hour trip in a snow storm to watch a three hour diving meet, deciding to save the hotel cost as I still had an hour to cancel and drove home that same day.
We all do what we have to to help our children learn – learn that we love them, learn that sacrifices are a part of life, learn that we do not always get to do what we want to do.