One of the simple pleasures of summertime is going out for ice cream in the evening.
Talk about a satisfying way to end the day. Near my house, there’s an array of ice cream shops and it’s always fun stopping by and ordering some delicious confections for my wife, son, and I. (Even though it inevitably leads to a long stare of betrayal from my food-curious baby daughter.)
Across the board, these shops are staffed by teenagers. In other words, people in the midst of life’s most carefree season. Whenever I place an order with one of these workers – and especially if I’m attempting to corral my toddler son or lug around my daughter’s car seat – I’ve never felt older and more ensconced in a world that’s not carefree.
My wife and I welcomed our daughter to the world in January. The responsibility of caring for a baby was less daunting the second time around, thanks to the experience we gained with our son. However, there was still plenty of parental anxiety to be felt, as we wrapped our heads around now caring for a baby and a toddler.
With one child, it’s easier to disengage from being a parent. For example, in my experience, there were nights where I could let my wife take the lead on putting our son to bed; this created time where I could either get caught up on some chores or kick back and relax with a YouTube video. With two children, though, those opportunities dry up. Simply put, it’s an environment where you almost always have parental responsibilities to tend to. For my wife and I, we’re either tag-teaming our children’s care or dividing and conquering, with one of us taking the baby while the other handles the toddler. Really, the only reliable respite from parenting comes at night, once the children have gone to bed. It’s a big departure from the way things were.
So, lately, whenever I’ve been in any of the aforementioned ice cream shops, around the lively, youthful staff, I can’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia – even envy – for where they’re at in life. For a fatigued parent of two, there are evenings where the freedom they possess looks as appealing as any sundae.
The ironic thing, though, is that my longing is for freedom, in a general sense, and not for the days where I actually possessed it. Which is revealing.
I think we all remember the nights in high school, college, or afterwards that were pregnant with potential. The nights where you hung out with friends, and maybe friends of friends, in someone’s backyard, a Buffalo Wild Wings, or any number of places. I can remember getting ready for these nights and being downright giddy with anticipation. It felt like anything was possible.
Specifically, at 19 years old, these were nights where I imagined crossing paths with girls who looked like Veronica Mars or Serena van der Woodsen. (Confession: I spent the 2000s smitten with blonde main characters on CW shows.) In my mind, this was the best-case scenario for how a night could play out.
But, here’s the deal: Few of those nights actually lived up to their potential. Sure, I often had fun, but just as often, I felt underwhelmed by the end of the night. And maybe that was inevitable, with the youthful expectations I set while getting ready proving to be impossible for reality to realize. Suffice it to say: I never ran into a Blake Lively lookalike.
And, as I further reflect on this era of life, we’re just talking about the nights where I actually went out and socialized with people. There were many, many more where I stayed in, slumped on the couch, and watched reruns of “CSI: Miami.” It’s the unglamorous truth.
As a parent, if you’re going to miss freedom, I think you owe it to yourself to remember what the experience of having it was actually like. In my case, it was a mixed bag. At best. And remembering that helps me realize that freedom’s ability to promise happiness is not commensurate with its ability to provide it.
Next time I’m in an ice cream shop, I’ll be mindful that the 19-year-old preparing my shake might not necessarily have a wild night waiting for him at shift’s end. He might just be heading home to watch “Wednesday” on Netflix. And given the choice between that and making a memory with my wife, son, and daughter as I head out the door, ice cream in hand, I wouldn’t trade places with anybody.
EVE OF STEVE 