Commentary: A single parent adapts, and does just fine by his kids

Time Traveler: Once upon a time, I was a parent and a husband. During the years I have been writing this column, the focus has been on my favorite subject – me. I have narrated segments of my life and the things I learned about life from my jobs as a cow herder, quarryman, mucker in a gold mine and vacuum cleaner peddler, just to name a few. At times, this column has turned into an autobiography of sorts. Let me make a comment about autobiographies: Anyone who writes an autobiography is a damn liar. No living human being can put their memoirs in print telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I know I can't, especially considering the statute of limitations. Anyone who can look back over their lives and not find one thing they are even slightly ashamed of is guilty of self-mendacity or been bedridden. But I digress. I started this column by mentioning something I have spent little time covering, my other life. Now I am an old man somewhere between 70 and 80 with a dog, but there was a time when I was a bona fide family man with the wife and kids. We did all the nuclear family stuff: trips to Disneyland, Marriotts, camping, the whole nine yards. Then, in the early 80s, I woke up one morning to find myself wifeless with four kids, one in third grade, twins in kindergarten and one not in school yet. I was, as they say, a "single parent." I've always hated the term when someone, male or female, starts a conversation with, "Oh, I'm a single parent." It's usually the start of a whine. I don't whine, I adapt. I knew I was going to be a lousy parent and figured if I can't be a really good parent, I'll just become head kid and try to keep us all out of jail. I was largely successful in that endeavor. None of them turned out to be axe murderers or career criminals, and since I've never really grown up, the transition was easy. One of the first issues was daycare. Daycare was expensive even then. I needed someone to watch the kids when they got home from school and for the youngest one full time, while I was at work. One day, while I was helping put a new roof on what was then a women's crisis center next to the old courthouse, I happened to be on the ground getting a drink out of the hose when I had a conversation with a lady I assumed was the head honcho. In a casual, almost off-handed way, I asked her: "If you know of some gal with one or two kids who is escaping a violent home life, I have a house. She could have the whole top floor. She wouldn't need to cook or clean. I can do that. All she needs to do is be able to call 911 if one of my kids chops a finger off with a hatchet or whatever. Pay is room and board." Surprise of surprises, a couple of days later, the honcho brought a young gal, very early 20s with a 3-year-old girl. And true to the agreement, she didn't cook or do much cleaning. But she had a safe place to stay and my kids kept all their fingers. Try pulling that off in today's world. Anyway, it worked out until her knight in shining armor started courting her. I knew I should have shot that S.O.B. when he started hanging around. But she stayed long enough to solve the problem. That's called adapting. Entertainment was something else. That changed. I couldn't afford the trips to Disneyland so we did whatever was different and not too expensive. For example, we would go to the outskirts of San Francisco, check into a flea-bag motel, get a few bags of chips and some cookies and watch Mayberry reruns until 9 or 10 at night. Then we'd go to the city and walk the streets. That's when the interesting people came out. You could do that then. I wouldn't do it now, with the 7th Infantry at my back. But then, it was fairly safe. One night, we encountered three or four "soiled" doves working the street and most people, regardless of their profession, like little kids, and these girls were no different. My boys and the girls had quite the gab fest for 10 minutes or so. Then the girls had to go back to work. I made the mistake of telling one of Auburn's matrons the story and she said: "My heavens! You let your children associate with prostitutes. Horrible!" "What are you talking about? The boys didn't know they were hookers. They just thought they were really friendly ladies. And besides, I took them to Marysville last week where brother Vic Coburn was preaching in a tent revival. They got to see faith healing and speaking in tongues and all that good stuff. They have choices." For years afterward, she did the sign of the cross when she saw me. Our home life was probably a little different as well. Since it was an all-male household, it was probably a hard house. Not too much touchy-feely stuff. No flowers on the coffee table or fluffy pillows on the couch; more likely a set of nunchucks and a ninja throwing star, maybe a shotgun. I'm sure the house should have had some female influence to soften things up a bit, but the fact is, if a guy goes to a park with a cute little girl in hand or a puppy on a leash, he has to fight the chicks off. Not so much if you have a small army of boys. Was I a good parent? I dunno, but I did what I did and adapted and so I ain't apologizing.