I was out grocery shopping with my mother and my two daughters, a rare outing since she only visits occasionally. Mom was in town for my son’s birthday, and I was reminded how long it had been since she’d come to visit us in Utah. My wife was at home with our sick little boy, leaving me to wrangle the girls—Aspen in the cart and Norah riding in the basket.
As we wandered through the produce section, my mom asked, “Do you usually handle the grocery shopping?” I shrugged, saying, “My partner and I share the chores, depending on our schedules.”
Then she remarked, “I noticed you do the laundry, too.” I nodded, “Yep, every week!” Her surprise was palpable. I added, “What’s the big deal? I just help out.”
She mentioned that my older brother had taken on some responsibilities as well, and it got her reflecting on my father. Apparently, he never did any of those household tasks. My dad was a product of the ’50s, a time when traditional gender roles were rigidly defined. I didn’t know him well—he left when I was nine and passed away due to addiction by the time I was nineteen.
For years, my mother avoided discussing him. He left her in a tough spot, burdened with debt and no child support. It wasn’t until recently that she started opening up about him. “I never thought about it,” I said, “but without him around, I didn’t pick up any of his bad habits.”
As we searched for taco shells, Mom meticulously checked the expiration dates, something I’d never considered. “You need to start doing this!” she insisted. I joked, “Mel handles the math and budget because I’m terrible with numbers. Plus, she dealt with most of the paperwork when we bought our house.”
My thoughts drifted back to my fear of becoming like my father. Early in my marriage, I worried that my lack of a solid father figure would leave me doomed to repeat his mistakes. But as I discussed with Mom how my partner and I have created a more balanced and flexible relationship, I realized that not having a role model made me more adaptable in embracing what works for us.
Our conversation shifted to my kids and my wife, with Mom still checking the items in the cart. We talked about my father’s struggles—his addictions, failed marriages, and untimely death. But we kept returning to how my involvement in parenting differs from his. It felt like a crucial topic for both of us.
As we approached the checkout, I asked a question I’d pondered often but never had the courage to voice: “Am I a better father than Dad was?” The words tumbled out as I expressed my fear of repeating his mistakes, especially after the impact his departure had on my life.
Mom didn’t hesitate. “Yes, you are much better than your father,” she said, though I could see her grappling with her long-held resentment. “In the beginning, he was a good man, but by the time you were old enough to notice, he wasn’t a good father. You’ve turned into a wonderful dad, Clint. You should be proud.”
After we finished at the checkout, I felt a mix of relief and pride. We shifted the conversation back to my kids and how I still needed to finish the laundry.
Driving home, I reflected on her words. I’d always believed I was a better father than the one I had, but there’s an underlying worry for many parents like me who grew up without one. It felt validating to hear her acknowledge my efforts and recognize the stability I aimed to cultivate for my family. For the first time, it felt like I was genuinely doing something right.
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Summary
In a grocery store outing with his mother and daughters, Clint discusses the division of household responsibilities, including laundry, and reflects on his father’s absence. He expresses fears of repeating his father’s mistakes, but his mother’s affirmation reassures him that he is a better father, highlighting the importance of embracing a more egalitarian parenting approach.