Secrets of a kidless parent

Though some may think I am just a single, never married, twenty-something with no kids, I am actually a parent in disguise. I say this because almost all of the professional jobs I’ve held put me in positions where parents look at me for direction in their quests to best raise their children. Just as all parents and young professionals do, I often question if I am cut out for the job. I wonder if I am doing things right, if I am any good at what I do, and if I chose the right destiny for myself. Different agencies keep hiring me, though, so I must be doing something right. While I have few care-taking responsibilities beyond having to remember to clean out the cat litter box, which I often forget to do even after having my cat for 6 years, I tell people how to best raise their kids. And they not only listen, but they come back again for more. Some even pay to listen to what it is I have to say. Woah. Why?

Working intimately with parents began about 5 years ago when I first forgot how to say the word "no." I was asked to help find out what parents want to know about the educational system and then organize parent meetings featuring discussions of those topics at a local school. Neutrally, this job indirectly led to co-facilitating supportive and informative parenting groups for court mandated and/or desperate-feeling parents, which got me a gig developing and facilitating my own groups. From that point, experiences have grown, multiplied, and divided, leading me to a wide variety of other jobs that range from counseling parents individually and in groups, to working with parents in many different areas relating to academia. Coming full circle, one of my current jobs is more or less an upgraded and accredited version of what I was doing about 5 years ago. Funny how that kind of stuff happens.

It used to be pretty dang obvious that I didn’t have kids, but just to make sure everyone was clearly aware of elephant in the middle of the room, I always felt a need to confess my absence of genuine parental insight. At the time it must have seemed like a good idea, and I probably justified it to myself that I was being honest. In hindsight, I still feel embarrassed and ashamed by my own niiavitivity. It was unnecessary to do half the time, plus they were paying good money out of their reduced income and taking time out of their chaotic evenings to come listen to what I had to say. For goodness sake, Angela- don't start the meeting with, "you are about to waste an hour of your money, dignity, and life."

“My name is Angela, I am your [group facilitator, counselor, case manager, social worker, etc.]. I don’t actually have any kids of my own.” I look around the room, making eye contact with the parents like good [social workers, counselors, facilitators, etc.] are supposed to do.

Most of them stare blankly back at me, but some give me a nod or a smile. I hear a metal folding chair squeak within the silence; all responses which reply, “ummm… no duh…..”

Luckily, since those days it has been nothing but progress, wonderful experience, and strong leads to incredibly fulfilling and rewarding jobs. I have since learned to stop telling parents I don’t have kids, and they rarely seem to notice or care. Sometimes they even ask me about my own kids, and, depending on the context in which the question is posed, what kind of answer they seem to be seeking, or the likelihood that truth might ruin my credibility, I either artfully steer the conversation in a different direction or I tell them the truth, quickly followed by “but I do have a cat,” which always makes them laugh.

Sometimes, though, I still make really stupid mistakes that only complete idiots or really dumb non-parents would make, such as accidentally comparing child rearing to training a dog (a poor choice of an analogy as to why consistency is important in discipline). But mostly, I do a good job. In fact, I play the part pretty well, quickly and effectively conveying important lessons through illustrative and insightful examples of the difficulties in rearing children ages 2-17 that have parents groaning, rolling their eyes, and Oh-my-GOD-ing with sympathy pains. Sometimes they hear my examples and say, “my kid does that! What do I do?!” or they shamefully admit, "I do that.” Whatever scenario, they look to me for how to achieve the outcome they desire. So I answer, they nod their heads, take notes, and ask more questions.

Sometimes I secretly wonder if my ideas sound too idealistic, a fault that authentic parents have the ability to see straight through, I have learned. When I’m in a group setting I have the luxury of being able to turn it all back to the group; “does that seem like something you see yourself trying? Let’s hear from others- has anyone else found a successful solution to that problem?”

“Well, I’ve tried what you said” someone chimes in. From here it’s a 50/50 chance that I’ll sink or swim.

“Does it work,” I ask with my fingers secretly crossed for good luck, but with a voice that suggests that I am really helping parents to discover more tools they can put in their metaphorical toolboxes.

“Yeah. We’ve made it a normal thing now and it really seems to work great.”

Thank God.

I am relieved, but I can't let them know; “yeah. A lot of parents find that to be very effective,” I affirm authoritatively. I probably said whatever it was because a parent I worked with at my other job suggested it once, it seems like it would be something I would if I didn’t have the option of murdering a child, or because its something my parents did to me when I was a snot-nosed teenager myself. Regardless, they are still taking notes and I am able to smoothly move on to the next topic with no sweat on the brow; "So, now let's talk about building emotional resilience in the home...."

How did I get to this point, being a model parent with no kids? Magic? Experience? No one else will do it? Who knows. All I know is I get all the satisfaction and validation of being a good parent without having to deal with any of the kids. AND I get paid for it. Sweet!

Chapter Two- More about working

I was recently laid off from one of my many jobs, which of course, involved working intimately with parents. For just a little bit of background information about myself, over the course of my life I have more or less built an empire of a self-identity out of working way too much and overachieving, probably all of which is closely related to why I currently don’t have kids of my own. Needless to say, getting laid off was a blow for me, but slowly I have actually come to accept and welcome the lack of employment. I have even started to imagine myself not only having, but enjoying some free time.

But because I have masochistic workaholic tendencies rooted in every last one of my blood cells, I can’t help but to think about work in some way shape or form. One day on a long walk I was imagining what kind of new jobs my future might hold. It was not long before a fleeting yet clear, and very vivid vision appeared and settled in my mind of what my next job would be. Though it wasn’t so defined I could give you a job description, it definitely involved working with parents, and I definitely felt it coming in the very near future. And like many other vivid future-telling thoughts I’ve had before, as soon as the vision was acknowledged, it was gone.

It was later that same afternoon that I met with a colleague to try and finesse some life out of a wilting program I am currently a part of (that, of course, works with parents). “I was thinking,” he says, “it would be great to start a local parenting program that targets the needs of parents here in the community. Would you be interested in helping to start get something like that going?”

Instantly my list of things I was looking forward to doing in my new-found free time appears in my head and I feel nauseous at the idea of mustering up the energy to take on a new workload. I wonder if I really want to continue working as a faux-parent, when really, I should be looking into to dating so maybe I can someday make some kids of my own before I’m 59.

I try my best to be assertive about my not needing to participate and wanting to have some free time for a while, but instead I grimace, drag my fingers down the entire length of my face, and accidentally verbalize my true thoughts, “holy crap. Are you SERIOUS?!”

“We would pay you.”

I surrender as the needle is inserted into my vein. I instantly relax. My hands come off my face. I lean forward and I look him square in the eye, with a sly smile on my face.

“Sign me up.”

I walk away from the meeting, half wondering what in the hell I just agreed to do to myself, half excited about the challenge and the possibilities of the project. Who cares, anyway- it felt right at the time, and now I'm stickin' to it. Then for a moment I am reminded of the vision I had during my walk and wonder to myself if maybe I am a little bit clairvoyant, if maybe I have molded an appropriate destiny for myself, and if maybe I’m not such a bad parent after all....