What is the hardest part of parenting? Sometimes, it’s the pressure to be as good a role model as possible — in all situations.

Let’s face it, our kids are always watching us. That often brings out the best in us. But sometimes my inner Charles Barkley just wants to say, “I’m tired of the role model pressure.”

At those times, it can help to be inspired by a fellow parent. Recently, that parent was my own father, Ed. Ed is a retired English professor who moved with my stepmother to Asheville, N.C., many years ago. He had children later in life, and I’m the youngest of his six kids.

Last year, Ed turned 90. He also started self-publishing an environmental newsletter that he sends to dozens of family members, friends and former colleagues. Each issue contains summaries of news stories related to climate change — anything from methane to mosquitoes, floods to fires.

When I received my first copy, I was stunned. How does he have the energy to be an environmental activist at age 90? Doesn’t he just want to relax? My father always had passion for progressive causes, beginning with his participation in the civil rights movement in the 1960s. But to continue churning out information and trying to improve the world in his 10th decade on Earth truly impressed me.

Change is in the air, literally

His power as a role model came at an especially good time given all the discouragement the pandemic has caused, especially for children. My two daughters are part of a teen-and-young-adult generation living through a torrent of depressing news cycles. The pandemic itself. Climate change catastrophes. Civil unrest. Political rancor. It can all get a bit overwhelming.

So I made sure to show my daughters the example of their grandfather’s newsletters. His inspiring example at age 90 is worth much more than any lecture I could give them about not getting discouraged by the state of the world.

Sadly, the urgency of the environmental problems in my father’s newsletters became palpable a few weeks ago in his own town during one of our visits. As we made the long drive to Asheville, I noticed the sky seemed especially hazy, with sunlight partially obstructed. Upon arriving, we learned it was because of all the smoke created by wildfires on the West coast.

The air quality was so bad, my father had to stay inside for several days since his advanced age has impacted his breathing. Other health issues have made it hard for him to speak, unfortunately. But that only makes what he states in his newsletters even more poignant.

Leading by example the best way to lead

No role model is perfect, of course. And certainly our family had its share of problems as I grew up. Overall, however, I see my father is more than a grandparent. He’s a grand role model, and I’m thankful my children get to see the way he lives his life.

I like to think of my father’s example as a reminder for all parents to keep trying to model inspiring behavior. Whether contributing to your home, neighborhood or community, keep showing children that they have the ability to improve their surroundings. Try to involve them in family volunteering or charitable giving. In a sense, a parent is a huge part of a child’s environment, and we are all environmental activists, just in different ways.

There’s one more reason to continue trying to be a role model: you never know when a fellow parent is watching and getting re-inspired by you. That’s what happened to me when I read my father’s initial e-mail introducing his environmental newsletter: “This service is free; it is a service of love. I believe that the only chance we have is to build up interest at all levels in the problem, since the solution involves all of us taking long-range action.”

Most distinctive about my father-in-law was that nearly all his speech consisted of short, loud, angry bursts pertaining to food, drink, or the ridiculous salaries of professional athletes.

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Let’s be Frank. No, really, I mean it: Let’s see what it’s like to be a frank man named Frank, who is also my father-in-law. Frank is a hardworking family man, but he often speaks his mind without giving a damn, for which I (sometimes) envy him.

It was more than two decades ago when I first met my future wife’s sharply dressed, highly cologned father who worked on the assembly line at the local Ford plant. (I later learned Frank was a former shoe salesman, and even though he wore grimy overalls on the line, he always dressed in a full suit and tie, drove his spotless Ford to the factory, changed on-site, worked his shift, put the formal garb back on, and drove home. “No need to look like a pig,” he often declared.) Most distinctive was that nearly all Frank’s speech consisted of short, loud, angry bursts pertaining to food, drink, or the ridiculous salaries of professional athletes.

I first experienced Frank’s frankness when the subject of what he wanted for Christmas arose at a family dinner. Frank burst into the conversation with his nearly bald head turning red and his thick index finger pointed first at my future wife and then at her sister while he bellowed, “You get me socks, you get me underwear!” Then he resumed his chewing frenzy and the daughters went on chatting.

Back then I was a college boy on my way to graduate school, so Frank and I did not seem to have much in common. But we have spent countless hours together since then, and many ethical situations have popped up. Our very different responses to these quandaries often reminded me of the contrast between situational ethics and absolute values explored in my graduate courses. Here are some examples:

Scene 1: Upon entering our room at a questionable hotel, we discover the toilet seal broken and an enormous turd in the bowl.

Situational Son-in-Law: Cringes and laughs, but then goes to main desk to have a discreet conversation about the problem.

Absolute Frank: Explodes with anger, storms down to main desk, and repeatedly hollers through the lobby, “THERE IS HUMAN WASTE … IN THE TOILET!”

Scene 2: At the start of a four-hour bus ride, a very smelly passenger sits next to Frank.

Situational Son-in-Law: Would have endured it while breathing primarily through mouth.

Absolute Frank: Whips out peppermint extract and smears a liberal amount under his nose like a seasoned mortician—right in front of his malodorous neighbor.

Scene 3: At a hardware store, we seek nails for the shelf he claims I need in my house. But an employee is already engrossed in a conversation with another customer.

Situational Son-in-Law: Waits for employee to complete his conversation.

Absolute Frank: Stalks toward the alarmed worker yelling, “Nails! We need nails!” (Inexplicably, Frank is in blue scrub pants, a white T-shirt, and a fedora in this scene.)

Scene 4: On the way home from the hardware store, we have to wait an extra minute for an elderly woman to finish pumping her gas.

Absolute Frank: Bellows, “That’s right lady, we got all goddamn day!”

Situational Son-in-Law: Is surprised by Frank’s venom, since we do in fact have most of that goddamn day to finish our project. Also is relieved the windows are not open, so the slow-moving lady can’t hear Frank’s outburst. Also is quietly amused that the lady seems to move even slower after Frank’s frankness.

Scene 5: During a drive-thru safari, my young daughters scream with fear and start to cry.

Situational Son-in-Law: Tries to console his crying kids and exit the safari quickly while fretting about his car insurance.

Absolute Frank: Stares down a bison, roaring at both his grandkids and the animal: “What are you afraid of?!”

Speaking of dubiously ethical safari, it always ends with the need for a carwash. And over two decades into my relationship with Frank (and his series of spotless Fords), that is what he now wants for every birthday/holiday: “Get me carwash coupons!” But he only wants them if they include a “carwash guarantee,” whatever that is. No need to drive around like a pig, I guess.

While I don’t envy having all those carwash coupons, there are many times when I do envy my father-in-law’s ability to be, well, just Frank. In fact, most people find his candor refreshing, though some don’t. Feel free to be Frank whenever you like. Absolutely. Just beware: there could be some fallout.

My extended family starts, in a way, with my own children.

I have two kids, a 9-year-old son from a previous relationship who lives in Virginia and a 15-month-old daughter with my wife. I Amtrak once a month on a Friday evening to get my son and bring him back to New York for a weekend visit. When Sunday comes all too quickly, I start my second round trip of the weekend to take him home. It’s exhausting and makes me sad, though he acts like the exchange and trips are the most normal thing in the world. It’s jarring how nonchalant he can be about it and also how close his little sister has grown to him despite the distance.

My kids are great. Anyone who has been around little terrors hopes they don’t get kids like that. Parenting can be funny but mostly it’s a bear. For my parents, my two little brothers and I were merciless. So I’m pleasantly surprised that the only real hiccups I’ve had to address with my son are manners and diet. The jury is still out on the princess, but that is looking pretty good right now. She’s a real sweetheart like her brother.

The holidays highlight this little (maybe prematurely called) miracle when we visit my entire extended family in my hometown of Dallas, Texas. For the entire trek of getting my son to New York and getting the four of us to one airport and schlepping extra bags that kids somehow need and then, of course, the extra TSA screening that I take for the car seat because a swab of it came back with a false positive, we are only beginning our journey.

The plane ride can be challenging. It depends on whether my daughter sleeps through the ascent and descent, we retrieve our stuff easily, and meet my parents. Joy. I am glad to see them — most immediately because now I have some help carrying all this stuff and tracking down the kids. Why do little ones have such a wide berth when walking in a straight line anyway?

At Mom and Dad’s house, the visit officially begins with a big welcome from my extended family. My brothers are waiting for us, and I’m ready to introduce them to the niece they’ve never met. My favorite uncle is on the couch and happy to see us; we haven’t spoken since my last visit two years ago. As I’m saying hi and introducing my daughter to everyone and reacquainting my son with his uncles, I catch a glance of my parents, beaming. I feel a little twinge of guilt and sadness because I don’t talk to them nearly enough. My dad calls me when he can’t stand it anymore and my mom has bouts where she just gives up, choosing instead to stay in touch through my wife who is more diligent and responsive than I have ever been with family communication.

This twinge that I’m feeling has evolved over a few years now. When we all go to the Christmas Eve gathering at my aunt’s house where much of my extended family has convened, it hits a little deeper. My Mexican family is pretty large in every sense of the word. We like to eat, there’s a ton of us, and we are as loud as the day is long. When I was growing up, us kids would do everything we could to be heard above the din and be the one to make our parents and aunts and uncles laugh. We were all pretty close, depending on which aunts weren’t speaking to each other at the time. It was melodramatic and every frequent gathering blended our families together in a way a little different from the last one. When the small handful of cousins that have moved away return, we feel that spirit that rejoins us to the jolly whole and lately I’m disappointed to retreat from it when it’s time to leave. Maybe I’m just getting older.

I haven’t written about also being a full-time student at Columbia or how I’m building a new practice under careful watch from the CEO at my 30-year-old IT firm. These are often overwhelming enough when trying to keep up with my wife, and my kids. All of these hats and it’s easy to overlook how it all started. I was first a son, a brother, and a nephew. Soon, I’ll be an uncle for the first time. I don’t know how I’ll manage, but it’s clear that this lamenting is not enough. I lamented my dad’s parents passing in Mexico last year and the year before, it won’t be acceptable to lament my last remaining grandparent. My grandfather has met my children, and fortunately, my son knows him well. I asked him politely about his health and was a little surprised at his honesty, “Oh, you know, mijo, not too good. After my heart attack …” I’d forgotten that happened.

I have great memories of my grandfather, of all my grandparents really, and even better stories from my aunts and uncles about them. I’ve got plenty more memories and stories about those aunts and uncles and my dad’s, too. The way things are, it will all be lore one day. My kids, my wife, and I are transplanted spirits, but not far away enough to be helpless. And so, I’m not too disappointed with myself later, I will don these additional hats. After all, without them I wouldn’t have this great life with my great kids.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joel Ramirez resides in the East Village with his better half, Jessica, and their daughter, Poppy Lea Charlotte. His, Aidan, lives with his mother, stepfather, and two little sisters in Virginia. He is a full-time IT consultant, full-time student, full- and part-time dad, and wanna-be writer. Other welcome distractions of his include racquetball and fútbol and football. You can follow him on Twitter at https://twitter.com/joeljet.