If “Born in the USA” has taught us anything, it’s that people will cheerfully blare any song with a catchy beat regardless of the incongruously depressing lyrics. These days every store you walk into is legally required to play Andy Williams’ “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” at least once an hour. Tucked into that ditty about holiday cheer is this little chestnut:

There’ll be scary ghost stories
and tales of the glories
Of Christmases long, long ago

Wait – what?

Scary ghost stories? Scary Christmas ghost stories!?

On the surface, it seems like a lyric a few months past its Halloween expiration date. But scratch the tinseled surface and Christmas has some weird undertones.

What’s so jolly about a young, panicked woman giving birth in a filthy stable in the dead of night? Or an immortal being who breaks into houses and whose omnipresent gaze is fixed on your every move? Watching. Judging.

Life’s ghosts don’t take a Christmas vacation, and hardships don’t plan around your holiday calendar. So as I sat with my mother in hospice, two days before Christmas a few years back, it was hard not to notice the almost purgatorial nature of her room. At the nurse’s station outside, people flitted by – chatting next to holiday décor. In her room, it was dark and still. There was no longer the need for the expensive machines she had been hooked to for the past 10 months. No beeping or dinging. Just her shallow breath and closed eyes.

Ours had always been a difficult relationship. She was what some would describe as a “formidable woman.” Her superpower was bending reality to justify her actions. On the rare occasion where she owned up to being in the wrong, she would happily tell you why it was really someone else’s fault. Likely yours.

Becoming a father put into relief how differently we were wired. My journey into parenthood has taught me the value of self-reflection – examining why I am where I am, what I’m feeling, and what lessons I have learned. And how am I going to impart that to the two malleable humans who are always learning from me, whether I want them to or not? It’s a rich and rewarding road, but the tradeoff is it doesn’t end until you do. There’s no finish line. And you never get to fold your arms and say, “So there. Checkmate.” Reflection versus justification. My mother and I simply had different approaches to life.

But, oh, how she was loyal. I knew she would pitch a tent and just live in that room if the tables were turned. If half of life is showing up, she showed up – even if you didn’t realize you needed someone there. That’s also how she was wired. I admired that. I wanted to be that kind of person. And she brought me into this world. She deserved someone to stand sentry as her body prepared to leave it. The someone should be me.

Hours later, my thoughts turned to another family. The one I chose to build with the woman I love. A year of managing my mother’s illness had taken me away from them so often – missing moments big and small. They deserved my showing up as well, especially at Christmas. In the dark, I gathered my things and stood over her and said the last words I hoped she would hear. “I love you. … Goodbye.” And I left

The next morning my phone rang. It was the hospice. At 7:30 a.m. On Christmas Eve. They weren’t calling to discuss paperwork.

Christmas Day, my wife and I had to sit down our 6-year-old and tell her grandma died. She had known pets who had passed on, and over the year I kept her up to date as best I could on what was going on with her grandmother, even though she might not make it. All this she handled with surprising grace. But the end hit her hard. Amid the debris of wrapping paper and toys, I held my crying daughter and told her all the things I had researched to say. I spoke honestly about how special their relationship was. We would make a memory book of all the fun times they shared. I also could see her telling a future therapist, “I think it all started when I was 6 and my dad interrupted Christmas to tell me THAT MY FRIGGIN’ GRANDMOTHER WAS DEAD.”

I’ll give my mother this much, she had a flair for the dramatic. Every Christmas Eve from now on I’ll be haunted by her ghost, like Jacob Marley visiting Scrooge. As for my daughter, well, we’ve all changed in this last year. Kids are strong and resilient all right, but you can’t just say that with a shrug and go get a snack. There’ll be checking in, talking, listening, observing. As I said, no finish line.

If you want Christmas “tales of the glories,” you’ll have to take the Christmas “ghost stories.” That’s what relationships leave you with – even at this time of year. Especially at this time of year. Whenever we can celebrate the holidays with people and music again, you’re likely to be visited by a ghost or two as everyone is swaying to a favorite seasonal tune – be it traditional or hip. And if someone is wondering why you aren’t moved like they are, just give them this sage response: “Well, because, I’m listening to the words.”

Christmas ghost stories of photo by © RK1919 / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: Jason Greene is a long-time member of the NYC Dads Group and contributor to this blog and its predecessor. In recognition of his many years with our group and given his family history, we’ve agreed to publicize his fundraising quest for the Alzheimer’s Association.

I entered my great-grandmother’s room to see her frail body sitting by the window. Her glassy eyes stared at a nearby tree. My dad walked over to her and called her name, waking her from her daze. She smiled at my father.

“I know I’m supposed to know you,” she said.

He ran down who he was and who was with him as she nodded politely.

Alzheimer’s disease has plagued my family for generations. And I’m not alone. More than 6 million people in the United States suffer from Alzheimer’s. If something does not change, that number is estimated to grow to 13 million by 2050. Studies show that those with a family member with Alzheimer’s have an increase of 30% to get the disease.

Anyone who loves someone with Alzheimer’s knows the cruelty of the disease. It robs you of everything — your memory, your ability to think clearly and perform even routine activities. My earliest memories of my great-grandmother are of a strong woman working on a farm. My last memories of her are painful. Unfortunately, these final years of her life are what I remember the most.

Dads want what’s best for their children. Most of us work to squash generational trauma, anger issues, self-loathing or myriad other obstacles that rise deep within our chests; however, medical conditions are one thing we only have limited ability to control. No one wants to pass on that kind of legacy. That is why I decided to run the New York City Marathon on Nov. 3 to benefit the Alzheimer’s Association.

I turn 50 this year and I wanted to do something big to celebrate. I have a friend, Patrick, who has run the NYC Marathon for the Alzheimer’s Association and he put me in touch with the organizers. A few clicks later, I was on the team and began my training.

During my training, I’ve encountered a lot of obstacles — plantar fasciitis, Achilles tendonitis, blisters, back pain and lots of chafing just to name a few. I’ve also been challenged by simply being a dad in a busy family. I’ve had to find time to fit in training while juggling my kids’ hectic schedules, cooking meals and overall exhaustion. Getting out the door is hard enough even without facing physical challenges.

On those days when I want to give up during my runs or I don’t feel like running at all, I remember the why. I’m not running just for my health, but for the hope that one day families will not endure the pain of watching a loved one fade away.

Donate to help fight Alzheimer’s disease

You can support Jason and his cause to find ways to prevent, treat and cure Alzheimer’s disease by donating to his fundraising page.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Alzheimer’s woman photo by Mario Heller on Unsplash.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This Father’s Day recollection comes from 2015.

Until my own first child was born, fatherhood was just what my dad did, and all I had ever done was take it for granted.

My earliest memories are of sitting on his shrinking lap, a slice of jean-covered thigh quickly losing ground between the random growth spurts of a lanky boy and the constant expansion of an ex-smoker’s belly. I sat there for years sharing tickles, snacks and forgotten conversations. There was a montage of facial hair, and I was captivated by its splendor or the sudden lack of it. Everything was long legs and gangly tussles. I nestled happily in the swell of my father’s contentment.

The years stretched and the stories we planted sprouted stories of their own. The days passed, blooming with milestones, lessons, and the fragrant sweetness of life in hindsight. Fond memories wafted down a timeline, always spinning toward what will be and always remembering what has been. The scent was fantastic and the world somewhat dizzy.

We spent days together that grew into weeks, rolled into months, and segued into years as smoothly as you like. I was hanging one arm out the window of a blue and bruised Datsun pickup, home in the welcome give of a worn bench seat, my father popping pistachios in time to an AM radio already out of date. I was bronze and blond, buck-toothed and skinny, and I was glorious against the sinking horizon that we spend our whole lives chasing. My father was a smile in sunglasses, a song on his breath, and he was younger than I ever knew.

The journey also took us through fields of frustration tended with firm hands and cultivated by consequence. There were sidetracks and shortcuts, disappointment, and discipline, but all days ended in sunsets and every morning the sun would rise. There were birds in the distance and a whistle brought them nearer.

At some point, our kisses fell from lips to cheeks to hugs masked as handshakes. The emotions on our sleeves grew heavy and hard to carry. Life has a way of twisting and testing, and it wrings out the innocence with the sweat and the tears, leaving two grown men in the shade of all that we built, awkward with gratitude and loving one another.

I remember the day I called my dad to tell him the news. He was at work in Arizona, and I was states away, sitting in a parking lot with my wife and our giddiness.

“You are going to be a grandfather,” I said into the phone. His joy was instant and electric.

I spent the next nine months trying to examine the examples he had given, preparing to cross to the other side, the fatherhood side of my experience. My wife and I went on long walks through wet, winding woods, and we talked about the things that we would do when the baby came. We were all things but patient, and we walked around again.

“It’s a boy,” I said through more tears than rain. My father had been sleeping with the phone by his side and had answered before the first ring ended. “You have a grandson.”

And then I rambled about the all of it — full of I-had-no-ideas and now-I-sees. I got it, suddenly, like a swift kick to the head I never knew I needed. The road opened wide before me, and the future teased us all with a glimmer, orange and bright, warm with promise and paths untaken. Then I returned to my wife and our new baby boy, him bundled tight and her softly sleeping. The room was already spinning with fatherhood and motion.

Then three years later we did it all again, but this time with dimples.

Now I spend all my days on the dad side of the fence, where the grass is always greener and in desperate need of trimming. It is my lap slowly shrinking and my shadows being cast. We are the stories being written and we are living in our memories.

I don’t see my own father often enough, but I see my boys every day. Their eyes are like time machines, always racing toward tomorrow, taking lessons from the past, and making the most of the now well before it passes. And it turns out, my father is here, in all of that. The next time we meet I will tell him so, and perhaps a small kiss upon the cheek will show him.

Fatherhood isn’t just something my dad did. It is something he taught me, and it is a thing we do together regardless of the miles between us.

And so it goes. The shadows we cast grow longer as the days grow shorter. We wax and we wane. We give love and we take love. That is the way of fatherhood, and I wouldn’t have it any other.

I learned that from my father.

This post first appeared on Honea Express. An earlier version appeared on Safely.com. Main photo: © ivanko80 / Adobe Stock. Other photos: Contributed.

The text from my dad arrived around mid-morning, the time of day when I’m usually just settled in at work and inundated with emails and meeting invites.

As I read his message, my already busy morning became more complicated. He wrote that my mom was taking him to the hospital because he wasn’t feeling well. This was the latest in a series of health issues he’d been dealing with the last few months. While it thankfully hadn’t reached a life-threatening level, the frequency of the trips to the doctor had become concerning.

I’d be lying if I said my first response wasn’t a “shaking of the head, here we go again” feeling. After all, one of the things my dad taught me when I was younger that has most certainly proven to be true as I’ve become a man is this: There’s always something. There’s always something that comes up in your day-to-day life that wasn’t on your radar or in the plans. That’s life.

It’s also life when you’re faced with an important choice and not sure how to decide. Naturally, I was concerned about my dad and his well-being. At the same time, I had my own responsibilities as a dad I needed to be present for. If I made the roughly 90-mile drive to the hospital, my son would be disappointed I couldn’t take him to basketball practice. And if I ended up having to stay for a couple of days to look after my dad and help my mom out, my wife would have her hands full with both kids.

On the flip side, if I didn’t go to the hospital, what would my dad think? Would he be disappointed in me for not showing up for him like he’s done for me my entire life? Would my mom, who was already a nervous wreck, be able to answer the doctor’s questions? I had just visited him in the hospital when he was there a few weeks before this latest incident. That has to count for something, right?

Burden of the sandwich generation

This is a common dilemma of the approximately 25% of Americans like me in the “sandwich generation.” We are adults with at least one parent alive, age 65 or older, also raising at least one child younger than 18 (or providing financial support to an adult child). Being torn between young and old family members, in addition to work and other obligations, adds emotional, financial and physical strain to parenting. Luckily, for me, COVID-19 and the recession have not complicated our situation as much as it has for others.

I ultimately decided not to go. I managed to take care of everything I needed to do at home while checking in with my mom seemingly every 30 minutes about my dad’s condition.

However, that didn’t erase the guilt I felt. It ate at me the entire time my dad was in the hospital. My mind was telling me I should’ve gone. I was praying everything would work out because if it didn’t, I’d be kicking myself for not being there. Conversely, I was glad I stayed home. Had I missed my son’s practice, the other side of the guilt spectrum would’ve eaten at me as well.

As I continue to adjust to dealing with aging parents, one thing I didn’t factor into that dynamic was the guilt I would experience when faced with having to choose between my current responsibilities as a dad with being there to care for my own dad as he ages. I don’t want to shortchange either. I want to be able to give equally to my son and daughter, as well as my dad. That’s not realistic, I know, but the guilt I feel is not fair to me.

Just as my dad warned me about dealing with the unexpected, I hope to be able to help my kids not beat themselves up when they have to make tough decisions, especially when their hearts are in the right place. But that’s life.

Tips for those caught in between

If sandwich generation stresses are getting to you, here’s some advice for coping from professionals:

From the American Psychological Association:

• Maintain perspective: Prioritize and delegate responsibilities. Delay or say no to less important tasks. Find ways family and friends can lessen your load.
• Find healthy ways to manage stress: Are your coping mechanisms unhealthy (alcohol, drugs, junk food)? Consider healthy, stress-reducing activities — taking a relaxing bath or shower, exercising or talking things out with friends or family.
• Practice self-care: Always make time for yourself so you have the mental and physical energy to care for your parents and children. Eat right, get enough sleep, drink plenty of water, and engage in regular physical and social activity. Maintain contact with friends and other family members.
• Ask for professional support: If you still feel overwhelmed or unhealthy behaviors start dominating your “me time,” you may want to seek a psychologist or other health care professional.

From Senior Living.org:

• Agree to set financial boundaries to help parents or adult children.
• Consider having aging parents move in with you to lower expenses.
• Look into investing in a medical alert system to monitor your aging parent.
• Think about hiring in-home senior care for your parents.
• Consider using identity theft protection services to prevent seniors from being scammed.
• Keep communication lines open with family members concerning needs, expectations, feelings and other issues.

Sandwich generation graphic: © Piscine26 / Adobe Stock.

There’s a natural progression of life most of us experience, no matter our race, ethnicity or background. We grow up: from childhood to adolescence to teenage years, eventually transitioning into adulthood. If we’re lucky, along the way we’ll have parents to guide us as we navigate life. The lessons we receive from them stay with us forever and provide a roadmap for when we encounter the various challenges of life. They also help us when we become parents ourselves.

While we may not be the same type of parent that ours were to us growing up, at the very least we have a blueprint to follow. That’s the beauty of parenthood. It’s also what has made me nervous from the moment I found out I was going to be a dad.

Being a parent means I have the responsibility to mold and shape a life, to prepare a child for every scenario it may face. I may not have all the answers, but when my children leave the nest, they should be well-equipped to be productive members of society. I was fortunate to have that in my life growing up, and I hope to do the same for my kids.

The jarring reality of aging parents

As I’ve become fully ingrained into fatherhood, my parents have transitioned into grandparent mode. This has made me realize there’s actually something I was not prepared for – dealing with aging parents. It’s inevitable if we are blessed enough to have our parents still with us. It’s still shocking nonetheless.

Growing up, we idolize our parents, especially our dads. They were superheroes. Even with their faults, they were larger-than-life figures who did everything in their power to provide for their families. That vision we have of them remains, even as we age ourselves. That’s why it’s so jarring when the reality of what they are now sets in.

Over the past few years, my dad has experienced some health challenges. The man I knew growing up has slowed down. The weekly routine for my parents now includes visits to various doctors to make sure they’re staying on top of their health. But the decline is not just physical. It’s mental as well. With the ever-changing technology landscape, parents often struggle to keep up, leaving it up to us to provide tech support to connect to Wi-Fi, “the Facebook,” and streaming services. And it always happens at the most inopportune time.

Patience, grace and love lead the way

Just as I have to exercise patience with my kids as they grow up, I have to do the same with my parents as they grow older. It’s a balancing act that forces me to flip the switch depending on who I’m dealing with.

They both require different versions of me. As a dad, I have to realize my kids are still new to the world. They’re still learning. I have to remind myself that they’re always watching and their little eyes see every reaction I have. They see how I act and how I respond to them. So even as they work my nerves, I have to remain cool. As a son, I have to exercise patience that is rooted in grace. The grace that helps me be understanding and gentle with my parents as they navigate this stage of their lives. As frustrating as it may get at times, I can’t lose my cool with them, either.

We owe it to our parents to be there for them in their golden years. That doesn’t make it any less challenging. It can test our sanity, for sure. Especially when we have our own responsibilities as parents to our own kids. I know what they’ve done for me over the years, so I push through. I also know one day I’ll be in the same position. And hopefully, my kids will be there for me to lend a helping hand.

Aging parents photo: ©Tetiana Soares / Adobe Stock.

Often, I’m confused by the folks who are certain THEIR generation had it right.

Their mindset comes with a wild confidence that any generation following theirs is diminished, either of intestinal fortitude or common sense. They shake their fist and curse about society being destroyed by these “kids.” This new generation, yet to have any power to shape the world, is always The Bogeyman. The harbinger of the apocalypse.

Yet the folks who have been on watch for decades slide right on past responsibility and consequences. Even as a child, this seemed silly to me.

I believe I have a slightly divergent perspective because I’m part of a unique generation. We grew up in a very analog, and yet increasingly digital, world. My first phone had a rotary dial, a long spring-like cord and stayed anchored to a wall, but I also had a gaming console. In the mid-1980s, this magic box let me hunt pixelated ducks and control a robot with spinning gyros. I had one of the first PCs in my friend group, and I was certainly the first to figure out how to connect my computer, via a landline, to bulletin boards around the world, and not just for boob pictures (but maybe for boob pictures). It was a world where I’d still rather play outside than inside; however, I wasn’t exactly bummed to check out the latest video games.

We turned out all right. Right?

Over the last few months, the aggressive social media algorithms have figured out I find historical photos interesting. Now the robots flood my feeds with them. As you might expect, our digital overlords always send me ones with some sort of inflammatory caption that engages the masses.

A good example of this will be showing an old playground with equipment that now seems wildly dangerous. The caption reads something like: “I remember when playgrounds were more fun, and kids weren’t so scared. LIKE IF YOU AGREE.”

Of course, those of a certain age will flood the comments about how weak the next generation has become. I’m particularly fond of the “X happened to us, and we turned out all right,” comments. We know for a fact, though, that the generations precededing us didn’t all “turn out all right.”

I often wonder if these older generations know it’s all their fault. This sounds negative and accusatorial. It’s not. It’s meant to be matter of fact, honest and truly logical.

After all, they raised us. They sent us out into the big, scary world. Didn’t they tell us that the weird neighbor was harmless? Push us on the swings with rusty chains, and let us loose on monkey bars that were crazy high and suspended over nothing but asphalt? Who put us in the cars with no seatbelts? Cars they smoked in with the windows closed.

Yes, they told us to suck it up. They told us to walk it off. They did all this, and in response, what did we do? Did we get weaker? Did we become pathetic creatures afraid to leave the house?

Nope. We grew up. We got smarter.

New generation trying to improve, not erase

Now, playgrounds are a little softer and safer. Not because the kids are softer, and not because we are weak. Because it makes sense to try to make things better. Also, now much of the newly designed equipment allows kids with certain physical needs access and enjoy it. This is somehow “weak”?

Furthermore, why in the hell doesn’t the past generation celebrate the fact their progeny tries to make the world a little better? It seems a previous generation is only happy if nothing changes. It’s as if their time was the best time, and any other time is ruin.

In certain ideological circumstances, I can understand the divide. But how in the world does making things safer and more accessible for every child somehow signal the downfall of modern society?

I’d like to hope my children grow up to change the world for the better. Even if I don’t understand the changes, even if some make me uncomfortable, I’d like to think I’ll be there, beaming with pride and celebrating the achievements. The last thing I’ll ever do is hold them back, judging them by my antiquated standards, and accusing them of destroying society.

As a man in my 40s, the state of the world is now at least partially my fault. I’ve had at least 20 years as an adult to try and make the world better. In most ways, I feel I’ve failed. It is my hope that I at least succeed as a father, and maybe in some small way, serve society by raising the next generation to change the world. I promise not to get in their way with folded arms and a sour puss, bitching about their clothes, music and how soft they’ve gotten. 

Well, just as long as they stay off my damn lawn. 

Photo: © Jess rodriguez /Adobe Stock.

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.”

Many of us have or are helping our children’s grandparents schedule their COVID-19 shots. While we’re at it, don’t forget to check in to make sure Pop-Pop and Grams are up to date on other vaccines that help keep older adults healthy through their golden years.

As we age, our immune systems weaken. Some vaccines received in childhood also lose  efficacy. These leave a person, especially one with other health conditions, less able to fend off infections as well as when they were younger and stronger. Bottom line: Seniors and even those of us parents over age 50 are more venerable to contracting and developing complications from diseases.

Older adults should start with a visit to their doctor to discuss the matter. A look at the U.S. Health and Human Services Department web pages dedicated to adult vaccines might give you an idea of what you may be lacking going in.

The following vaccines are commonly recommended for most older adults:

Influenza. Seasonal flu may seem like nothing in the age of COVID-19. While mask wearing and social distancing may have knocked it down this past winter, it is still something not to be forgotten when life returns to a more normal states. Seniors are especially vulnerable to the flu, with the U.S. Centers for Disease Control noting people age 65 and older annually account for over 60 percent of seasonal flu-related hospitalizations. A special high dose vaccine is available (and only recommended) for adults older than age 65.

Shingles (Herpes Zoster): Shingles presents as a painful, blistering skin rash. It can also cause postherpetic neuralgia — a condition causes burning pain long after the rash and blisters of shingles disappear, fever, hearing loss and vision problems. A third of all people in the United States will contract shingles at some point in their lives, according to the CDC, and having it once doesn’t protect you from a repeat. As shingles is most common and severe among seniors and people with compromised immune systems, this vaccine is highly recommended for people over age 50.

Td (tetanus/diphtheria) or Tdap (tetanus, diphtheria, and pertussis): Most people received these shots as children. But did you know it is recommended that everyone, regardless of their age, get a booster shot at least every 10 years? Tetanus, a bacterial infection you might now better as “lockjaw,” is so deadly that even people who have already been vaccinated are recommended to get a tetanus booster after a severe cut, puncture wound or burn.

Pneumonia:  Pneumococcus bacteria can cause meningitis, severe pneumonia and various blood infections. Health care centers and hospitals tend to be hotbeds of these strains, leaving seniors who visit them most venerable. The pneumococcal polysaccharide vaccine (PPSV23), recommended for those age 65 and older, protects against the most common strains of the bacteria. The pneumococcal conjugate vaccine (PCV13) may also be recommended to people with weakened immune systems and certain other conditions.

Other vaccines may also be recommended for older adults with certain medical conditions. These include shots against chickenpox, Hepatitis A and Hepatitis B

Vaccines for older adults photo: ©Yakobchuk Olena/ Adobe Stock.

Losing a parent is something you’re never adequately prepared for no matter how inevitable it might be.

My dad’s passing in December was both shocking and not. He had Parkinson’s disease for almost 30 years. Such a disease keeps mortality ever present in your mind, and his life had been increasingly difficult in recent years, but the end seemed to come like an afternoon thunderstorm during the Florida summer. Somewhat expected, but still completely jarring.

His passing left the earth beneath me unsteady. I often feel like I’m walking on the rocks beside a stream. Usually the walk is routine if I tread carefully, but it’s impossible to anticipate when a step might shake a rock loose and leave me scrambling to keep my balance.

Despite the hole his passing has left, I am grateful for all the time we had together, and I’ve taken some time over the last month to consider the lessons my dad taught me through his actions.

My dad was a highly accomplished scientist. He worked for the NASA Life Sciences program in a leadership role for several decades. He loved his work and the people he worked with. Seeing how important his work was to him taught me that it is important to find something in this life that brings you joy. It doesn’t have to be work, but it is nice if your job is more to you than just a paycheck.

He loved his family and was always present and supportive. He was so proud of all of us and would never forego an opportunity to discuss his children and grandchildren’s latest accomplishments, both real and sometimes slightly greatly exaggerated, with anyone who would listen. His family role was different than mine. He was primarily a breadwinner while I am primarily a caregiver, but he never voiced any qualms with my status as a stay-at-home parent. His example taught me the importance of fulfilling your role and always being proud of your children, whatever path they chose in life.

Remembering Dad, the sports fan

He loved sports, Wake Forest University sports in particular, and was a devoted fan all his life. Some of my greatest memories of him involve attending Wake Forest games. One that stands out is the ACC Championship Football Game that Wake Forest won 9-6 over Georgia Tech in 2006 on a very wet day in Jacksonville. It was a great payoff for my dad after a lifetime of fandom to finally see his beloved, but often over-matched, Demon Deacons prevail on a big stage. Sports may seem trivial, but my dad taught me a love of sports and the value of loyalty.

When I was around 10 years old, my dad, my brother, and I drove from Florida to Atlanta to watch Wake Forest play in the NCAA Basketball Tournament. We watched them win their opening round game and then drove back late at night. In classic dad fashion, we stopped off at a very affordable, but rather sketchy Passport Inn alongside the highway in central Georgia. I remember it being a place you were well advised to refrain from touching much of anything like the carpet or bed sheets. Life lesson? I’m not sure. Frugality is a virtue, I guess? I probably didn’t learn this lesson too well. To this day, I prefer hotel rooms where you can touch things.

I lived with my parents for longer than many people do, so my relationship with them grew and evolved over the years. I remember the months my dad and I lived together alone while my mom was in New York receiving medical treatments. He drove with me to a rather sketchy home to pick up my new chihuahua puppy that I had found in a newspaper classified ad. It was basically the Passport Inn of puppy trafficking homes. And while my dad wasn’t a huge dog fan, I’m sure he understood I needed something in that challenging time of young adulthood complicated by parental illness. Even if emotional openness wasn’t our thing, I will always be grateful for my dad’s support and I hope to be a reliable and understanding presence for my children.

What will my kids memories of Dad be? 

I remember staying with my mom and dad in Winston-Salem when they both were fighting cancer and driving them to the hospital several mornings per week for my dad’s radiation therapy. I listened to Green Day CDs over and over again during those drives. I’m sure he didn’t completely understand the music selection as he sat beside me in the passenger seat, but he never complained. My dad taught me the value of not speaking just for the sake of speaking. Sometimes silent understanding is what people need most.

I wish my children were older so they could remember more about their grandfather, but I am hopeful some of his lessons reached them as well. I hope they will remember his kindness, his love, and his leading them in drumming their hands on the table at dinner time. I hope they will remember the things they did together like raking leaves, sweeping the driveway, untangling Christmas lights, and using his walker as a roller coaster. I hope they will remember how they helped my mom keep up with their Granddad’s pill schedule and how they brought him his iced tea.

My father was still teaching lessons late in his life. This time, to his young grandchildren. They learned the importance of caring for people in need and they learned that no one can make it in this life alone. We all need help.

My children are still very young, and they might not remember Dad much, but I definitely will. I’ll remember the life lessons and I’ll remember the memorable moments. I’m holding onto these memories a little extra tight. Right now, and for years to come.

Remembering dad photo: ©  Olesia Bilkei / Adobe Stock.

The last thing on your mind the first week you have your newborn home is keeping a tidy house. So when my parents came over to see their new granddaughter, our coffee table was a disaster. Frantically scattered upon it lay every single parenting book we had bought, read, forgot about, and then frantically dug up again in the previous 72 hours when it became clear how woefully over our heads we were.

Why the hell did I think I’d learn to swaddle a baby just by reading about it once? And why won’t she sleep? Wait … is she sleeping now? Is she dead? No … she’s definitely asleep.

 “Wow. Look at all those books,” my dad said.

“We never had those when you were growing up,” my mom added with a smile and an “aren’t you lucky” tone.

“Well, we could’ve read something. There was that Dr. Spock,” Dad said.

Mom’s smile disappeared. A line had been crossed.

“He was a liberal kook.”

Fortunately, my wife has ninja skills when it comes to changing topics whenever one of my parents stumbles into politics. She once pivoted from Anthony Weiner to the glory days of St. John’s basketball in two moves flat. But the point sank in. The people responsible for raising me had gone full Lucille Bluth.

They did no research. They chose to skip all the homework. My parents: they elected to wing it.

A well-traveled path of faking it

Had Mister Rogers raised my parents, that might be fine. However, both freely admit they had terrible relationships with their fathers – especially my mother. I have no doubt there was love there, but there were also a lot of other things. Aloofness. Volatility. Impatience. Hoarding. And, yes, violence (and it wasn’t just the parent-on-child kind). Yet, they made the decision to follow only what they had experienced firsthand when it came to raising two brand-new human beings. Tactics they knew from experience were flawed, but they hoped against hope that this time it would turn out different.

No doubt a lot of this was tribal. They’re Irish Catholic so anyone else is “The Other, Not Our Kind,” and eventually dismissed. This is especially true of pointy-headed intellectuals who write books. It’s such an easy style of parenting. It doesn’t ask you to be humble, to say “there are things I don’t know – and someone else might.” You don’t need to be courageous or vulnerable enough to venture out of your comfort zone to learn something about yourself you may not want to know. All it requires is for you to repeat the cycle of “This is how we do things because that is the way things have been done because that is the way we do things because that is the way things have always been done. Because …”

Believe it or not, we wound up in family therapy. It ended because my parents didn’t see any point in it.

Now here I am, sitting in the same position they were in all those years ago. Co-piloting a family with two children. Of course, I said to myself I’d be different, but I was more like them than I care to admit. Once our first child was born, I was done with reading books myself. Who had the time? I’d figure it out as I go. People have been raising kids for millennia, right? So long as I didn’t hit anyone, I was doing better (which, while true, is an incredibly low bar).

Choose your own adventure

It was my wife who suggested that I read up some more on parenting, and maybe talk to someone about how I respond to certain situations – and why. As always, she was right. Not to give them a shameless plug, but I found How to Talk So Little Kids Will Listen – an offshoot of How to Talk So Kids Will Listen (And Listen So Kids Will Talk). I won’t give you the whole book report, but it has opened my eyes to the value of helping your child identify what they are feeling and why, and how to use those feelings in a constructive manner. Almost by accident, any parent who reads it will find themselves applying these practices to themselves – even in adult relationships. I know I have.

It would be great to say I’ve done all the work needed to be done, and the cycle I was born into has been broken. Of course, that would mean I’m not prone to yelling “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!” at 5- and 1-year-olds on occasion. I am. Honestly, I just did it in the last 10 minutes while I was trying to concentrate on writing this paragraph. But a start is a start – and knowing the tools you need to get to where you want to go (communication, emotional honesty with yourself and others, introspection and accountability) is a good place to be. Even if it isn’t the finish line. And, most importantly, it gives the tiny human beings we are charged with raising a leg up toward becoming confident, functioning, compassionate – and hopefully, fulfilled — adults

By the way, I had to look up what made Dr. Spock so controversial. Turns out he was against hitting kids and nuclear arms, but pro-civil rights and marched with Dr. King.

What a kook.

Editor’s note: The author requested and was granted anonymity. Photo: Rod Long on Unsplash