Spend time getting tangled up in each other’s business
By Ron Ciancutti
I don’t know many families that still collectively sit down to dinner anymore. In fact, I’ve seen a lot of modern homes with a “breakfast bar” but not many with actual kitchen tables. The bar typically has a television at one end that helps discourage any possible interaction or conversation. In my house, the dinner table was where my family met to discuss the highs and lows of our day. I learned to tell a joke and speak before a group of people at that sacred place. Usually, I received some much-needed parental advice, too. Sometimes that advice came simply from what my parents observed was going on in my life. I didn’t have to ask. They were connected to me, not constantly distracted from me. They were raising a family.
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Meaningful Chatter
When my wife and I began raising our family, we insisted on a nightly dinner (complete with a predictable glass of spilled milk), and Sunday dinner included all of the extended family, where extra tables were carried from the basement and old stories went on until late into the night, with children dozing on couches, chairs, and the floor in old blankets; there was school in the morning, but Mom and Pop couldn’t tear themselves away from so many laughs and good conversation. Just one more cup of coffee. I recall one of the moms constantly saying, “OK, kids, get ready to go,” yet the kids didn’t even move at the first three times. Maybe, just maybe, the fourth time was to be taken seriously, but not likely. It wasn’t until Mom and Dad were wearing their coats that the kids finally headed for the car.
At one of those Sunday conversations, it might come up that someone’s car was in for repair, and the person needed a ride to work in the morning. “That’s right on my way,” someone else would volunteer. “I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow morning.” There were no Ubers or Lyfts. We were all in each other’s business, and it was wonderful.
“Did that grumpy old boss of yours give you a raise yet?”
“Have you heard from your brother-in-law about the money he owes you?”
“I heard Mrs. Johnston was having coffee with that married man who owns the hardware store.”
“Did you finish putting in that extra shower in the basement? I can help you on Saturday.”
“That dang paperboy leaves the paper in the driveway instead of on my front porch; the paper is always soaking wet.”
People were talking about nothing too important—a mix of gossip and neighborhood news. It wasn’t the critical texts exchanged today that make sure all appointments are kept and details are clarified. Just stuff.
The Human Disconnection
Yet, only a few years back, we were told to hunker down in our houses and keep human contact to a minimum. At first it seemed like a giant “camp out” in the family room with nothing but pajamas, television, snacks, and privacy, but it didn’t take long to start missing other people. We were starved for the interaction we had always known in the neighborhood, the workplace, and the stores we frequented. But when those bans were finally lifted, we all came out of hiding, said hello to each other, and then stuck our noses right back into cell phones and laptops. Just look around in coffee shops these days. Or take a gander at a family of four at a local restaurant. Parents are on their phones, kids are in their handhelds, and no one is looking at each other. Toddlers are only able to be kept quiet when Mom hands them a phone or an iPad. It’s a shame.
You know what else I see less of these days?
Dads. As in men who stand for something. My blessed childhood was full of men who were examples to me. My hard-working father and grandfathers. My uncles who picked me up for time alone at their houses while they were building fences, repairing cars, and teaching me to throw and catch a ball. And my buddies had dads, too, and we all learned together. You know what they were teaching me? How to be a man! How to respect a young lady. How to be a dutiful son to Mom. This stuff doesn’t come out of books, but from observing good examples. I recall some single men then who were scout leaders and Little League coaches because they saw those activities as part of a man’s duty to share the lessons of manhood. Some of them never had their own families, but they contributed to society in a mighty way.
Back To Basics
I know the world is evolving at an ever-increasing speed and kids have to keep up to survive, but I would like to offer some solid suggestions for a good life:
1. Grow up well and do as you are told.
2. Go to school.
3. Stay in school.
4. Graduate with good marks and be proud of your accomplishments.
5. Head to college or find a reputable trade that makes you proud and fulfilled.
6. When you begin working, learn to save money.
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7. Don’t be in a hurry, but find a good partner who complements your life.
8. Once you know what you want in life, choose a mate who wants similar things.
9. Don’t yell too much. It’s immature. But be strong in your views. Be assertive without anger.
10. Don’t let others push you around. Hold your ground.
11. Speak wisely.
12. Succeed at your job. Be the type of person others admire.
13. Smile with confidence.
14. Value your family. Be the leader they expect. Make sure they are enjoying their lives.
15. Appreciate your mate. Listen to and consider him or her. Treat that person as you want to be treated.
16. Retire when you should and leave when the company still wants you to stay.
17. In retirement, be an example to everyone. Don’t whine and complain.
18. Be strong until your last breath.
Be remembered like all of the great times, great days, great eras, and great traditions. Only then will you be missed.
Ron Ciancutti worked in the parks and recreation industry since he was 16 years old, covering everything from maintenance, operations, engineering, surveying, park management, design, planning, recreation, and finance. He is now retired. He holds a B.S. in Business from Bowling Green State University and an M.B.A. from Baldwin Wallace University. He is not on Facebook, but he can be reached at ron@northstarpubs.com.