A child cannot know all of her parents’ thoughts and emotions when they raise her. Dark nights of the soul visit every caretaker. The young one is often spared the pain of a parent’s uncertainty.

Even when that budding flower finds herself in the same role, her experience differs. The new Mama Bear is a different person, married to a man who is not a duplicate of her father. She cares for her pride and joy at a new time in history, perhaps in another part of the world.

The heads of the family must think about what is necessary to rear this fledgling. The juvenile can be unlike her siblings in appearance, intellect, emotionality, risk, attention, generosity, competitiveness, a desire for love, and a wish to give affection. Add a thousand other qualities, and perhaps one comes close to expressing the individualized nature of the ones you bring into the world.

No textbook provides sure-fire guidance. No one can tell you when to replenish yourself and when to lift the one-time infant above your head while you are drowning.

The moms and dads also make a living, try to find time for friends, and hope to enjoy hobbies that give them a measure of joy and relief.

They try and try again.

Or maybe they don’t have time or opportunity for any of these, except for putting food on the table and a roof over all the heads in their charge.

Solo parents play the role of a duet because it is needed. Yet even with a steadfast partner, the family’s finances or the job’s travel requirements can remove the adults from the home for days or weeks.

Here, then, is a story about our guardians’ decisions and choices. Remember that I listened to endless stories of both parental self-sacrifice and mistakes of those who brought new life into the world in the first place. It is a tale of fathers and sons.

The younger fellow (whom I will call Patrick) attended a major post-high school music conservatory on the East Coast. Such schools are competitive, and few of the many gifted students become full-time musicians. Indeed, reaching a level of expertise as a brain surgeon might be easier than achieving a soloist’s career or a more modest full-time role in an instrumental or vocal ensemble.

The Dad loved classical music and occasionally traveled across the country to concerts before the birth of his firstborn. Nonetheless, he and his spouse attended every one of Pat’s elementary and high school performances. 

For the proud father, this included sacrificing paid time at work to see him shine.

During the son’s conservatory education, the marital pair visited him, attended his performances, and drove back and forth to install the young man Patrick into his dorm. They picked him up and returned him for the holidays or summertime. Many parents follow the same unremarkable routine.

The story is only of interest by returning to the patriarch’s life before marriage. Forty years earlier, in college, the father witnessed the Prokofiev Symphony #2 in a stunning live performance. Most ensembles in the United States had never played it, and he didn’t expect to have the chance again.

To his surprise, however, it would be presented in the city where his boy now attended school.

The Dad put the event on his calendar and purchased tickets for himself and his wife. They anticipated seeing Pat for an unexpected visit and were happy about the coincidence of being able to encounter the Prokofiev as well. Indeed, it was the first U.S. performances of the piece since the one that Dad had enjoyed in college.

Fate had other ideas.

Weeks after plans were solidified, the conservatory scheduled students for a solo recital. Each student prepared short pieces lasting no more than 10 or 15 minutes. Patrick would take part.

As you have guessed, the two events were scheduled across town at the same time.

The progenitor was torn. He’d waited four decades without expecting the composition to be heard anywhere but on his stereo system, not in person. He’d witnessed his son’s efforts and would have more chances to do so, but not this time if he used the ticket. 

How would the offspring feel? How could the devoted Dad put his Pat second? Would his mother’s presence be enough? She’d decided to give up the ticket beside her husband in the concert hall to support her son.

Her mate chose the Prokofiev. His son did not object, but neither of his folks was a mind reader. Though he didn’t express unhappiness, who knew for sure? Judge them all as you wish.

The parents traveled to the city early to see the same orchestra in a different repertoire the day before the two competing events.

As the male parent sat in the auditorium listening to the first concert, his thoughts drifted to the next night and the conservatory. His wife and son would be without him in 24 hours. 

What would you do?

My patient did not follow his original plan, though aware he might never reencounter the masterpiece. Instead, he needed to cheer on someone dear who made him glad to be alive.

I listened to this story long after the event happened. It might not sound like much to you. Perhaps your choice would have been easy–maybe it would have been the same. Or different.

Was one path the right one and the other wrong? 

School tuition was expensive, and the father paid it, but he recognized something more on the day he missed the Prokofiev. The man remembered he was “all in” to give life to a boy’s dream so he would never wonder, “What if?”

His offspring received his chance, and the Dad gave up a different kind of dream: waiting for half a lifetime for a second chance, for the excitement and thrill of it. There were no regrets on either side.

The decision wasn’t a matter of life or death, but it is one of many we make, whether we produce kids or not. That said, the existence of our children alters our reasoning and priorities. Patrick’s career wouldn’t have been derailed if Dad were absent, but most other parents from out of town weren’t present.

Such is life, such are relationships, and such are the choices we must make, the ones that impact others even when those others are not our children.

Life presents possibilities beyond imagination. With children, we add more to the array of ways we influence the fortunes of those around us, whether we know the names, nationalities, and races of the strangers we have helped, harmed, seen, or dismissed from our sense of responsibility to love our neighbor.

Life is a bit like a TV game show. You face the choice of door one, two, or three. Unlike entertainment programs, however, you cannot guarantee a mindblowing prize by walking through the ideal entrance. Instead, there is another door and then another in perpetuity.

At least in the story you just read, the father’s love drew him to his son’s music-making rather than his intended destination. Many of the most meaningful choices have a cost one would rather not pay. In the worst cases, we shy away from those decisions and the fear they stir inside, or favor our self-interest and compromise ourselves. In the best circumstances, one pays the cost and doesn’t look back.

Pat’s Dad didn’t want to let down anyone he loved.

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The top photo is a Juvenile, Slender-billed Gull Calling For Food Gull by Ryzhof Sergey, sourced from Wikimedia Commons, 2017. Next comes If I Knew the World Ended Tomorrow, I Would Plant an Apple Tree Today, Street Art by Heraku in Berlin.

Finally, the photo of A Mama Elephant and Baby in Masai Mara, Kenya, November 2024 taken by Laura Hedien and used with her permission: Laura Hedien Official Website.