And now, hovering over Dad

By Maribeth D. Renne

I never wanted to admit it, but I guess I was guilty of being a helicopter parent - you know, one of those parents who hover over their children. Now, after five weeks living with my 88-year-old dad, I have turned into a helicopter daughter.

A change in my dad's circumstances prompted him to move in with us last month. My husband and I were a year into our empty nest, and just starting to get used to it, when Dad's arrival made us a threesome again, if you don't count the dog and cat. (And how could I forget the dog and cat?)

As my children were growing up, I planned play dates, ensured that one item from each food group was on their plates, and stood over them as they did their homework. Our son, the good-natured guy that he is, more or less put up with Mom and her need to orchestrate the symphony of life. Our daughter, fiercely independent, made it clear from an early age that she had her own music to play and play it she would.

Parenthood is a challenge for those of us who are helicopter parents. We feel always that we are walking a tightrope.

We want to do everything we can to help our children be as happy and fulfilled as possible, but, at the same time, we recognize their need to learn by arriving at their own decisions. We know there are wonderful lessons to be learned from mistakes, but that doesn't stop our hearts from breaking every time we witness that awful by-product, disappointment. Yes, parenting is a balancing act. And sometimes my balance is a little off kilter.

I'm finding that I am off kilter again, but this time I'm walking the tightrope above my 88-year-old dad's gray head.

Always spry for his age, he walked and lifted weights until an illness knocked him for a loop. After many long months of recuperating, not being able to eat healthfully, and doing little or no exercise, he is now walking and exercising daily, and the rewards have been numerous, including increased strength and general well-being. And although he gets no joy from eating due to the loss of taste and smell, he has been very dutiful in eating everything I put in front of him.

So here I am again, making sure that nutritious food - one item from every color and food group - is on his plate at breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Recently, after we all had served ourselves and were ready to dig into dinner, I said to my husband, "Honey, put a few more fresh green beans on Dad's plate."

The scowl on my husband's face was deja vu. "I will not put more food on his plate. Your dad is capable of deciding what he wants to eat," he said.

When I heard those words, I realized that I had graduated from a helicopter parent to a helicopter daughter.

Yes, instead of planning play dates, I am researching exercise classes for people with arthritis and social events for seniors. Instead of looking over homework, I am trying to engage Dad in card games that exercise the brain. I am plying him with various products designed to get 64 ounces of water into his body daily. Even my husband has perused the nutrition stores to acquire potions that he can pour into the blender to make delicious protein drinks for Dad. Hovering? You bet we're hovering.

A couple of weeks ago, I sat in the back of a classroom as Dad participated in an exercise activity at the senior center. I sat there worrying and asking myself, "Is it too soon for him to be doing something this strenuous? What if he loses his balance?" When a twisting exercise caused his gaze to sweep by me, I hurriedly looked down at the magazine in my lap, guiltily pretending that I hadn't been watching him. It dawned on me that this is exactly what I did when I took my daughter to tap-dancing class. And I hadn't fooled her, either.

But here's the funny thing. I guess it's not all bad to be the victim of hovering. My husband was actually disappointed when his foot surgery was canceled. I couldn't believe anyone would actually want to have surgery and inquired about it in disbelief. He sheepishly looked at me and said, "I was hoping it would finally be my turn to be pampered."

A helicopter wife? How is it that I've never even considered that?