Err, A Parent

Chance Meetings, or, the Comfort of Strangers

By Susan Galardi

"Be prepared to worry for the rest of your life."

A friend of ours told us this just before our son was born.

I would add to that:

"Be prepared to feel guilty for the rest of your life."

No matter what we give our son, I feel it's not enough. I'm not talking about toys and gadgets, but about experiences, education, life lessons - the big picture.

I'm a conservatory-trained musician. I've spent tens of thousands of dollars to learn things like the difference between a Bellini and Rossini ornament - and I'm not talking about champagne and peach nectar, nor Italian Christmas bulbs. I spent cumulative years of my life practicing nerve-wracking Hannon finger exercises for piano and memorizing intervals of atonal vocal music that only dogs in heat could appreciate. But as far as passing that knowledge on to Hudson? It's a case of the cobbler's son has no shoes.

Well, that's not entirely true. When he was a baby, I played guitar for him and let him put his ear to the body to really experience the sound (I played very lightly). All of my instruments - guitars, piano, drums - were available to him at all times. I sang him Mozart arias to put him to sleep, and have given him vocal tips. And I've sat down with him at the piano several times - even bought that intimidating Suzuki method book. It's those regular music lessons that are a challenge. Maybe we should just send him to a teacher, I think. But what message would that relay? "Mumma is a musician but she won't teach me." So I try to make a commitment to the regular lessons. If I were only more disciplined ...

Beyond music, Hudson has other interests that I wish I could help develop or even participate in. He's dying to go fishing - not something my partner and I really enjoy, to say the least. But here we are on an island in the Atlantic where people come from all over the world to fish, and we're denying our son that god-given right, I think, as I wake up sweating in the middle of the night.

And he wants to learn to surf. We've been helping him with that, since we're both body boarding and body surfing fans. But he wants to go to the next level.

A few years ago, walking on an empty fall beach, my partner and I saw a gorgeous, sleek wooden thing that looked like a table top. It turned out to be a skim board. Hudson was only about three, so we put it in the basement. But this year, particularly at SagMain on Monday nights, a lot of kids around his age were using skim boards, and he was intrigued. He tried their boards a few times and liked it. I finally let it slip that we had a skim board in the basement, and we started taking it to the beach. Considering that skate boarding is long in my past, and my expertise on water boards stops once I have to go beyond the horizontal position, I couldn't help him with skim board technique. We just let him watch and learn from the other kids, borrowing their boards or experimenting with his. I felt guilty. Of course we could get him instruction, but wouldn't it be better if...

A few days ago on Long Beach, there were strips of shallow water along the beach. Hudson saw a couple boys on skim boards, with a very tall, muscular guy. He ran over to them with his board. The boys were brothers, four and five years old, taking turns on a skim board. Hudson sat with the man, talking about skim boards, the ocean, school. All the while, the man provided passive instruction to the boys - a comment here, a comment there - to help them hone their technique. Hudson watched as they skimmed and slipped - boys younger than he. His competitive urge came out, and he picked up his board.

The man, whom we assumed was the father, included Hudson in his surf class. It turned out, not surprising, that he was an avid Montauk surfer. Now he gave all three boys pointers, showing Hudson how to throw, telling him about board wax. I watched with joy and gratitude - love it when other parents are so generous and inclusive.

And I watched with guilt. Hudson shouldn't be learning from a stranger - a random surfer dude with pierced nipples whom we happened upon at the beach. He should be sharing this experience with a parent who knows how to surf. I hope he doesn't feel deprived. An athletic boy like him needs a parent who surfs and fishes and -

It was time for the trio to leave. The man carried the younger boy to the car to get him in dry clothes. The older one stayed and played with Hudson as long as he could. The man called for him again.

"You'd better get going," my partner said to the older boy. "Your dad's waiting for you."

The little boy gave Hudson a high five and picked up his board. "He's not my dad," he said. "He's my baby sitter."

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