We all, at some point, grow up and go on with and into our lives. Nobody is an exception. At one point, we are newborn babies, and we know nothing, and we cannot do anything but find and suck on our mother’s tit. Then we grow up and develop as a person and learn the language and how to talk. We sound funny and cute early on, then with time, we master communication skills, behavior, and ethics, and we become a part of society. I never thought about this too much until I became a parent myself. I look at that kid, and I see a younger version of myself, and I often remember what my parents used to do and, what they told me, how they raised me. I looked at them, and I thought they were adults; they knew everything, could do anything, and knew how to handle any problem. Now, at this point in my life, I’ve realized that they didn’t, and neither do I. I am learning as I go to be a parent. I am trying to be a great father, and knowing my upbringing; I want to make some improvements for my child. Like any other parent out there, I want a better childhood for my children, and I want them to have a better life than I had. I don’t know how it will play out long-term, but I hope for the best. As much as you try as a parent to bring up a child and raise a great person, I know that there is only so much parents can do. There is also life outside the sweet home that is unpredictable and unfair in many cases. My son will be growing up with other children. He will have caretakers at the kinder garden, teachers at the school, friends outside school, and the family circle, and they will be part of his life as his parents. The fear of any parent is to let our child go into this mean, unfair, rough, and crazy world we’re living in and watch them struggle, knowing of all the dangers out there that the little young mind is unaware of yet.

My son was born in September of 2019. Oh, it’s been just recently, and yet it seems so far away now. That was the last year when life was still normal. It was the last time the world has been as I remember it my whole life. Six months later, the world entered the global pandemic, and everything went to shit. Everyone’s lives changed during the pandemic, but the best thing for me was that I got to stay home with my family and my newborn child and be close to them all the time. I was lucky to get a great chance to watch him grow up, see him becoming a person, make his first steps, say his first word, and all other great things that came along. We decided we would not be sending him to childcare because everyone was freaking out about the virus. So we all had some great family quality time from his birth. He’s been home his first two years and nine months with his mother manly while his father was going to work and providing. There were great times. There were challenging moments, of course, but for the most part, we all were home, safe, and together under one roof. That’s what matters the most, staying together as a family. We all knew that the day would come, and we would have to send him to daycare, school, college, and his independent adult life. The only thought about sending my son to daycare scared us. Deep in my heart, I felt like I was giving up on my child. It felt unfair. I never wanted to do it. I wished he could stay home forever. Thinking about that moment, he would be away for a day felt strange and painful. My heart was tearing apart, and I felt the pressure in my chest. We both did. This is the feeling you get to go through when you love your child.

This child, in his two years of life, has lived through so much already: covid, recession, seasonal allergy, viruses, economy collapse, elections from Trump to Biden, housing boom, four round trip airplane travels, presidential elections, black lives movement, country division, his dead’s first self-published book, dad changing jobs, the war in Ukraine, national gasoline prices at an all-time high, what the fuck else am I missing here? There were some great moments in his little life as well. He’s got recently a newly born cousin-sister, we bought a house and moved out of our parent’s place, he’s been to Florida four times, he’s seen many exotic fishes and animals in zoos, aquariums and in the nature, survived covid without even knowing he’s got it, painlessly, he’s a bright, good-looking kid with the most loving parents in the world. Why am I bringing all of this up? This should explain how well-oiled and a tight family we are and how much time we love to spend together. We never get bored of one another and love each other dearly. When you have a family like that, you don’t give two fucks about the world outside, even if everything around is falling apart. Together we all always stand strong. We hate to separate, even for half a day or a few hours. Sometimes my wife and I go shopping or out for dinner, and it feels strange to be without the little one after a while. Shortly after living in the house, we both start missing our son. This is the kind of relationship we have going on here. It is painful to stay apart, and it is an abundance of activities, noise, and fun when we are all in one room. I am beyond fortunate to have a family like this.

When I was growing up, my family wasn’t the best but wasn’t the worst either. It is hard to criticize my parent now when I am a grown man with a child of my own and having the same issues my parents went through when they were younger. I remember my upbringing pretty well, especially when my younger brother was born. My parents grew up in a different country, a different world. I mean, it has been a different universe back then. Post-Societ-Union Ukraine wasn’t the top destination for most people, and the economic and social environment wasn’t what you would call promising. They both had to work. They both worked hard to make some money to provide for us, two boys, two crazy fucking boys who would beat the shit out of each other for no reason except that we were living under one roof. My parents bought a house, something that looked like a condo; we had a garage and a car. Not a fancy car, but it was brand-fucking-new when they bought it, and it was one of those classic Russian-made cars that half of the country was cruising around. There was no internet, gadgets, computers, home deliveries, yoga studios, or therapy practices. People had to get around however they could. People had to eat their own shit to survive. People had to be assholes to one another because somebody would fuck you over if you were too kind. And trust me, you never want to be fucked over in that country in those days or ever. My parents never knew about a healthy lifestyle, traveling, meditations, couples therapy, yoga, or gym workouts. They had to carry all that madness inside of them. It wasn’t even a norm to express yourself openly like it is popular to do today. And then, once the patience was running out, the alcohol came into the mix, the fighting, the cursing, the screams, and long nights when I was in bed wondering how in the fuck this would end?

My parents weren’t horrible parents or bad people. We had all the necessities, everything a child might need to grow up healthy and not a spoiled brat. We always had decent clothes, a lovely clean house, plenty to eat, a decent amount of toys, and proper discipline. We knew when we should be quiet and when it was better to hide away or calm down and stop doing stupid things. Otherwise, my father’s temper would not last long before he’d start beating the shit out of us. My mother was beating him and driving him mad. In return, he would transition all his anger at us, primarily myself, just because I was older. So, I know what it is like to be a responsible person from an early age because no matter what if my father wasn’t in the mood, I’d catch the fucking swing. Sometimes beatings were so hard that I often thought if he ever was concerned that I could get seriously damaged? I thought, how in the fuck am I going to survive this beating? What was my fault in his anger management or mismanagement towards the world and myself? One thing I learned early on in my life was the following. I knew that if I ever had any children, I would never raise them as my parents raised me. I’d rather not have any children at all than have them and have them suffering as I did through all of the bullshit and fury between two completely opposite and not compatible in any fucking way individuals.

Today, looking back at my own life, I cannot complain. Others had it much worst than I. What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger. I believe it did. I survived. I grew up a decent human being. I know the wrong from right, and I know what kind of parent I will never be for my children. I know what kind of family I always wanted growing up, and I am doing my best right now to raise my family in the best possible way. I am a father myself and have great relationships with both parents. They have no relationships, but I stay close to both of them, and we see each other at least every week. They love their grandson, and I genuinely believe that that little child didn’t just change me into a better version of me but also changed them, the old dinosaurs, which I thought would never change. I guess people do mellow out with age, and now watching them laugh and smile watching the little one, I can see the pure love and happiness in their eyes I wish I could remember them showing to me when I was two years old. I do understand their strict position in raising my brother and myself. I know how important it is to keep your offspring in check and ensure they know what’s good and bad and how they should act.

With all that said, I want to continue with my point of raising children and letting them go into their own life. The world we are living in isn’t the best, safest place to be. Honestly, it wasn’t the best and safest place when I was growing up, and, as it seems, nothing fucking changed in the last thirty-five years. We all have to make it somehow. We must ensure our children are safe, fed, and secure and have everything they need. It is a complicated and critical job to be a parent. It is even harder to be a great parent. We are all people, and we all have our flaws. We all must deal with emotions, jobs, family, health, economics, etc. A lot of times, that socioeconomic pressure is just too much to carry around with you, and you start bending, getting angry, anxious, and depressed.

On the one hand, we are lucky to live in a day and age where it is very easy to get the products and services you need with a few clicks on your phone. It is relatively easy to make money, and you can achieve anything you want if you are a driven individual. We have all kinds of meditation apps, gyms at every corner, yoga studios, healthy organic food everywhere and everything is pretty much extensible to anyone everywhere. This makes the burden my parents went through so much easier. If I had been raised in America, our lives would be much better and more manageable, and my parents would still be together. People don’t need much to be happy. People think they need a lot, but it isn’t much after all. Somehow life gets complicated, and people go crazy, trying to live up to some standards, making all the money in the world, and hustling and sacrificing their precious time and health for nothing. There are too many sacrifices people make for fucking stupid possessions, for a fucking status, better neighborhood, better newer car, larger house with more useless shit if that house. This constant dissatisfaction with what you have and never have enough is fucking driving people insane; it breaks families apart and brings a lot of anger, sadness, and depression. Who needs all that shit? I’d rather stay poor all my life, but I want to make sure I am close with my family, and we are all as one, and we are all healthy and happy and love each other.

It was a typical weekend day, and my wife, my two-year-old son, and I went to a farm nearby to do strawberry picking. This place brings me back to my childhood, growing up in the country, growing ourselves fruits, berries, and vegetables. Many families with children come over to a farm playground where many parents like us bring their children to pick the strawberries, hang outside, play with other children, and have a great family quality time. There is a barn with a stage and a local band playing classic rock tribute songs. There is a fast-food joint making the best cheeseburgers and organic real-potatoes fries. There is a bar serving adult beverages and an ice cream place with some great homemade ice cream. There is a lot of fun and games and always something to do for the whole family.

My son is a bit shy. He’s shier than most kids are, and he’s careful amongst others, but he’s a child, a two-year-old. After picking some strawberries, we ate local fast food, followed by some ice cream. My son was running around, discovering the new place, bumping into people and other kids. Then he saw the playground. He looked at it and smiled with the most innocent smile. He looked at me and said he wanted to go there. He spends most of his time at home under his mother’s supervision while I work. He doesn’t have many friends and is not often when playing with other kids. He’s too domesticated and lived his first two years and eight months in a pretty safe and protected home environment. We went up there to the playground, and he climbed onto the slider, and there were a bunch of other kids. There were way too many kids for that reasonably small place, and everyone ran around chaotically and maniacally like a bunch of little ants. They all wanted to play, go down the slider, and do some climbing and jumping. They bumped into each other and pushed each other not maliciously, just mindlessly like children always do. My son was one of the youngest there, and he was being cautious as he usually is. He climbed up the stairs slowly, then over the wooden block, and climbed onto the little deck. There was a tube that kids would crawl into, come back, and go inside again. My son did the same. He smiled, looking around, watching other kids do things, and he tried to follow them as I was watching him from the ground.

At one moment, I lost sight of him. I looked around and couldn’t find him. I walked around and shouted his name as I couldn’t see him up there. Then he came up and just stood there smiling. The other kids were running around, pushing through, screaming, and shouting. He stood there quietly, and I called his name again. He couldn’t hear me, but I got relieved that at least I could see him now, and he was fine. He’s having his fun with other kids. He stood there watching others, turned around, and leaned onto the wooded fence, looking down. He did not see me, and I was closely watching him and getting worried more and more about him not getting pushed over by other kids. I felt like a ghost watching him from the side. He probably wasn’t even thinking about me at the moment. It was his life, and he was enjoying it among other kids. I felt something strange then. I felt the feeling of losing him. I feared that if something happened, I could be there and could not help him. I know he needs my support, I know he needs my help, and also, he’s out there on his own, living his life. I felt that this is what happens in life when your children grow up and become independent, and they go on in their lives. My son stood there smiling and curiously watching everything around him as my heart was bleeding because I just wanted to snatch him out of there and hug and never let him out into this chaotic and manic world of ours.

“The Catcher in the Rye” and Holden’s philosophy on children entering adult life came to my mind. It all made perfect sense to me there. I felt like Holden, trying to catch my child from jumping into adulthood or his little independent life without me. I wanted to protect him from the outside world. I want him to grow up a great, intelligent, respectful person, which will happen someday. But now, I only wanted to keep my child close to me and have full control and provide complete protection over him. I realized that this is what “letting your child into the world” actually feels like. He was up there, not realizing that I was watching. He probably even forgot that his father was nearby. He was living these moments on his own, at his discretion. I felt it all in my heart. I remembered how my father was furious at me for going out and doing things with my friends when I was a child. He was always so overprotective that he eventually became a tyrant in my childhood. I wasn’t allowed to do anything because everything was some sort of danger to me. I felt his pain in my young father’s chest watching my son standing there alone with no support from me.

I know he will grow up eventually and become an adult, a real man, and a father someday. But also, he will always be my child, my son, and always will be his father. Today he is two and change, and his life is all fun and games. His parents do their best to provide and support him and ensure he gets the best childhood possible. At one point, he’ll mature and this fun will turn to anxiety, and the games will become survival. I have time before that to prepare him for life and all the ins and outs. I will not always be there all the time. I will not always be near or available, and he might not even let me know about everything that is going on in his life. I will be then like I have been at the playground, just another observer, a father ghost. I would just be looking out and hoping for the best while life will decide what turn to make and what challenge to bring up for him. I will be useless and helpless, and that thought is tearing my heart. I cannot keep him as this innocent little boy who is always protected and has his parents next to him twenty-four-seven.

We all have to grow up, and we all have to deal with life. Not all of us get a fair share, and not all of us will be able to enjoy the life ahead of us entirely. But we all have to strive for a better life. We all, as adults, have to be able to set our children up for a better childhood and better life than we once had. Times are changing but usually not for the best. There are more and more issues and threats, and the future is always unpredictable and mysterious. Somehow we all have to deal with it. At some point, we all have to let our children go on and start their own life. There will be a lot of unpredictable and hopefully more fortunate moments in their lives, but they have to take that ownership of their own lives and live it. My son will start kindergarten soon, the first step into his independent life without parents nearby. He will have to make it on his own. He will have to grow up, become smarter, stronger, and more independent. I believe that one day he will become a great father and have the same worries I have for him today. Until then and always, I will be his loving father, my wife will be his loving mother, and we will never stop worrying about him because we live our lives for him, and we live him more than life itself. Parents will get it. They know how it feels.