When my two daughters were born, I realized I knew almost nothing about parenting. So I looked around for guidance. I tried self-help books, online chat groups, and television talk shows—none made me feel more qualified to raise children. I also looked for role models in the books I’ve taught at Pingry. Creon, Willy Loman, King Lear? Don’t think so. Let’s hope not. Fortunately, I’ve gotten great advice from friends, colleagues, and even a few students. But as I approach my seventeenth anniversary as a father, my most reliable source remains the example set by my own parents. They weren’t perfect, but the way they raised me is the way I want to raise my kids. Let me share two quick stories to illustrate what I mean. 

First my dad. When I was about twelve, he took my three brothers and me into New York to see the auto show. The show included a guest appearance by a sports celebrity, but a mob of fans kept my younger brother from meeting him. The celebrity left, and my brother burst into tears. My father saw this and decided he wasn’t going to drive home with his son crying in the back seat. He ran across the convention center, caught up with the celebrity, and told him what had happened. The celebrity was great: he walked all the way back with my dad and spent nearly half an hour with my brother, asking him about his favorite team, what position he played, was he doing his homework. My brother was in seventh heaven; he still claims it was the best day of his childhood. And my dad made it happen. The moral of the story? For my father, nothing mattered more than his family. Nothing. Of course, he had other interests, and he worked about 100 hours each week as an Ob/Gyn. If truth be told, he missed most of the teacher conferences and sports events; he even left my high school graduation early to deliver a baby. But when it really mattered, like with my brother at the auto show, my dad never let us down; somehow, he always came through. That gave me a tremendous sense of security; I grew up knowing I always had the love and support of my family, no matter what. For me, this security is the foundation of good parenting, and I hope to provide it for my daughters as they grow up. Oh, and the sports celebrity? A rookie halfback for the Buffalo Bills named O. J. Simpson. 

My mom’s story is a bit different, but it, too, contains a key ingredient of successful parenting. I grew up with a twin brother, and in high school, he spent a week one summer at a sports camp in the Poconos. There, he had a flaming romance with a gymnast from Austin, Texas named Annie. In the school year that followed, they wrote back and forth faithfully. The day after summer vacation began, Annie showed up at our house, all the way from Austin, with her best friend Claire. They were wearing backpacks and hiking boots, and had come to take my brother and me on a summer-long trekking adventure across Europe, a plan to which I instantly agreed. We assembled in the living room and pitched the idea to my mom, who sat there demonstrating the patience and equanimity for which she was famous. When we finished, my mom said one word: No. Undeterred, Annie pressed her case. “Mrs. Keating, I know we sprang this on you. I know it’s a big deal. But I can assure you, I am going to take very good care of your sons.” My mom had to smile at that one. But she didn’t budge. She simply said, “Annie, that is exactly why they’re not going.” That response pretty much ended the discussion, and it took me a long time to get over my disappointment. But in the years since, I have come to admire my mom’s reaction, not so much her decision—which, let’s face it, was an easy call. But the way she handled the moment: she didn’t freak out; she didn’t cause a scene; and she didn’t make me feel stupid. Using humor, she challenged me to rise above my limited sight line to see what was right. Over the years, she did this in countless situations with her children, and always with what Mark Twain called a certain sense of style—that is, with grace, wit, and wisdom. Her parenting was less about punishment and more about guidance, and I want to raise my daughters exactly the same way.

I realize these parenting roles sound a bit old fashioned, and they reflect traditional stereotypes about mothers and fathers: dad as the action hero, mom as the killjoy. To that, I say my parents were old fashioned; we’re also talking more than fifty years ago. Besides, the roles I’m describing—the staunch supporter and the enlightened rule giver—my parents played them interchangeably. There were many times when my mom had my back and many times when my dad laid down the law. They worked as a team, as many couples do, and single parents do alone, to provide their children with both the unconditional love and thoughtful supervision that kids need to grow into self-reliant, responsible adults. If I can do the same for my daughters, I will be the father my parents raised me to be. What does all this have to do with you? That is, students? Well, in the coming years, some of you, probably most of you, will have children. I can’t tell you how to raise them. The only advice I can give is this: pay attention to how your parents are raising you. I’m sure they’re not perfect, either. But along the way, you just may pick up a few pointers for that day if and when you have to do some parenting of your own.

 

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Author photo by Anthony "Truncs" Truncale '26

 

To contact the author: Mr. Keating