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| "I'm too sexy for my shirt" declared Right Said Fred. |
I'm a model.
You know what I mean?
and I do my little turn
on the catwalk.
But I ply my craft far from the runways of Paris, Milan or New York.
My steps are less bold, more gingerly taken.
Cocky ambivalence is not how one might describe my demeanor though ambivalent, apathetic, angry might all come to mind with this facial “mask” I wear.
Yes, I’m a model. But not a model in the high powered, celebrated and opulent fashion industry . No, I’m a model in the highly underrated, sometimes banal, not-for-profit parenthood industry. I’m a Dad to my three kids. A parent for some 20+ years now. Not such a unique job but an important one in our community.
To a greater or less extent, and for better or worse, our children look to us as a model throughout their lives. As my Parkinson’s Disease has progressed, I find my behaviours, my thoughts and my actions are increasingly thrust under the microscope of self–scrutiny.
I have often thought about how my children see me as a “stay-at-home” father and how that contrasts with my previous employment as a teacher and social service administrator. How has this shaped their model of what the working world looks like? Has this in some way diminished my role and/or contributions?
When I am feeling tired or weakened (which, unfortunately is all too often these days) I am challenged to behave or speak in ways that one would consider to be appropriate parental manner - with interest, respect, concern, and compassion. It can be a real struggle. Are my children aware of this? Do they interpret my words and actions through a PD “filter” or simply find ways to cope and persevere through such times? Or do I fall into the trap of using this as an excuse for such behaviour?
As my ability to carry out daily activities becomes more limited, and constraints are imposed on more vigorous family activities such as entertainment and leisure pursuits, do they see me as not contributing to healthy family life? Can they sense the angst it creates to not be able to do such things that once meant so much to me?
On the other hand, having a parent that is disabled presents them with a wonderful opportunity. Disability, illness, suffering, perseverance - as well as gratitude, commitment, and love - these are all very much a part of this thing we call "life". What better way to model these characteristics than to live with them each day?
I guess I am a model. And guess I’ll do my little turn on the catwalk.
