Cindy

Droog

Read Cindy's bio and previous columns

June 16, 2008

Random Expectations for My Son: Who Will Care? (Will He?)

In the early days of my career, I helped promote a book called Random Thoughts, authored by a local businessman. He wanted the book reviewed by all the television and print news outlets that all naïve media relations clients want. CNN. The Washington Post.

Of course, my gut reaction was to laugh, which I did not. But I did think, “Who’s ever going to care about the random thoughts of some guy they’ve never heard of? Perhaps if the title were something that made the book seem useful, like How to Survive a Shark Attack, it might have at least sold a few copies.

Nonetheless, to promote this book was my assignment, and I jumped in like any good rookie would. First, I read every page of that book. Learned it inside and out. Embraced the stories as if I had lived them.

I wrote a compelling fact sheet about the book. (The fact sheet was compelling. The book? No.) Called a bunch of radio show producers. (Who didn’t call back. What a shock!) I documented my work, the media’s reaction (or lack thereof), and I still remember every dreaded phone call from that client, attempting to riddle me with guilt for not working hard enough, threatening that he’d have to hire someone else to get him those two minutes he deserved on CNN.

I was too young to know how to manage a client’s expectations, and frankly, it’s something I clearly still struggle with – in business and with my kids.

I was just telling a friend the other day that our not-yet-two-year-old son can recognize three people on the telly: Barack Obama, John McCain and Tiger Woods. He gave me a quizzical look: “Are you going to be one of those moms who have their kid looking at colleges by the time he’s 11?”

Apparently, he thought we were strapping our son down in a chair and forcing him to watch politics. He was wrong. Well, about the straps anyway.

It got me to thinking about expectations we have of him, great or small. On the small side, I expect he’ll be potty trained in time for preschool. But what if he’s not? On the great side, we expect that he’ll feel so privileged to be able to vote when he turns 18, that he’ll march right to the polls with us in November 2024 and it’ll be as happy a moment for him as my first time was for me.

But what if he’s not?

Perhaps what I should do is write all of these expectations down in a book somewhere and call them Random Expectations of My Son, and take it not to a rookie media relations professional, but to a seasoned mom whose kids have grown into their own lives.

Most likely, it would be her turn to laugh out loud. It would be her turn to think, “This person’s child is never going to care about his mom’s random thoughts about his future.” She may even encourage me to rethink the title of the book, perhaps calling it, “How to keep a teenage girlfriend only as long as you want to without any drama,” if I’d really like him to read it.

But by no means is my son likely to read every page of that book, and embrace my dreams as if they were his own.

I guess starting today, we better expose him to some different recognizable figures. We sort of like Ty Pennington. He’s not Tiger, but most certainly a productive member of society who helps others, and clearly loves his job.

And in the end, despite all the talk of which preschool in town is the best, that’s the only expectation we really do have.

© 2008 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

Click here to talk to our writers and editors about this column and others in our discussion forum.

To e-mail feedback about this column, click here. If you enjoy this writer's work, please contact your local newspapers editors and ask them to carry it.

This is Column # CD100. Request permission to publish here.