Det er ikke nemt at være forælder. Især ikke til børn i den flyvefærdige alder og lige deromkring.Og det er der heller ikke nogen, der har lovet os. Man skal opdrage uden at opdrage i gammeldags tugtende forstand (den du elsker, tugter du…). Man skal vejlede uden at blande sig for meget. Man skal ønske det bedste for sine unger, uden at de får fornemmelsen af, at det bedste er ens eget bedste. Og uanset, hvad man gør, så skal man ikke regne med, at ens anstrengelser bliver vejet på en guldvægt. Kærlighed er hårdt arbejde. Ikke (altid) en dans på roser.

De ovenfor indgraverede overvejelser skal ikke forstås som beklagelser. Blot som konstateringer fra en af slagsen, der ikke ville bytte det for noget som helst andet i denne verden.

Her er Loudons sang om “A Father And A Son”. Det er en smuk, smuk sang. Enhver fader vil kunne nikke genkendende til noget i den sang.

When I was your age I was just like you,

And just look at me now; I’m sure you do.

But your grandfather was just as bad

And you should have heard him trash his dad.

Life’s no picnic, that’s a given:

My mom’s mom died when my mom was seven;

My mom’s father was a tragic guy,

But he was so distant and nobody knows why.

Now, your mother’s family, you know them:

Each and every one a gem,

Each and every one a gem.

When I was your age I was a mess;

On a bad day I still am, I guess.

I think I know what you’re going through;

Everything changes but nothing is new.

And I know that I’m miserable; can’t you see?

I just want you to be just like me.

Boys grow up to be grown men

And then men change back into boys again.

You’re starting up and I’m winding down;

Ain’t it big enough for us both in this town?

Say it’s big enough for us both in this town.

When I was your age I thought I hated my dad

And that the feeling was a mutual one that we had;

We fought each other day and night:

I was always wrong; he was always right.

But he had the power and he needed to win;

His life half over, mine about to begin.

I’m not sure about that Oedipal stuff,

But when we were together it was always rough.

Hate is a strong word; I want to back-track;

The bigger the front, then the bigger the back;

The bigger the front, then the bigger the back.

Now you and me are me and you,

And it’s a different ballgame though not brand-new.

I don’t know what all of this fighting is for;

But we’re having us a teenage/middle-age war.

I don’t want to die and you want to live;

It takes a little bit of take and a whole lot of give.

It never really ends though each race is run,

This thing between a father and a son.

Maybe it’s power and push and shove,

Maybe it’s hate but probably it’s love,

Maybe it’s hate but probably it’s love.