What I Regret About Being an Older Parent (And What I’ve Learned To Do Differently)
Last month, I huffed my way up the rutted dirt hill behind our town’s high school, chasing the finish line of my 12-year-old son Leo’s first middle school cross country meet. My left knee had been throbbing since I carried his team’s extra water bottle up from the parking lot, and by the time I got to the top, I was leaning against an oak tree, gasping, when Leo ran through the finish. He bounced over, sweat dripping off his forehead, and said “Did you see me pass that kid from Franklin? My kick was insane, right?” I managed a smile and said “Yeah, great job, buddy. Can we head back to the car? I need to sit down.” As we walked down, I passed a mom in her 30s who was jogging up the hill, carrying a cooler full of Gatorade, yelling encouragement to every kid she passed. That’s when the regret hit me, sharp and quiet, the same way it usually does.
I had Leo when I was 40. I’d been through a divorce in my 30s, didn’t meet my wife until I was 36, and we lost two pregnancies before Leo. Everyone told us how lucky we were, that older parents are more patient, more financially stable, less stressed about the small stuff. That part is true, I guess. I own my home, I don’t work 60-hour weeks anymore, I don’t sweat it when Leo spills juice on the couch. But no one talks about the parts that don’t make the upbeat social media posts about later-in-life parenting.
Three weeks ago, Leo asked me to learn a TikTok dance with him for his best friend’s birthday skit. I got through the first 30 seconds before my back started screaming, and I kept mixing up the steps. Leo rolled his eyes and said “Never mind, it’s fine. You just don’t get it.” He walked upstairs to his room and didn’t ask me again. That night, I sat on the couch and thought about how most of his friends’ parents are 10 to 15 years younger than me. They grew up with TikTok, they can run around the playground for an hour, they can plan spontaneous camping trips on a Friday night without worrying about how their back will feel sleeping on the ground.
The biggest regret isn’t the bad knees or not understanding Gen Z slang, though. It’s the quiet fear that I won’t be here for all the big parts of his life. I’ll be 60 when he graduates college, 72 if he has his first kid at 30. I don’t have any major health issues right now, but my dad had his first heart attack at 58. I think about that more than I want to admit. I also regret saying no to more things than I should, just because I’m tired. When Leo’s friends ask him to go on an after-school hike, more often than not I say we can go next weekend, because I’m worn out from work. That adds up, over time.
I used to spend a lot of time feeling guilty about this, trying to push through and pretend I’m 35 again. That just left me sore and grumpy, snapping at Leo over tiny things like leaving his backpack on the floor. About a year ago, I stopped doing that, and started making small changes that work a lot better for both of us.
First, I plan around my limits instead of ignoring them, and I tell Leo what’s going on in plain language, not vague excuses. Instead of saying “I’m too old to go biking” which makes him feel like he’s asking too much, I say “My knees are sore this week, how about we drive to the lake, ride the flat trail to the ice cream shop, and sit there for an hour? I’ll even spring for the sprinkles.” That works way better. I stopped going to all-day soccer tournaments just to sit on the sidelines stiff and sore. Now I tell Leo ahead of time I’ll be there for his first two games, then I’ll wait in the car with a book, and I’ll take him out for his favorite burger after. He doesn’t mind – he’d rather have a dad who’s happy to take him out for burgers than a dad who’s grumpy and sore the whole day.
Second, I started writing down little stories for him, every week. I have a cheap spiral notebook, and every Sunday I write one page about something that happened to me, or about his grandparents, or the first day he came home from the hospital. If something happens to me sooner than I want, he’ll have those. It only takes 10 minutes a week, and it’s something I can do sitting on the couch, no extra energy required.
Third, I stopped pretending I know everything about his world. If I don’t understand a trend or a game he’s playing, I just ask him to explain it, or I ask my 28-year-old daughter (my oldest, from my first marriage) to help me out. I even have the mom of Leo’s best friend on speed dial to ask what kids are into these days. No shame in it.
Last week, Leo asked if I’d go on a 5-mile bike ride with him and his friend after school. I told him my knee was still being weird, but I’d drive them to the trailhead, pack lemonade and cookies to meet them at the halfway point, and take both boys out for pizza after they finished. He said that sounded way better than riding slow with me the whole time anyway. We did it, and the boys laughed the whole way through pizza, and I got to hear all about their plans for the upcoming skate park trip. I still have regrets. I still lie awake sometimes wondering if I made the wrong choice waiting so long to have him. But I don’t think that regret has to be the whole story. I’m working with what I’ve got, and so far, that’s enough most days.
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