Call Your Parents
On Thinking in Moments, Reversing Charisma, and Giving Grace
I sit here at my desk, tears streaming down my face, smiling with a full heart.
My mom visited me in Boulder last week.
This time last year, my mom and dad, 70 and 71, respectively, sold their house in suburban Philadelphia and moved full-time to the Poconos. For nearly two decades, Lake Naomi has been our family’s safe haven—where we retreat to ski, skate, fish, kayak, paddleboard, swim, hike, cycle. More importantly, it’s been the place where loved ones gather to break bread, share stories, watch sunsets, roast marshmallows, play Trivial Pursuit, and make memories.
But it dates back further. When my dad was in college in the seventies, he visited Lake Naomi for the first time because one of his fraternity brothers’ parents had a house in the community. During that trip, his buddy cracked his skull open playing hockey on the frozen ice. Since then, Lake Naomi has been ingrained in my dad’s head—probably in his friend’s too. He’s wanted to build a house there ever since.
While we’ve been a part of Lake Naomi since 2007, my parents bought lakefront property there in 2014. They demolished the original, dilapidated structure and designed and built their dream house from the ground up.
When the house was under construction, I remember sawing down tiny trees in the backyard with my brother Eric at my dad’s orders. “One day, you’ll remember this and be proud of the sweat equity you put into this place.” No doubt, Baba.
Three years later in 2017, the house was complete and we moved in—realizing a dream my dad worked toward for nearly five decades. My brother and I gifted my dad with a guest book for his birthday that August. “If you build it, they will come”, I inscribed, inspired by my favorite baseball movie, The Field of Dreams. Since then, that has proven to be true. When friends and family visit, my dad excitedly insists they leave their mark in the guest book, chronicling a shared experience.
Now that my folks have lived in the Poconos full-time for about a year, they’re realizing it may not be their forever place. They love the lake and the people they’ve met, but miss the convenience of the Main Line or an active city. In the winter, it can feel isolating, especially for my mom, an extreme extrovert, who is energized by interacting with others.
Every time they come to Colorado, they look at real estate. Window shopping, sure, but in past visits, they’ve gone as far as meeting with an agent and touring homes. While I sometimes think Boulder may be little too close, I quickly realize it’s better than the alternative of them being 2,000 miles away.
Think in Moments, Not in Years
I hope my parents live longer, but let’s assume they live until they’re 80. You may think I have ten more years with my parents; however, if I see them four times per year, I only have 40 more visits with them. Twice a year? 20 more visits. A terrifying reality. I first learned to think about time this way from Jesse Itzler and recently heard Sahil Bloom echo a similar message.
When you see them every few months, changes are more apparent. When I was back home in Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving, my dad seemed to have shrunk inches. As a kid, I looked up to him, literally and metaphorically, and hoped I’d one day stand as tall and confident as him. In my teenage years, I eventually matched his height of 5’10”. Maybe it was at this point when he stopped letting me win in basketball, arm wrestling, and other games we’d play. A few years later, after consistently strength training, the tables turned, and I backed off so my dad could keep up and compete.
There’s a moment of pride and I believe it’s probably what most parents want—for their children to grow bigger and stronger than them—but it’s followed by a saddening realization. Our parents are fragile, delicate, and need to be protected, just as they’ve protected us our entire lives.
When we’re children, and even as young adults, we see our parents as superheroes; however, eventually witness they’re fallible, vulnerable, and mortal like the rest of us. This became abundantly clear when I skied with my dad two years ago—and again last weekend when I took my mom for a hike.
Mt Sanitas is a local classic that climbs 1,500 feet in four miles. We walked the dirt trail of Sanitas Valley and my mom was visibly and audibly struggling.
“You okay, Ma?”
“I’m working hard, Adam. I thought I was in shape!”
Was I overly optimistic in thinking she’d make it to the top? My sweet 70 year old mother who resides at sea level was now at altitude, slogging through muddy slush in my old hiking boots filled with scrunched no-show socks to fill the gaps in the shoes that were five sizes too big. I felt bad for putting her in that position and making her question her fitness—something she works hard at by taking daily classes with her friends at the lake.
We reached the East Ridge Trail, pushed another few yards to touch a tree that served as our turnaround point, snapped a selfie, and headed down. I was disappointed because I wanted her to enjoy the view from the summit, but I quickly let go of expectations and cherished outcomes and snapped back to the present. Instead of wishing things were different, I became grateful for just being out on a beautiful spring-like day with my mom. How lucky am I?
When I wasn’t giving her a tour of town or she wasn’t cleaning my apartment (her idea, not mine), we hung out and simply enjoyed each other’s company. We shared French presses, steamed veggie momos and chicken tikka kebabs at Sherpa Kitchen, belly-laughs watching Curb Your Enthusiam, and more momos.
Reversing Charisma
On her first night here,
hosted us for dinner. My mom had the opportunity to meet Candice’s daughters for the first time and friendlily peppered them with questions in her typical fashion.“Why Japan?”
“When did you learn that?”
“Is it love or just a habit?”
One of the traits I admire about her is her genuine curiosity in others. She steers clear of superficiality and asks the real questions others won’t and, as a result, develops deep relationships quickly. She’s baffled that I can spend a weekend with my buddies and leave not knowing details she’d find out within minutes. “What do you guys talk about?!”, she jokes.
“Some people feel interesting, some people make us feel interesting. There’s a place for both, but on average our favourite people are the latter, not the former.” - Chris Williamson
Giving Grace
During our hike, I learned about her childhood, self-sabotaging tendencies, and that she attaches her worth to the number on the scale, similar to how I attach mine to race results—something I’m actively unlearning. I saw a side of my mom I hadn’t for 28 years.
Because I coach others for a living, I’m harder on my parents than I need to be about nutrition, exercise, sleep, and other aspects of health and wellness. I want to help them more than anyone, including myself, because the thought of them leaving this world makes me sick to my stomach. But I understand sending them a four-hour The Peter Attia Drive podcast about maximizing longevity is coming on a little strong. Everyone is on their own journey, on their own timeline. It comes from a good place, but that’s not an excuse; however, it makes me realize the constructive criticism and advice they offer about my life is also well-intentioned.
In recent months, I’ve felt shameful about taking my parents for granted. Ringing them when I need something instead of reaching out for the sake of checking in to see how they’re doing. I often forget that they’re their own people too, in addition to being my mom and dad. Phone calls with my mom sometimes end abruptly and angrily, as I don’t have the energy to repeatedly be told that I “need to get a real job with health insurance.”
I left my stable finance job in March of last year. While I was unhappy in that role, my mom assumed I’d go back to Corporate America, at least to work at a company whose values were aligned with my own. She’s been critical of my path, and the fact I’m burning through my life savings to ride my bike, which is why I was proud that I had my biggest month of business ever during her visit. She wants me to be safe, something every parent wants for their child, but the generational differences are real, so I don’t expect her to fully understand.
I tell myself I live on my terms and don’t care what others think, but deep down, I still want to make my parents proud. Doesn’t every child? We crave their love and attention and try to earn it through straight As, gold medals, and eating our vegetables, forgetting their love is unconditional.
When I drove her to the airport the morning of her flight back to Philly, we had a heart to heart about our relationship and steps we can each take to nurture it. It starts with grace.
I don’t know where my parents will end up in the next few years, but I hope it’s Boulder. Sure, we’d have to set boundaries, but it would be an honor to take care of them in their later years, as they have for me in my younger ones.
Until then, in the wise words of B-Hol, “call your dad.” And your mom.
Adam - just read this again. Was doing a photo IMovie for my oldest son Danny who turns 40 next week. Some of the most precious pics were my parents with him when he was young - and then a pic of Dan and his wife Erin at my mom’s bedside when she had only about a week left here on earth. Your words, thoughts and feelings here are spot on. Keep it up. Hugs from Holians… - B Hol
#callDad(andMom)
Heartfelt ❤️ As my parents have entered their eighth decade, and we now care for a father with dementia, I’ve come to realize something: Be present with your parents while they are still your parents—before the roles begin to reverse, and they become your children.