For young single mothers, it’s always harder to be a good parent

Q: I am 21. My son is 4. I left my son's father, who is 25 and was my boyfriend for 51/2 years. I have since met someone great. But my ex says I'm a bad mom for "breaking up the family" and I shouldn't take my son around my new boyfriend because it's wrong. I need some real advice. A couple questions: Should I feel guilty for breaking up the family? (Because I don't.) Am I a bad parent for leaving my son's father? Should I feel guilty for taking my son around a man that I'm probably going to start a new life with? -- D., Hilo, Hawaii

A: Hey D, ask me what the most fascinating part of my job is.

Thanks for asking. The most fascinating part of my job is the mind-blowing frequency with which people either ask me questions to which they already possess definitive answers, or ask questions that sound deeply sincere but are actually rhetorical. Meaning, it's posed as a question, but it's actually an editorial. Or a segue.

If I'm doing the math right, you were 17 when you became a mother. You met your boyfriend at, what, 15? 16? He was 20?

If a 20-year-old knocked on my door, asking to date my 16-year-old son/daughter, I'd smile and say, "Nice to meet you!" Then I'd smile and say, "Why can't you hack it with your peers?" Then I'd smile and say, "Thanks for stopping by. Come back soon. Say, oh, in about three years." And then I'd shut the door.

The developmental space between 20 and 16 is cosmic. Way different from 30 and 26, or even 24 and 20. Note to parents: In our culture, adolescent girls frequently are sucked into a derby of sorts, wherein they vie for the title "Who Can Date an Older Guy First." Cool status. Freshman girls have no business dating seniors. Sophomores and juniors have no business dating college students. Seniors in high school should not be dating adult men.

But D, maybe you forced your family's hand. Didn't give them a choice. Seventeen and a first-time mother. Not married to the father. Your decision to end the relationship is no surprise. This union had all the long-term viability of a Fourth of July bottle rocket. Statistically speaking, it was a bet on a three-legged horse.

OK, then. At a too-young age, you made some very adult decisions. Didn't work out. So now, more than ever, it's time to think, talk and act like an adult. Your three questions concern me regarding your commitment to this end.

Should you feel guilty for breaking up the family? D -- was it ever a family? I mean, I assume there was a reason you two did not marry. Did the reason reflect an ambivalence about whether to be an actual family? From the beginning?

You are adamant that you do not feel guilty -- so why are you asking me if you should? Like, what difference would it make if you should? You don't. So, stand on your own two feet and don't feel the guilt you are so certain you don't feel. You don't need my input on this one.

Are you a bad parent for leaving the relationship? I don't know the relative quality of your parenting skills.

But what you are, for sure, and will always be, is an impeded parent. A parent who will always have to work harder to be a good parent.

Why? Because separating ourselves from our child's parent must cost us continuity in parenting. It's the thing I hate the most about being myself a divorced single parent. The best fathering I ever did flowed from the continuity and balance only an integrated family can provide. Now I father in sections. Bits, pieces and parts.

In its healthiest moments, the estrangement of parents means permanently managing a kind of schizophrenogenia, especially when the former mates begin to date or remarry. An awkwardness of identity. How do we group the family photos at our daughter's wedding? Who am I standing next to my former lover and erstwhile soul mate?

Should you feel guilty allowing your son to form a relationship with the man you're "probably" going to start a new life with? You're not sure? Are you in another new life you're not sure of?

You've already introduced your son to the new guy. Which means you've already started a new life.

As has your son.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling and Wellness Center in Las Vegas. His columns appear on Tuesdays and Sundays. Questions for the Asking Human Matters column or comments can be e-mailed to skalas@review journal.com.