Parents, after all, have an important role in rearing their children.  It's a natural phenomenon called parenting.  It shouldn't take a national study to convince us that the more time an infant spends with its mom has a measurable effect.  And the more time, the better. Yet that was the four-alarm news that flashed across America last week, provoking radio talk shows and TV discussions and newspaper reactions.  Imagine that: Moms make a difference.  I don't know about you, but it certainly was true in my case.  My mom didn't work outside the home until my brother - the youngest of three brats - was entering high school.

That means she spent about 22 years at home raising my sister, myself and my brother.  Not one of us spent a single moment in a day-care center.  But there is a big difference between then and now.  Back then, my mom didn't have a cellphone.  Back then, my mom didn't drive an SUV.  Back then, my mom attended PTA meetings.  Back then, my mom knew all of our teachers and principals by name and by sight.  Back then, my mom made sure that when we left the house every morning, my behind wasn't exposed by sagging pants and my sister's navel wasn't blinking like an advertising sign beneath a cut-off shirt.

My mom didn't drive us through McDonald's or bring home a sack from Taco Bell for dinner.  My mom took us to Sunday school and served as a den mother.  My mom made jelly and canned peaches and pears and replaced broken buttons.  My mom didn't have someone come in to clean the house every week.  My mom was a mom.

That was her part of the deal.  As her son, I was expected to fulfill my part of the partnership.  I rode my bicycle to school, not expecting her to drive me there.  I earned my spending money by delivering newspapers and painting fences and mowing lawns and shoveling sidewalks.  I didn't have a telephone in my room.  I didn't have a TV in my room.  I didn't have a five-deck sound system in my room.  In fact, until my sister left the house, I didn't have my room.  I didn't carry a pager on my belt or a cellphone in my backpack.  I didn't have a pack.  Back then, you see, there was no need for day care.  My parents did their jobs, and I did mine.  We didn't require hired help.  It wasn't a matter of the cost of living.  It was a matter of the cost of our lifestyle.  We didn't live beyond our means, and if my parents couldn't afford something, the kids didn't get it.  Mom didn't go get a job to pay for our every whim.  Instead, mom and dad sometimes said, simply and firmly, "No."  My parents put their job of raising kids ahead of the cost of TVs in every room, or a bigger and newer car, or expensive athletic shoes.  And they expected their kids to work, too.  It was a matter of priorities.

By the way - dad worked two jobs, six days a week, so we could have a mom, not day care.

Chuck Green's commentaries appear on Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. His phone is 303-820-1771; his e-mail is cgreenpost@aol.com