To Care or Not to Care. ©2026 John F Sendelbach
This song started on a ninety-minute phone call with an old friend I'd recently found again after twenty years. I pointed out that he had never really talked about his parents, so he spent five minutes describing them, and I realized he had just described mine. That opened a bigger question. Part of why the world feels like it's coming apart may be that people like our parents aren't around anymore. They came from an age when care and competence were ordinary, and each generation since has carried a little less of it forward. About ten years ago a little girl in my shop pointed at the clock on the wall and asked her father what it was. I still think about that.
So this is a song about the care inside one house. My mother, Nancy, raised four kids, went back to part-time work when we were old enough, and was the one you asked first, because if she said yes, my father probably would too. My father, Fred, was a sheet-metal man who put his foot down. His father died when Fred was a boy, so we never knew our Opa, and Fred half raised his own mother, Erna Anna Marta, who was Omi to all of us. Omi sat at our supper table, with us kids spaced around it and a grown-up between each of us to keep the peace. And George, our dog, loved Nancy most even though she was the one who drove her to the vet.
Before we hung up, my friend and I settled on something. He has a lifetime of scientific citations and I have thirty-five years of metal art, and neither is what anyone will remember us for. What lasts is how you treated your fellow man. My parents knew that without ever saying it. This song asks whether that can still be passed down, one supper at a time.
Nancy kept the kitchen and Fred kept the rules
and Omi sat right there at the table
four kids spaced out with a grown-up in between
to care or not to care
to care or not to care
Nancy raised four kids out, a homemaker, sweet and sure
took a little part-time work when they were old enough for more
she was the one you went to first with every crazy plan
if she said yes, then likely so would the other man
Fred was the foot-down kind of man, a tin man with a square
he half raised his own mother, so he knew what it meant to care
she was the yes and he was the no, and the house ran in between
the softest hand and the firmest one, and the kids somewhere in the middle of the seam
who set the table (somebody did)
who walked the dog (somebody did)
who said yes first (mama did)
who put his foot down (daddy did)
To care or not to care
that's the question everywhere
every generation hands a little less on down the stair
it costs you something, that's what makes it rare
to care (to care), or not to care
Omi, the German grandmother, sat at the supper table
and legend says they spaced the kids as far apart as they were able
a grown-up sat between each pair to keep the peace on the plates
'cause you know how kids are, one wrong look and the whole meal waits
and George, a girl with a boy's name, loved Nancy most of all
but Nancy drove her to the vet and made the hard calls
George forgave her every time and curled up at her feet
the one who loves you best is the one who does the hard things, too, complete
the fish holds her babies (in her mouth and doesn't eat)
the beetle buries supper (so the little ones can eat)
r times B (is bigger than C)
it was never free (it was never free)
ten years back a father brought his daughter in his shop
she pointed at the clock and said, Daddy, what is that
now we're scrolling past the screaming like it's nothing but the weather
and nobody spaced us 'round the table, so we never learned together
maybe it's just nostalgia, every old man says the same
maybe kids are only different and the world just changed the game
but you can set a place for grandma, you can teach a kid to tell the time
you can be the one they come to first, one supper at a time
care is not a feeling (it's a roof that doesn't leak)
it's a supper on the table (seven nights a week)
it's the one who drives the dog to the vet (when the dog won't understand)
it's not the steel you welded (or the papers that they cite)
it's how you treat your fellow man (from the morning to the night)
they knew it in their hands (and they handed it on)
To care or not to care
that's the question everywhere
pick it up and carry it, it's heavy, that's how you know it's there
it costs you something, that's what makes it rare
to care (to care), or not to care
take care (take care)
take care (take care)
somebody showed you, now you go and show 'em
take care (take care)
take care (take care)
Ask your mother first.