Father’s Day

I’ve started to see the advertisements/memes show up online and, every year, it makes me think about the day itself.  I still remember when I found out we’d be having a son.  The thought was so intimidating.  I talk to guys with daughters and, yes, they have their own set of stuff to deal with.  Having a son, though, that was big.

That was an existential crisis.

Not just carrying on the family line, but having a copy of you, a young man to try to mold into the man you want him to be.  Carter came along on a warm night in August 2008 and our lives changed forever.

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He turns ten in August and there’s a few things a decade of fatherhood has revealed.

  • Dad is not perfect.  For every Hallmark moment there are a dozen that you go to bed praying you don’t repeat the following day.
  • Dad takes work. If you slack, it impacts the entire family.  You need to be a mix of servant and leader, and if that seems scary you are right, it is.
  • Dad means learning to improvise. Maybe work was hard, the project wasn’t finished and you are on your 50th hour of the week by Thursday afternoon. Still you have kids waiting for your attention when you get home.  Maybe it means a playground trip or getting a pizza. Be creative, it will take the edge off.

The hardest lesson, and the thing I feel like God has been working through recently, is that we learn in loss.

We learn in dealing with our kids and their emotions in the hard stuff of life.  We face down the bullies, the mean kids, the ones who find a need to break hearts.

Carter’s passion is baseball (he plays on a tournament and a travel team).  This had led to valuable lessons on adversity, victory, and defeat. Kids need to learn how to lose, that it is not all about them and they are a part of a team.  They need to learn empathy and, as they do, we do as well.

There are moments when you’re tired.  The last button is pushed, you’ve separated the last fight between siblings. You are face to face, loud, emotional and tears are shed. You walk away.  All the old ghosts appear and you question your competency in the first place.  Shouldn’t they have a license or something for this?

Then before bed they walk over to you and say “I’m sorry daddy. I love you.” And they hug you and your heart breaks and mends in one moment.

That’s the lesson of Father’s Day.  It isn’t the picture perfect dads that have it all together. It is making magic out of the mess, it is forgiveness and love and grace when you feel like you don’t deserve it.

It is when they teach you about yourself and you grow.

Together.

The Journey

Tonight Val and Carter leave for a long drive to Florida.  They are headed to her family reunion.  Heading back home from dropping them off, crossing under the night sky in the midst of lightning, my mind went to the concept of the Journey.

As writers we talk about the Hero’s Journey. We know that stories follow a certain flow and that, most great ones, keep to this formula.  Sometimes you’ll find a fresh take that will catch on but, looking back, the main points are the same.

On Sunday we went to the cemetery to visit the graves of my grandparents.  I stood over the marker bearing my grandfather’s name, a small American flag blowing in the wind just above it.

I thought of the days we’d spent together.

He would take me fishing in the morning, park his old truck on the side of the road, and lead me around a pond large enough that we could have room to cast our lines. We’d get home to find my grandmother had made lunch; turkey sandwiches and fresh iced tea, and we’d sit on the porch.

He’d tell me about the war, about battles and marching for miles up the middle of Italy.

We had just told him about Val being pregnant with Aiden before he was called home to Heaven.

His journey had ended as mine continued.

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The process is a double-edged sword. I get intimidated at the thought of what my boys will remember about growing up.  It is inspiring to think of the road that remains and the work still to be done.

I know God isn’t finished with us.

I wish I’d learned to grasp his my grandfather’s sense of peace.  He faced down enemies attempting to take his life, seen things I couldn’t have imagined, and was able to take his only grandson fishing on quiet mornings.

I wish I’d learned his strength. When he spoke, you listened.  It was the virtue of a man of few words.  He was a rock, in my memory, for better or worse a member of the generation that raised men without the attacks of today’s societal forces.

I’m working on learning his storytelling.  In two sentences he’d given me an image: his back against a low concrete wall with chips of it flying in his face as bullets hit above. He was on a front line attack attempting to liberate a village of people he hadn’t known and would never see again, in the midst of a war that had taken him away from a wife and two children.

When he spoke, I could see it.

Tonight, I pray your journey is also inspiring.  I pray you have a past you can draw from for strength, inspiration, or the anger to push through when you are on the last moment energy. Have courage.

Write your hero in a dark spot and watch them fight their way out.

Know that you will do the same.

~Matt