We are moving to Utah in a month.  There, I said it.  I mean, how many times in your LIFETIME will you hear another person say that?  AND, how many of those people are Jewish?  Guess that makes us special.

I took my son, Elijah, to his first 76ers game last month and he fell in love with the game of basketball.  He just turned six years old.  We’ve been to tons of Phillies games in the past but he had never before seen a pro basketball game.  He got a Chris Webber jersey and his face was on the Jumbotron.  He was in love.

On my most recent trip to Utah to house hunt, Elijah asked me to bring him home a Utah Jazz jersey.  Now that he was a basketball fan, he wanted to get a head start on his “favorite team tomorrow” because the 76ers are his favorite team “today”.

So we went to a few stores out there and there was just ONE place that carried kid’s Jazz jerseys.  They had two in Elijah’s size.  One was the number 47 jersey worn by Andrei Kirilenko, a Russian born forward with a name that even my 39 year old mouth can hardly pronounce.  The other was Elijah’s favorite number – 5.  The player is Carlos Boozer, an easy name for anyone to say and a fan favorite in Utah.  I didn’t even need to look further.  I brought the jersey home and he went nuts.  He wore it to bed that night and then wanted to bring it to school on Monday for Show and Tell.

Monday he went off to Kindergarten in blue jeans and an oversized pro basketball jersey with the word BOOZER across the back.

WHAT WAS I THINKING?  Or was I even thinking at all?  None of the nice Moms here in South Jersey even know who the Utah Jazz is.  Now they see a kid prancing around in a big ole’ jersey hanging down to his knees that HIS DADDY brought home for him and the word BOOZER is on the back.  Man I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall at some of their dinners that night.  “Stay away from that Elijah boy…his Dad is some kind of weirdo who thinks it’s funny to put Budweiser in his son’s apple juice.”

Becoming a father alters a man’s world as he is challenged to new levels of love, leadership, sacrifice, patience, strength and character.  So embracing fatherhood is one of the intense, rewarding and daring choices for a man to make.  Like the true cliché goes, anyone can donate sperm but it takes real balls to be a father.

So when a man becomes a father, what do we as men do to initiate him into the amazing reality and choice of fatherhood?  What do we do to welcome him and bless him and let him know that “he has what it takes to be a father”?  Well, in all honesty, culturally, we really do very little beyond a handshake, hug, or scary stories about lack of sleep or changing blow-out diapers.  In fact, it can be incredibly uncommon for a new father to have others from the masculine tribe surround him and speak blessing and confidence into the new life ahead.  Why is that?

Think for a moment about when you became a father.  What did other men do for you to welcome you into fatherhood?  Did your Dad take you out and have a talk with you and smoke a cigar with you?  Did your friends take you out for a drink?  Did the guys pray over you and willingly speak encouragement and strength into your life?  Who affirmed you and increased confidence in you that “you have what it takes” to be a father?  (John Eldredge influence).  If you are like me and many other men I have talked with lately about this, very little of this was done on your behalf.  Are we missing something here, guys?  Why did this not happen for most of us and why is it not happening for others?  Doesn’t a new father need more from us than a Babies R Us gift card?

I don’t have this all figured out, but I have been troubled lately over the lack of male initiative to welcome others into the fatherhood club.  I have also begun to do something about this by putting together a basic event for welcoming new fathers.  I tried this out the other day with my friend Steve.  It consisted of getting the guys together and doing the following:

- Go to nature.
- Smoke cigars
- Hear Steve’s thoughts/dreams on fatherhood
- Affirm Steve
- Pray for Steve

This was such a simple event and required very little of me.  Yet it felt profound to be a part of because of the bonding that took place.

Does this resonate with you?  I would love to hear your thoughts.

NOTE:  This post cannot contain all that I am dreaming of lately.  I recently built a webpage for my ideas that I would like to share with you HERE for more thoughts on putting together small-time fatherhood gatherings to welcome our friends.

My son is a wizard, not to mention that he has aspirations to be a cross between Spiderman, a rescue hero, Sharkboy AND Lavagirl, a soccer player, a hockey player, a football player and a clown.  He loves board games, playing video games and watching movies (although we try to curb those two), playing make believe with his best friend, Gabrielle, but most of all he loves TALKING.  He has an excellent vocabulary, can articulate very well and has an unbelievable imagination.  In fact, one story he tells me (don’t tell his mom! he says), is that a space ship is coming for us and that he and I need to sneak out at night to go find the ship so we can fly to his world.  I asked if we are going to come back and he says we can, but we won’t want to.  While I trust him, I don’t think sneaking out in the middle of a winter night to go find a space ship is the best idea right now.  I am planning this on a warmer day in the future.

Where does all of this lead, you ask?  Well, it is the fact that if my son told you his plans to escape into the night to catch a ride on a flying saucer, you probably wouldn’t understand him.  He is still developing his ability to pronounce words correctly.  For example, he would say “fize”, and that would mean “five”.  In a sentence, Forrest would say, “I am turning fize (five),” (which he will turn very soon).  If he were to introduce himself to you, you would swear his name was Boris, but it is Forrest.  There are quite a few words and letter combinations that he is improving upon. However, these obstacles do not slow his ability to speak quickly and for prolonged periods of time.

The thing that I most love about this is that when he is speaking to people, often they will look at me silently puzzled or politely ask what on earth he is saying.  For example, the other evening his Great Aunt Jane came to me wondering what he was talking about.  She repeated the phrase he spoke, which I cannot recall, but I thought for a moment about what she had said and replied with “fun stuff”; and that was exactly it because the context was him describing what he did with his biological dad that day.  Great joy wells up in me when I think that I am only one of a few people who can almost totally understand what Forrest is saying.  Occasionally he will stump his Mom and me, but we will keep inquiring about it until he either runs away in exasperation (kidding!) or we solve the puzzle.  We have no doubt that he will be able to eventually speak clearly without anyone questioning his pronunciation (just maybe the content), so until then we will passively work with him to help his speaking skills grow without making him feel inadequate in any way, because he certainly is not.

Our daughter, Gwen, just turned one year old – but she has endured quite a bit of hardship in those first twelve months.  The emotional and physical hardships from adoption are more than I could describe in one mere post, but suffice it to say that her life was a struggle from the beginning.  When we first met her in China, she was 7.5 months old yet just over 9 pounds in weight.  She faced a severe respiratory illness during our visit and upon our return.  Yet, through it all, she persevered and even began to prosper.

Perhaps I’m still a naïve, first-time father, but I hoped she had faced enough hardships for now and was due for a reprieve, if only for a short period of time.  Unfortunately, last week, she was again faced with a challenge that ultimately led to a trip to the hospital.

Like many young children (or so we’ve been told), Gwen was constipated for several days.  Unlike most, however, Gwen went over a week without a movement and, after a short visit to the pediatrician, was taken to the hospital for further evaluation.

Seeing your child in pain and not being able to do anything about it must undoubtedly be one of the most difficult things a parent can endure.  We watched as Gwen cried, struggled and screamed as seemingly countless doctors, interns and residents checked her out to determine the best course of action.

After much waiting and a few false alarms, it was ultimately decided to catheterize her and literally blow air into her intestinal tract so as to loosen the blocked stools.  At the same time, they would X-ray her so the doctors could determine how their actions were proceeding.

The worst aspect of the procedure, from a parental standpoint, was having to watch them literally strap Gwen in so they could keep her still enough to utilize the X-ray.  Mounted on the table was a short fixture that had two vertical rings at either end.  They wrapped Gwen in what darn near appeared to be a straight jacket (or so I imagined) except that her hands were constrained up beside her head.  Velcro straps were wrapped around her so that she was effectively immobile – necessary for the procedure but unimaginably frightful for Gwen.  She was wailing at the top of her lungs even before they started to insert the catheter.  It took three grown adults to ultimately get her ready to begin the process, and it appeared no easy task either.

While wearing my protective lead apron, I stood at the far end and let Gwen hold my finger while the doctors conducted their work.  Hearing Gwen scream was hard; watching my wife cry was harder; seeing the strap nearly cover Gwen’s tear-soaked eyes was nearly unbearable.

I would have given anything to be able to take the pain and fear away from Gwen, but all I could do was wait until the process was over.  After what seemed like an eternity, the doctors stopped and told us it appeared that they were able to clear any blockage and that she should be OK, if not sore for a few days.  I took Gwen to Karen and, as we held her, her cries eventually quelled and she ultimately fell asleep while we were still in the hospital room.

Gwen is doing great now and would again appears no worse for wear from the experience.  And while I know there will likely be many other future occasions where I will be largely helpless, I hope I can provide some level of comfort and support to the one that I love so dearly.

I open the paper and I read about how this parent killed their child and how this parent locked their child in a closet for 10 years. Then there is the abusive and neglectful parent. What is this world coming to? I could not fathom locking my child in her closet for a long time. For what? To not see her shining face when I get home yelling, “daddy, daddy, daddy”? I would not pass that up for anything. I can’t see spanking my child for being a child. I can’t see taking my frustration out on my child.

I just love it when I, me, Daddy, is the best thing she has. We get to the store and i’ts time to get her out of her car seat. The wife starts to unbuckle her and she yells, “NO, NO! Daddy get me.” I can’t help but smile deep inside. When she falls and is in pain, she comes to me for comfort. I can’t stop her from getting hurt but I can help her deal with the pain life brings. Now, don’t get me wrong. She and the wife have a great relationship and momma is sometimes the favorite parent.

All I am saying is, I love it when it’s my turn. I would never come between or take anything from my wife and our daughter. In fact, I feel it’s part of my daddy duties to help nurture this relationship. I remember when Amanda was born, the wife became ill and we almost lost her. She developed a blood clot in her lungs. So here we were, a week-old infant and mommy is in the hospital. Not good. But I did the best I could and we got through it. I know it scared me, the wife and everyone else in the family. I enjoyed my time with Amanda at that time and I look forward to all the time I spend with her now.

There is a balancing act that has to happen. You know...paying the bills and keeping your sanity. I can’t see how single parents do it. It definitely takes two to raise a child. I have respect for those who do it alone, but I am glad I don’t have to. Even with all the fits and spills and all that go with my three-year old. I would not trade it for anything.