One of the things that I’ve been thinking about so much with Elijah is how much alike we are. I’ve always known we’ve been similar – Elijah is definitely my son, while Jordyn is Gem’s daughter. It’s like he mostly got my genes and Jordyn mostly got Gem’s genes. Pretty wild. But it has really gotten me thinking about the whole nature versus nurture debate once again. When I was in college, studying clinical psychology, I always argued with my professors about how nature can trump nurture, that the family environment is more important, has more of an impact than genetics (any idea why I might’ve thought that?). Ahhhh, youth.

As I’ve gotten older, as I did more investigation into my family history, to the traditions of depression, of abuse, of suicide that run in my family and after seeing the patterns through five generations, I began to believe there was both a genetic and environmental component to the problems my family has had for so long. It is why I use the term “traditions,” partly as a bit of biting sarcasm, but also because whether it started genetically or environmentally, these are the traditions of my family now. Traditions Gem and I are changing, thankfully.

But when I look at Elijah, I am even more overwhelmed by the power of genetics and have come to believe that nurture, that our role as parents, is primarily to smooth the rough edges of their predefined temperaments and personalities. Our Okapis were not born as a clean slate upon which we could create whatever we wanted. They were born with built-in temperaments, ways of handling situations, ways of dealing with the world and we’re just trying to help them overcome some of the limitations or side-effects of their genetic make-up. It is incredibly clear when I look at my little boy, so much so that it made me wonder how much I went through has really affected me and how much was genetic traits of my family.

• My boy is fearful and anxious – especially in new places. I am still this way, but much better than I was.
• My boy is scared to go to sleep at night. So was I for a very long time.
• My boy is incredibly sensitive to other people’s feelings. I have always been the same – even trying to make a living out of that gift.
• My boy is incredibly sensitive to any perceived insults, slights or injuries. Umm, yeah that’s me, too.
• My boy seems unable to take pride in his successes, to build on those successes, to draw strength from them. Sadly, I am the same way.
• My boy is so afraid of failing that he often doesn’t even try unless we really push him (the smoothing I mentioned before – we try to challenge him to try things especially when we know he can do it to try and build his confidence, his comfort level). That has been one of the biggest hurdles I’ve had to overcome in my life.
• My boy can see the negative in almost any situation – even if the ending is positive, he feels the movie, book, etc. is sad because of whatever problem happened. It doesn’t matter that the character overcame it. It still makes him sad. Gem would definitely agree this is me and why I’m no fun to go to the movies with.
• My boy has a terrible time with separation from others, always getting upset when he has to leave or be left by people he loves. This was much more of an issue when I was younger.
• My boy is incredibly sweet and thoughtful to others, always wanting to make them feel good or special. That is me and one of the reasons I gravitated to becoming a therapist.

I’m sure there are more things he and I have in common, things that considering how loving and supportive his environment has been, seem completely genetic, things that I always believed came from the traumas I experienced, but really may have existed all along, intensified by my childhood experience.
It scares me because will he be haunted by this his whole life, because of some flaw in my genetic makeup? In college, I believed the only way to stop the terrible traditions in my family was to not have children at all. But now that I do have two incredible little Okapis, it is my job to give him all of the tools and tricks I have learned in my life to deal with these “side-effects,” to help him not get stabbed by the rough edges and to better enjoy the strengths he really possesses.

That is why I did all of that work on myself in the first place, right?

Do you think genetics, nature or environment, nurture has had a larger effect on your children?

My wife and I don’t want to get all involved in our son’s love life. We don’t want to humiliate and traumatize him on the matter, as our parents might have done.  So as long as you promise not to let this get back to him, we’ll proceed.

OK, well, Benjamin started pre-Kindergarten this school year, and it was kind of a rough start.  He had to get through a little “homesickness.” So, not only out of curiosity, but also to gauge how comfortable he is getting, we sometimes ask him about whether he’s played with others kids, etc.; other times he talks about his interactions on his own.

We began to notice a pattern.  He was mentioning this one girl a lot; we’ll call her “Ariana.” “Ariana chased me on the playground.” “I read a book in the reading corner with Ariana,” and so on.  Cute, right?  But we were careful not to highlight, interpret, and certainly not verbally impose our notions (puppy love, girlfriend, etc.) even in jest.

Our minds, nevertheless, did not cease in their fascination with the subject.  Above all, we secretly invested our hopes that Benjamin will be spared, as much as possible, the awkwardness and rejection in matters of “romance” that we experienced growing up. And, yes, we recognized how neurotic it is to think about this when he’s only in preschool.

We began to observe, when we got glimpses of the class (going in, coming out of school, etc.) It was not at first encouraging.  Benjamin and Ariana seemed not to acknowledge each other.  (Is theirs a secret love?) A couple of signs of hope appeared, though: a few times Ariana singled Benjamin out when she saw me, calling to him as they were leaving school, “Benjamin!  Here’s  your dad!” Had he confided in her about his homesickness?  Was she trying to comfort him?

Then came the blow.  We went to a child’s birthday party attended by many of the kids in Benjamin’s class.  Yes, Ariana was there.  Benjamin went over to play with her a number of times.  Her reaction?  It was undeniable.  She seemed annoyed by him.  Then  we saw her walking around holding hands with another  boy.  Tell me it isn’t so.  Unrequited!  I had multiple flashbacks, college back through Kindergarten.  Ahhhh, what’re ya gonna do?

But wait.  There’s more!  There’s this other girl in Benjamin’s class (we’ll call her “Jennifer.") She sometimes walks right up to Benjamin (when he arrives at school, etc.) and says in this distinctly charmed and charming voice, “Hiii, Bennnjamin!” But that’s nothing very much.  Maybe she’s just friendly; maybe that’s just the way she talks.

At the party, though, when Jennifer saw Benjamin, she ran up to him, hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. Hmmmmmmmm…

The problem: when Jennifer comes up to greet Benjamin at school, my wife asks him, “Is that Jennifer?” Benjamin says, “I don’t know.” And when she ran up to him and hugged him?  He seemed taken aback, said “hi,” and wandered off to find Ariana.  Oblivious.

Love triangles.  Relationships. It’s all so complicated.  Even - evidently - at age 4-1/2.

We thought we were very lucky when a neighbor started watching our children and they took to her so well. Unfortunately this neighbor has now broke that trust and my wife feels like she has failed our daughter.

This morning, while my son was at school and my wife was attending a school tour this neighbor was watching our daughter. Our daughter has grown quite fond of this neighbor and enjoys her visits very much. For some reason this woman decided she would cut my daughters hair. She didn’t ask my wife, she had not asked me, and never did we give her any indication this was within our wishes. Yet she did it.

Like many two year olds my daughters hair had not truly filled or grown in and was only beginning to achieve any length down her neck. Yet this woman felt it needed cutting. She still is cute but its not the same. Someone we trusted touched our daughter in a way we had not sanctioned. My wife wanted the experience of our daughter’s first haircut to be one they would share. This woman took that from my wife. The woman did not even cut it even. Again my wife feels she failed our daughter.

Now when I heard this I called this woman and asked her why, I told her how upset my wife was, and that this was wrong and that she no longer would watch my children. She asked me if I was upset. I said yes and that I had not even seen the results. She said she cut only a little. Well it was more than a little. 

I am not sure if now that I have seen the results if I should call or go to her apartment (she’s in our building) to again voice my outrage and disappointment. Yes its only hair and it will grow back. At the rate it has been growing it will take several months before it can regain what she lost.

How would you react if this was your child?  I want to cry as I cannot console my wife, as she feels she failed, and I share that feeling. It’s a terrible feeling when you trust someone to care for your child and they do something to break it. Again yes its only hair but the fact is anything could have happened. We were not in control. We gave her that control because we trusted her with our child. This woman was and she had the ability to do anything and that is what hurts the most. It was only hair but again it was also much more.

In all the lore of humankind, where might one discover the repository of missed steps, forgotten moments, and nonexistent memories? I ask only because it must be a wonderland of smiles, brimming with laughter, perfumed by the aromas of baby lotion, spilled milk and dirty diapers, overflowing with moments of pride, joy, tears and hope. I ask because I want to peruse that repository. I want to locate all the mispronounced words that have escaped my child’s lips, to find all the awkwardly worded sentences that so often make me laugh, to hear all the unanswered cries for Daddy and to taste every teardrop cried on someone else’s shoulder. More than anything, I want to experience all the moments of discovery I’ve missed now that my children are so often away.

For many a year, I was a stay-at-home dad. Each day, I watched my girls grow and learn from the moment they awoke until the hour they went to bed. Sometimes I felt burdened by the ache of suppressed ambition, but the challenge of entertaining and educating uncluttered minds was a fabulous undertaking. We laughed, we imagined, we pretended, we cried, we slept, we ate too many sugary fruit snacks and too few vegetables, we shopped, we played, we threw food on the floor, we danced, we sang, and we grew to know each other in a way only a parent can understand. With my oldest, I was there for every step, every word, every new idea. Whenever some bizarre sentence passed through her lips, I knew exactly where she learned it. I was her world, and she was mine.

A little more than a year ago, that changed. My wife and I separated and divorced. Soon I was forced to start working again (for obvious reasons). That meant the unthinkable: putting my kids in daycare and trusting their lives to strangers. I feared so many things. Thankfully, they’ve adapted well. They enjoy playing with friends and doing creative things. But it means eight less hours each day for Daddy to spend in their company. Worse, with their time split equally between my home and their mother’s, I don’t see them every night. I only see the cold, undisturbed blankets on their empty beds. I only listen to the silence emanating from their cheerless bedrooms. Indeed, if I could find that repository, I’d borrow all the sounds of a sleeping child and fill the emptiness with memories, for nothing is quite as sad as a child’s room bereft a child. Sadly, the repository remains elusive.

In some ways, it’s a curse. I’ve spent every hour of every day with them. I know what that’s like. I know exactly what I’m missing when I only see them a couple hours each day or when they’re gone for half a week. The vast and endless repository of what we miss grows with every lost moment, because, at such a young age, they know a little bit more about the world every time I see them. I wonder how much of what they’ve learned they’ll share with me…

And so I sit here contemplating who they are, who they’re becoming, and who they’ll grow up to be. I want to see it all, but I know it’s impossible. What we miss makes them who they are. What we miss is their world, their memories. I want to seek out that repository and explore it, because nothing we might learn reading books or asking questions could ever be more important than knowing our children. Nothing could be more important than discovering all those fascinating things we miss.

Those who have read John Eldredge’s Wild at Heart are no doubt familiar with the concept of “the wound”. For those who haven’t read it, here’s the basic idea Eldredge proposes:

During our boyhood, every one of us has received a wound of some sort from our father or influential male figure. This wound may have been inflicted directly and intentionally, such as “You’re useless” or “Why can’t you do anything right?” or “Just figure it out yourself.” The wound may have also been given unintentionally or indirectly, such as through the absence of the father (whether through divorce or just emotional distance). With that wound comes a message: “I can’t ask anyone for help” or “I’m just a natural failure,” for example. The wound exists because it occurs during a time when we boys are seeking a positive response to our unspoken question: “Do I have what it takes?” And as a result of the wound and its message, we continue on towards manhood with that question still lingering in the air. There. I may not have done Eldredge justice with that summation, but it’s close.

So here’s my question. Eldredge implies that this wounding is universal to all men. Okay. Maybe I can go that far, sin nature being as pervasive as it is. But if we men deal with and understand the wound, and if we know how to affirm our own boys that they do, indeed, “have what it takes,” would Eldredge state that we can stop the cycle and not wound our own boys in some way?

I think the answer is no. Even if we could get past our sin nature (yeah, right) to affirm more than we tear down, there will still be things we do or say that unintentionally wound our kids or transmit a message we didn’t intend. I, for example, have noticed that I frequently try to get my 3-year-old son to do things he asks me to help him with. In my mind, I’m transmitting the message, “You can do it!” but he could be getting the message, “I have to do things by myself, and not ask anyone for help.”

What do you all think about Eldredge’s wound? Is it universal to all men, and can the cycle be broken?