Sometimes life comes at you fast. There’s a company that uses some pretty humorous events to promote their product and then ends with that tag, but I’m beginning to think that they have it wrong. Sometimes life slows down just a touch but the rest of the time, life comes at you fast. “Life coming at you fast” may be a good slogan for Nationwide, but the speed of life is why we need community.

We need others that are at the same point of life and going through the same things to help us remember that we are not alone, and that we need to pause and enjoy what’s happening today. One of my favorite verses in the Bible, Matthew 6:34, reminds us that we need to focus on what’s happening today and not worry about tomorrow until tomorrow. One translation says it like this: “Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow.”

As fathers, we’re responsible for what happens in our homes and it’s a ton of pressure to begin to think about how we want our children to turn out and what we want them to learn and to eventually be. We’re responsible for making sure they are provided for, cared for, and everything else that goes on. The temptation to get wrapped up in tomorrow is great. It is far to easy to focus on the goal and to lose sight of the things that are happening right now.

Do you remember your child’s first steps, first words, first anything? Were you there for those things? Most dads, especially ones that care enough to read a blog by other dads, want the best for their children – I know that I do. Unfortunately, the tendency becomes to make sure that they are involved in or doing things that we thing will help them be the best. And sometimes this involvement is at the cost of what actually will make them the best, time with dad.
I think our natural tendency is to work harder to provide more – but that means less time at home. We also want to make sure that are kids are well socialized, but we tend to go overboard with extra-curriculars, which means that they have less time with us.

Don’t get me wrong. My oldest son just finished up a session of swim lessons and will soon start another. He may even be involved with a tumbling class and swim lessons at the same time. But, before we sign up for classes, we make sure that we think about how it will affect the family’s time together.

It’s not just time with our sons or daughters that’s important either. Our children need to see that we make our wives a higher priority. And, the need to see that we put our spiritual lives at the top of the list, and that’s where community comes in.

We need to feed our souls. We need to spend time with God, alone. And we need to spend time with others that can help us remember our priorities and help keep them in the proper order. I feel pretty strongly that my priority list is the right one to have: God, wife, children, and then everything else.

You may disagree and that’s fine, but be sure to use this community and others that you are involved in to make sure that you are keeping the priorities you have set. Remember, we have what is happening right now, but we are not promised that we will have tomorrow.

The parents huddle together in the metal stands.  The night is cold and windy, but no match for the excitement they feel seeing their flesh and blood on the field. It’s obvious that many a dad is reliving his athletic youth through their son that now stands in the baseball diamond.  It’s exhillirating and terrifying at the same time. After all, your son could strike out or drop that pop fly!

I watch my son bouncing up and down in the dugout.  He’s playing with his teammates and yelling encouragement at the batter whose trembling legs reveal his unease.  He’s having a blast.  So am I.  It’s good. It’s father/son time and it’s baseball.  What’s better than that?

As we go through the line up, base hit after base hit, my son’s turn at bat is quickly approaching.  I start to worry. Did we practice enough?  We really didn’t. I have such little time with him because of my job. It’s not fair to him.  To ask a seven year old to go in front of the crowd, stare down the pitcher and hit that ball IS asking a lot.  I mean, I haven’t had the time to teach him all the intricasies of batting.  It’s cruel. My stomach tightens up and I begin to sweat. “Come on buddy, you can do it!”, I yell hoping that my words can get him going and focused.

He swings. “Strike one!”, calls the ump. “Don’t worry about it, buddy! Just keep your eye on the ball!”, I yell out to him.  My wife covers her eyes. He looks over and nods.

Swing! “Strike two!” My stomach hits my shoes.  The runners on first and second begin to get restless and start cheering him on.  I wave my hands to him telling him to calm down and take it easy.  My insides are in knots. I blame myself for putting him through this. If I only had worked with him a little longer. Is my job really worth it?

Just then, the coach steps out of the dugout and jogs over to him. With the calm that only a little league coach can have, he pats my son on the shoulder and tells him to relax.  He repositions him and tells him to choke up on the bat and bend his knees.  With a quick pat on the helmet, he jogs back to the dug out.
DING!!!! The ball flies over the shortstop and bounces to left field. “Run!”, I roar over to him.  He’s shocked but drops the bat and darts down the line towards first base.  My wife almost knocks me down as she explodes to her feet, her arms pushing him to first.

The left fielder grabs the ball and send it flying towards first but my son steps on the base beating the throw.  My wife and I are hugging, jumping and waving to him.  He looks over with a smile as he catches his breadth.

Wow!  I sit back down, exhausted. An enormous amount of pride has replaced my insides.  I can’t stop smiling.  What a feeling!  Then, reflecting on what just happened, I realized that I can’t do it alone. Teach my son everything, that is.

No matter how much we dads try to teach our kids everything we know, we can’t do it alone.  The world is going to teach them too.  Our children will also do their part and teach themselves things like courage (to swing at pitches in front of a crowd).  My job, as a dad, is not only to teach my children but also to help them digest and interpret what the world teaches them.  Sometimes, a pat on the shoulder teaches more than we can ever do with words alone.  It says, “You can do it, buddy!”. It tells him I believe in you and that makes all the difference, no matter what happens.

Early in the spring of my freshman year of college, I thought transfering to a different university would make me happier. That fall, I celebrated my birthday by eating an extra-large pepperoni pizza in my dorm room.

I was not sociable.

That hasn’t changed, but I like to think that I’ve made some progress. I did, after all, find a wife and father a child. But there’s still progress to be made.

I started a new job, appropriately enough, at the new year. Wonderful company. Good benefits. Nice people. It was an answer to several prayers--mine and others’--and better in all ways possible than the job I’d left behind. And yet…

The second day, after the novelty of the security badge had started to wane, I felt it. The insecurity and isolation. The inexplicable sadness. The longing to wallow in the familiar and the safe. ‘Be at the door,’ I sent to my wife, ‘I’ll need hugs.’

The next day was the same. Work was slow, which didn’t help. I came home, kissed Kelly on the cheek. Ian was napping. I went upstairs to his room, and opened the door.

‘Hi!’ he cried.

I climbed the ladder to his bed, shoved my way under the tent, and carefully lay next to him. The wooden slats beneath the mattress creaked.

Without me saying anything. Without a sigh or movement or cue, Ian threw his arm over my shoulders. ‘How was your day!’

Which is better than an extra-large pizza, any day.

My 7-year-old son has some very set views on how life should be.  For instance, he saw a TV show about a surprise birthday party and figured, hey, everyone gets a surprise birthday party.  He then asked us if his next birthday party could be a surprise birthday party, which kind of defeats the purpose, but that is how life is supposed to be, right?

My son is like that with a lot of things.  Another example is that when he entered the first grade, one of the things he was most excited about was buying a lunch box.  Why, because all kids have lunch boxes to carry their lunches to school.  That is just simply the way it is supposed to be.  He also had to have a diary and not just any diary but, yes, one with a lock on it.  For all I know he places one of his hairs on it to see if anyone is reading it.

This trait has always struck me as peculiar.  It’s funny and is something I love about my son.  I don’t know where he gets it from.  Well, at least I didn’t until the other day.

For some reason my wife and I were talking about childhood imaginary friends.  My wife was totally into it.  Her friend was named Johnny Operson and he went everywhere she did.  She had detailed directions to his house, his dad worked at a local furniture store located on the way to the dentist, and they had great, meaningful conversations.

“Did you have an imaginary friend?” my wife asked.

And that is when I remembered.  I remembered standing in front of a mirror as a kid, trying to create an imaginary friend and picture him standing next to me.  But I just couldn’t make him stick.  But what really struck me about this memory is I remembered why I was trying to create an imaginary friend.  I thought that is what all kids are supposed to do.  Just like my son.

So, I guess I can no longer tell my wife that all of our children’s weird quirks come from her.

Just most of them.

Dear Son,

I gotta tell ya, sometimes I hate the whole working stiff routine.  I don’t mind waking up early or sitting in front of a computer all day or drinking cheap coffee or working with all manner of odd human beings.  No son, it’s you I miss, all the cool stuff you’re up to during the day while I’m off in cubicle world.  Like just the other day, what’s this your mom tells me about the harem you were running at playgroup?  Not one, not two, but three little girls were patting you on your little bald head?  Talk about making your old man proud. 

But I don’t have to miss out on everything, and for that, I’m grateful.  Tonight presents a perfect example.  You see son, tonight you experienced Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” for the first time, and I was fortunate enough not only to be there, but to be a part of it.  You probably won’t remember this, seeing as how you’re just a little over 15 months old as of this writing, but after dinner tonight, your mom and I were in the family station wagon headed to a birthday party for a friend of ours who’s joining us on this side of 30.  I was scrolling through our music looking for something to suit the mood when I came across none other than Queen’s greatest hits, track 1 of which is the aforementioned “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

You may not believe me when you read this in however-many-years (especially if you’re a teenager at the time), but you’ll have to trust me when I say that you loved every note of it.  I don’t know that you liked the song so much as you liked your Mom and Dad’s rendition of it.  In true Wayne’s World fashion, we traded off the high and low parts, and when it came time for the big rock-out at the end, I was glad that your mom was driving so I could demonstrate to you some real quality head-banging. 

It’s just one of those small moments that I was glad I could be around for, and I decided to capture it in writing before it got too far away. 

Love,
Dad