Dangerous

I grew up with a great love for adventure and risk. Not much has changed since I’ve grown up. In fact, its arguable if Ive actually grown up. As a kid I rode bicycles and dirt bikes. I jumped off roofs and got pulled behind cars on skateboards (shout out to Marty McFly for the great idea). I played in old abandoned quarries and loved climbing the rickety, rusted cranes that were left by stone cutters in the 50s.
All this hard playing has taken a toll. I’m 32, but have been told by a doctor I have the skeleton of an arthritic 60 year old. I’ve broken twenty some bones and had enough stitches to reupholster a couch. You know what? I don’t regret a moment of it. I’m an adrenaline junky through and through. I honestly can say I can’t imagine a safe boring life being any fun at all. In my mind getting hurt is the price you pay to have the most fun.
But I’m experiencing some new feelings lately. The desire for safety and control. Not for myself. For my kids. The other day I went out to one of the old quarries I used to play in. I imagined my son there doing the same things I used to do and I felt panicked. I’m not kidding, I felt sick. What if he falls off the edge? What if he twists his ankle at the bottom and can’t climb out? What if he’s climbing on that rock and it gives way? What if…?!?
So now I’m in this weird spot. As an adventure lover I desperately want my kids to have fun in all the exciting parts of life. I want them to be brave and wild. I want them to laugh after riding a bike downhill so fast they aren’t sure if they were in control. I want them to embrace the thrill of risk. I’ve loved all of that and now I want to share it with them.
But as a parent I also want to protect them. Even though I look at every one of my broken bones as a worthwhile adventure, I want to prevent pain in my kids’ lives.
So I’d like to apologize to my parents. I can’t believe neither one of them had a heart attack before I graduated High School. And I’d like to see of anyone else feels this tension between protecting kids yet letting them live adventurously. Anyone?

Pfather’s Day

Fatherhood is an amazingly complicated thing. I always knew I would love being a dad, but it brings more joy and fulfillment to me than I ever could have imagined. That being said, man is this gig hard sometimes. I find myself more often than I would like going to one of my kids and saying something along the lines of, “I’m so sorry. I dropped the ball on that one.” Or “Dad handled that/spoke/responded/acted poorly there.” Or “You were right kids, using two umbrellas for a parachute doesn’t work any better than using one. Walk it off sweetheart.”

Being a good dad is important to me for about a thousand reasons. I thought I’d write about two of them. First, it weighs heavily on me that a person’s view of God is deeply tied to their view of their father. People who have a physically abusive dads often have a hard time seeing God as anything but harsh and scary. Someone whose father walked out is more likely to feel abandoned by God when life sucks. So I feel the weight of reflecting God as accurately as possible to my kids. I know I’ll mess up, but I’m terrified of messing up so royally or so consistently in one area that it makes my kids misunderstand who God really is.

Second, I look around and am incredibly saddened by the decline of “manhood” in our society. By manhood I don’t mean anything machismo. I’m not referring to how much a guy can bench press, how quickly he can chop a tree down or how much his chest resembles a German Shepherd laying on a bear-skin rug; hair with a backdrop of hair. When I say the “decline of manhood” I’m not referring to these external caricature like ideas of manhood. I mean something much deeper. The declines I see the most that trouble me are in things like responsibility, commitment, priorities, courage, honor and self-sacrifice. These things go into the definition of true manhood. You can look like 1984 Burt Reynolds on steroids on the outside, but be a boy. And you can have the physical stature of Mr. Burns and be an absolute stud.

I have a friend who would blend in to most crowds pretty easily. He’s somewhat tall, but skinny, not noticeably muscular, wears glasses and has graying hair. Physically he is the epitome of average. He’s shy, soft-spoken, unassuming and, in general, easy to miss. Here’s why this guy is awesome. You’d never guess by looking at him that he is a detective with the local police department who often runs down and tackles drug addicts and violent criminals. He’s on a task force that stakes out and conducts stings on local drug rings. What’s more impressive is my friend’s family life. Unable to have their own biological children he and his wife have adopted 7 kids, all of whom came from abusive or problematic situations. Listen up kids; that is a man. My own step dad is another great example. I grew up with a dad who loved, provided for and protected me as a matter of choice, not biological expectation. I had no idea growing up that we weren’t rich because I was involved in every activity I wanted and had incredibly generous birthdays and Christmases. I didn’t realize as a child that this was only because my dad worked multiple jobs to make it happen. And tired as he was he made sure to be involved in everything I was doing. That is a man.

I hope to be a good man and a good father. Happy Father’s Day everyone.

Have to

The other day I sent out this simple tweet: “Pondering the implications of adding ‘have to’ to my view of responsibility. Someone else will clean it up vs someone else will have to…” Since then I have not been able to shake this simple thought from my mind and I think it may warrant some more attention. It really is a simple shift in thinking, but I feel like its one of those “profundity wrapped in simplicity” things, like a Shakespearean sonnet in a fortune cookie. I was going to say one of Shakespeare’s plays, but then I realized the print would have to be so small nobody could read it, and that’s not profound at all. I suppose you could put it in a really big fortune cookie. But that would be weird. Regardless, I truly believe the act of incorporating “have to” into our daily thinking is one of the most simple yet complicated, easy yet difficult, quick yet time consuming things we can attempt.

Here’s what it looks like. In seemingly meaningless situations that we encounter everyday we pass over opportunities to be courteous, kind, responsible or generous because we assume (usually subconsciously) “somebody else will.” For example, I don’t need to stop and see if that person on the side of the highway needs help because somebody else will. It’s not a big deal if I leave my trash here. Somebody else will clean it up. I could cook up a thousand vague examples, but you get what I mean. If not, somebody else will.

But what if we add the tiny phrase “have to” to the end of those thoughts. If I don’t help that person somebody else will have to. If I don’t clean this up somebody else will have to. Those two simple words shift the responsibility in everyday, casual situations from other people to me. Instead of assuming someone else is responsible for something, what if we volunteer ourselves to be responsible? In a culture that despises the idea of personal responsibility, and especially among people who view certain acts and responsibilities as beneath them, adopting this view would be truly countercultural. It would be quietly radical. It would be a lot like Jesus. What this idea really boils down to is servanthood. Are we servants to others in daily invisible ways, or only in grandiose and theatrical ways? Are we willing to feel the responsibility of things that have not been named our responsibility? Or do we secretly and inwardly love the idea of being so important that others serve us?

I think the simply difficult addition of “have to” to our thinking is more Jesus-like than most realize. Why did Jesus wash his disciples’ feet? Because if he didn’t somebody else would have to. Why did Jesus choose the agony of God’s judgment on the cross? Because if he didn’t somebody else (me) would have to. Why did Jesus curse a fig tree that had no figs? Probably because he was really hungry. Ok, that one doesn’t fit here. But why did Jesus say he came to dwell among us? To serve, not to be served.

So I leave you with this final thought (JERRY! JERRY! JERRY! I wonder who will understand that reference). From now on try to look around you and be more aware of chances to engage in acts of kindness and service, not because it’s your job, but simply so someone else does not have to. That is true service.

Weirdo

I am the father of a 7-year-old boy. For those of you who currently have or have had a young boy you know what I mean when I say my son is in the “weirdo” phase. Everything is weird! He is literally incapable of speaking or acting normally. He can’t say “Mom, can I have a glass of water?” Instead, he feels the need to strike a crazy pose and say, “HEY MAMMA! Coulds your boy have a glash of WATAAAAHH!?!” He does not simply walk from point A to point B. Its like he’s perpetually stuck in the final round of the world parkour championship. I’m convinced there is a 24/7 action movie playing in his head. He’s constantly displaying his kung fu prowess against invisible foes and providing spit laden sound effects for the battle. These examples may not fully express the state of weird I’m living in. Lets just say he is weird.

Now, lets get one thing clear. I love my son. No, you don’t understand. I love my son more than life. I would take a bullet to the face for him right now. More than that, I would be tortured for that kid and not think twice about it. Seeing him, or anything related to him puts an immediate smile on my face. That being said, dudebro is so annoying right now! Go ahead, label me a horrible parent. But we all know I just said what parents of 7-year-old boys across the world have thought and never said.

The last thing I want to do is stifle his creativity or discourage finding fun in every moment of life possible. I know this is just a normal phase. It’s part of growing up. I know that without even trying my son is easily the coolest person I know. I know that soon enough this phase will be over and he’ll most likely go back to the super chill, cerebral, tenderhearted dudebro he was 7 months ago. I see glimpses of that kid peak out from behind the weird every once in a while and think, “Ah, there’s the boy I know.” But for now I often find myself rolling my eyes and being a little more aware of how people react to my weirdo in public.

This makes me think two things. First, I’d like to apologize to my parents for dragging the weirdo phase well beyond the acceptable 7 to 11 age range and extending it through high school without permission. Second, I wonder if I went through a similar phase in my faith. I think I did. When I think back on who I was two years into my faith I feel my face turn red and I can easily imagine God rolling his eyes. I imagine he thought things like, “You think that is important to me? You think that is a good way to witness to someone? You think that is what faith looks like?” Then I imagine God planting a palm on his forehead and being excited for that phase to be over. I think, or at least I hope, I’m mostly out of the weird adolescent phase of faith. That’s not to say I fully understand God and faith or that my faith is somehow superior to anyone else’s faith. I am, however, hopeful that I’m getting better at deciphering who I really am, what parts of my faith are genuine and what parts were just part of a weird phase. I hope I’m getting closer to the point where God takes his hand off his forehead and says, “There’s the guy I know.