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.