GROWING PAINS, #4, A NEW CARD IN MY ROLEDEX:

A New Card in My Roledex

For most of his eighteen years whenever I wanted to speak to my son I would yell upstairs.  If he wasn't there at the moment I was confident that hunger, desire for TV and the need of a phone that operates without dropping in a quarter would soon compel him back to home.  It wasn't unusual for me to leave some note on his bed, or to stop into his room right after he had gone to bed, plop down in his chair and shoot the breeze for a few minutes.

All of that changed the day I wrote my son's name and address and phone number in my Roledex and in the little directory that I carry in my Day-Timer.  Such a simple action, as a pastor I do it all the time.  There is someone's name and number that I don't want to forget; I write it down.  But in the midst of the doing, the significance of what was being done hit me.

I thought of the fence that I erected in the back yard to try to contain him.  I smiled as I remembered how he climbed out.  I shuddered again as I remembered the time that Kathy thought I was watching him, and I thought she was, and I looked up to see a policeman walking him down the driveway.  My two year old son had been walking down the middle of the road.  "If this was my boy I'd take better care of him."  The officer sternly said.  Afraid and relieved and humiliated, I stammered some reply. 

I remembered firsts:  the first day at school, his first week at camp, the first time he stayed at grandma's, the time he spent the night with my newly widowed mom because he didn't want her to be alone, his first trip, on his own, in the car. 

This day had been coming all along.  I knew it.  I encouraged it.  I even wanted it.  I am not by nature a sentimental person, but when I put the pen to that little card to write down my son's--different than my own--address it brought a lump to my throat.  Would he be all right, off on his own?  Each of the firsts had brought its own time of anxiety.  Was it too soon?  Had I adequately prepared him?  What if something happens?  Will he remember what I taught him?  Each time the boundaries of his freedom were increased and the level of his responsibility was raised, the potential for disaster was increased as well. 

For years I had preached against the selfish actions of some parents--their trying to hold on to their offspring to meet their own emotional needs.  I still agree with what I preached, but the next time I do so I will do so with a great deal more empathy for those parents who just can't quite cut the string.

I was just thinking about a day in my own life.  I was five or six.  I had mastered the "two wheeler."  My range was limited by the block on which I lived.  I could ride on the sidewalk around the block.  I could ride down the alley that bisected our block, no more.  That way I never had to cross the street.  On the day I'm thinking about, my parents told me that I could cross the quiet residential street on which we lived.  The mailbox on the corner across the street, all those houses and yards seen from afar, the unseen world of the other side of that block were now a part of my domain.  On the day that my parents had doubled my world, as I was crossing the street, a drunken driver doing more than twice the speed limit hit me right in front of my house. 

Were my parents foolish to let me cross the street?  Let me answer with a question:  What would you think of a 43 year old man who never left the block on which he lives?  Maybe it was too soon, but I don't think so.  Try as we will we cannot eliminate risk from the lives of our children, and if we love them we will always have to deal with the fear.  Will he be OK on the school bus?  What if she falls with her roller-skates.  If she strikes out and looses the game will she be marked for life?  Can I trust him to treat that young lady as he should?  If I let him cross the street will a drunken soldier in a Road Master Buick run into him? 

We must teach and trust and teach them to trust and obey, and when the time is right we must let them cross the street.  And we must pray.  And we must listen for the sound of screeching tires, or keep their address handy in our Roledex so we can pick them up if they fall and help them through the next phase of growth.

Growing Pains, Table of Contents

Growing Pains #2, Suck It Up:

I stood on the side of the cross country course watching my son go by, his face grimaced with pain, an ace bandage coming unwrapped, trailing from his left leg.  He had pulled up lame a week or so before; he hoped to be able to do well enough today to go on to the regional meet.  I was juggling my heart--not too skillfully I might add.  Do I encourage him to go on, knowing that if he goes on he'll push himself in such a way that his pain will increase?  Or, do I yell, "Son, don't hurt yourself.  Pull up."? I Know that no one will blame him for not continuing to run on a bad leg.  "These things happen.  You've got two more trips to the districts.  Even if you do hang on and qualify will your leg heal in time to do your best at regionals?" 

Of course I couldn't have said all of that out loud.  There wasn't time as he ran by.  But I knew that with a nod, a look, a few shouted words I could have communicated most all that.  Maybe it wouldn't have made any difference.  Perhaps I flatter myself to think that what I would say would make a difference at such a point.  Maybe, but I don't think so. 

Instead I yell, "Hang in there 'Topher.  Remember your brother's advice."  Big brother, his macho freshly charged with the news that he will be starting this Friday against the #1 football team in the state, had eloquently stated, "You gotta suck it up."  (For any who read who are not familiar with sports-macho-talk that means to keep going even when it hurts, for a determined mind to tell an injured body to keep on going.  For maximum effect the line needs to be delivered in a course low voice.)  It was my son's version of a thousand usually corny sounding statements that coaches spout and hang up on locker room walls.

Only today it wasn't corny. 

I knew success in life didn't depend on whether or not my son finished that race.  If he didn't qualify for regional competition his life wouldn't stop like some town clock forever frozen at the time of the big earthquake.  But all of us must learn to "suck it up."  Was this one of those times?  I wish I knew for sure.  I'm really not any closer to being sure today than I was yesterday. 

Maybe he needed to face the hard fact that God doesn't guarantee that hard work will lead to success--at least success as recognized by the passing out of ribbons.  Maybe he would have learned more courage by facing the potential scorn of his peers, who would say, "He had a big chance and he let a little pain get in his way."  Even in the quiet reflection of the next morning I don't know.  That is often how it is.  We just don't know, yet as parents, when our kids run by, we are expected to yell something.

Is this the time to let him stretch the limits?  Is he ready for this next step?  Do I encourage him to run through the pain or do I let him weep in my arms and tell him there will be other days, other races?  We aren't equipped with a manual that is that specific.  Even if we were, we wouldn't have time to read it.  So we stand on the sidelines and yell things as our kids go by.  We love them and try to have the best desires for them and try to listen to them and pray for them and hope that at that critical moment when they rush by on their way to adulthood we will yell the right thing.  I wish that it were more precise than that, but it's not.  If it weren't for the fact that I trust God I would probably give up in despair.

I am firmly convinced that my heavenly Father loves my boys even more than Kathy and I.  While I am yelling out to my sons He is encouraging me.  Like another old sports cliche', He only expects me to do my best.  I need to make sure that my soul is filled with His word and that my heart is tender to His leading.  At the critical moment there is no time to study; often there is not even time to think.  I need an internal guidance system that always points to the right way.  I need to regularly program that system with the data of the Bible.  Even if I do my very best the fact remains that I will sometimes fail; if I had to depend solely on my ability to always say and do the right thing in order for my sons to turn out right, I would be a very frustrated dad.  I try to do and say what is right, but in the final analysis I have trusted them to God.

It is hard.  I guess I just have to "suck it up."

Growing Pains, Table of Contents