The Joys of Fatherhood - Persistence

I saw a social media post the other day that read “Boys are easier to raise, but harder to keep alive”. I don’t have any girls as a reference point to compare against, but I can appreciate both the humor and smidge of possible truth behind the statement. My two boys, ages 9 and 7 are the quintessential “rough and tumble” type. If they don’t come home with a new bruise or scrape after playing outside, they’ll complain about how ‘boring’ the day was.

I wouldn’t want them any other way. As fathers we have dreams and expectations for our kids – to be smart, strong, kind, athletic, tough, genuine, etc. This is true for all parents, although the list may vary individually. I’m incredibly blessed with two boys who both fit this model of modern future man, but no one ever talks about how tough it is to raise them against the social/cultural pressures to conform. In the same way God has dreams (plans really) for us (ref: Jeremiah 29:11) and wants to push us in ways to help us grow and experience life to the fullest according to the way we’re made. These plans are designed to make us prosperous, keep us safe, and draw us closer into relationship with him. It often goes against social/cultural pressures also, and is tough to follow at times.

Unlike God, we as Dads struggle with how to best inspire and instruct our kids. There’s a delicate balance between being too hard on them while driving them towards success, and letting them stop because it’s too hard, too painful, or just too much.

You have to be careful. Tip that balance in either direction and you end up with a potentially bad scenario. Go too soft and they may end up scared and forsaken to never get back on the proverbial horse. Be too hard and become the jerk-dad who pushed too hard, judged by all the other parents, and left your child feeling defeated and worthless. Where is the line? How do you know if/when you’ve crossed it? Well, I’ll say the same thing I’ve told my son, sometimes you have to make mistakes to know what success looks like, and to appreciate it. I’ll focus on my older son for this example, since I can recall two recent instances where this played out really well for me.

First Attempt Was a Total Dad Fail

We took a family trip to SeaWorld. As per my institutionalization from my past life, we arrive promptly 15 minutes before the gates open. It wasn’t some crazy super-busy 3-day weekend either by the way, it was a random, idle Tuesday or something. Anyway, I’ve got a plan. We hit the big rides first since the lines won’t be as long, then do the walk-around, see the shows type of other stuff that won’t take all day because of lines. The first ride we hit up was the kind that resembles a water rollercoaster. You know, the kind where it climbs up ominously to the summit and then plunges headlong into a shallow pool of water creating a wall of water that douses you and everyone else down to the bones as you laugh and grab your stomach in fear that it will jump out of your mouth. Well, as fun as that sounds turns out it’s utterly terrifying for my kids. They had no idea it was going to be that horrific an experience and gladly walked onto the ride like an unsuspecting sheep to the slaughter. They did their best to hide their fear afterwards because I was crying with laughter, but even my wife had the look on her face of ‘I don’t think I’ll do that one a second time’. I got the hint after a few minutes and reconciled that I’d just used up all my dad cards in the first 15 minutes of being inside the park. I had to prepare myself for the pending sentence of the remaining day filled with mundane merry-go-rounds and other monotonous vanilla experiences- but at least it would be as a family (something I am incredibly appreciative of).

We go the majority of the day and have a pretty good time. The long-gone days of my childhood love for looking at fish behind glass somehow had returned, and I frolicked alongside my boys as if I were 9yrs old myself (my poor wife). Then we came across the Manta rollercoaster - advertised as the “most intense” ride at SeaWorld because of its speed and acceleration. There was even a height limit that my younger son didn’t qualify for- I had to ride it.

A Chance at Redemption

As we walked around the park I subtly dropped hints to my older son at how cool it looked; how only the brave can ride it, and whispered that “little kids” can’t ride it. He saw straight through me. I finally came out and confessed how badly I wanted to take him on the Manta. My older son dug in his heels even harder (he gets that from his father). The thing was, I knew how much he’d enjoy it if he’d only give it a shot. This was his chance to ‘get back on the horse’ of roller coasters and my chance to redeem myself from earlier in the day.

I eventually realized that I was at a crossroads. Which stance do I take? Hard or soft? Well, I’m thickheaded, so rather than pray, I just chose hard (thank you Lord for not letting me screw that one up). I told him that we were going to ride it together, and that I’d give him some time to reconcile that in his mind. As much as he resisted mentally and at first physically, he succumbed to the fact that I was more stubborn than he, and willfully went along.

We were standing in line as I noticed he was fighting back tears (He tends to psych himself out when he’s nervous). I know his limits. If he starts crying or yelling, I’ll call it. But I was watching him fight it. He wanted to impress me, he wanted to make me proud. And I knew in my heart that if he did it, he’d love it. With bated breath he boarded the coaster – front row. As the ride starts and the slow-clink-clink-clink of the carts being towed to the top of the first drop gets closer, I hear him slowly start to whisper “no-no-no-no-no”. As the backside of the first drop meets the skyline and we begin to see the fall into the abyss before us, his knuckles gripping the cross-bar and his face both turn white. We drop.

The swoosh of the air rushing all around us drowns out the screams from beside and behind. In moments we rise back up and approach the first turn. I glance over and see his hair pasted back against his scalp by the fury and howl of the air - his eyes wide and alert, and the biggest smile I’ve ever seen plastered across his face. He’s loving it. Oh, thank God, he’s loving it. Where we started with screams and nervousness we now are overwhelmed with glee and laughing. We finish the coaster and he looks at me and says, “can we do it again?” as he bounces with jubilation. I laugh and tell him that we need to check in with mom and his brother. We get about 30 feet from them and he starts yelling to his brother about how AWESOME it was. The wifey shoots me a big smile and I try my best to give her the look of “thanks for supporting me on this one babe”. Even though we only got to ride it that once, it’s all he talked about the rest of the day. #TotalDadWin

Why This Matters

This experience really helps me to understand some of the challenges I’ve faced in life. I know they have purpose and meaning. But I can’t see it until I’m on the ride myself. Too often I’m openly defiant to what I know is meant to help me experience something amazing-because I’m either too scared or not trusting of God’s plan for me. It’s funny how before the ride all he could think about was what could go wrong, and afterwards could only focus on how much enjoyment he got from it. As soon as he began the experience he immediately recognized it as a source of fun, not of fear. His own rationalizations led him to believe that amazing thing was something he never thought he would desire.

When Talking to Dads, You Have to Use A Sports Example

Both my boys play baseball. Being military, we were at the mercy of whatever sports program existed in the location we lived. We’ve never had consistent programs, coaching, teammates, or even league rules. My older son has had to work a lot harder to keep up with his team. He’s not the best hitter, catcher, runner, or fielder. He’s new, and young for the team despite being as tall or taller as well as broad shouldered. But his youth shows mostly in his maturity. He tries to compensate his lack of coordination with goofiness to get the other kids to like him since he knows he’s not as good as some of the other kids. It’s tough for him.

My wife and I work with both boys their skills and I like to believe that they enjoy the time with us as much as we do them. For all the abilities and practice, my older son gets nervous during the games. Where my younger one will strike out, turn to us, and shrug his shoulders saying “meh, I did my best”, then casually walk back to the dugout and cheer on the next teammate, my older one will drop his shoulders, hang his head and slump back to the dugout to feel sorry for himself. I swear we didn’t raise them differently.

So as a dad I have to reinforce the one without discouraging the other. My charge is to encourage and push them according to their personalities. (ref: James chapter 1) Here’s an example: the older one realized that the kids pitching have never done it before, and would just stand there expecting to get walked. And of course, it happened (or he’d get pegged with the ball ½ the time… either way, still a walk). He thought it was a genius idea. I didn’t. I told him, “if it’s a strike, swing at it. Don’t play the odds. Every time you watch him throw that ball, you’re watching him get better. Eventually, he’ll start throwing strikes and you’ll not know what to do. I’d rather you go out swinging than idly stand by and nervously hope that you get walked."

Why the Struggle Matters

I understand now the value of persistence, of trusting the Father, of embracing my failures so I can learn from them and encourage others. It’s called a testimony. And when I do finally figure it out, or when I finally do succeed, I realize it’s not because I’m so awesome. It’s because the path laid before me prepared me for the right moment when success was needed, when it mattered. It helped me realize that through every struggle and failure He was there. And when I would win, He was cheering me on. I don’t get mad when my son strikes out, I get excited. Because it’s just one step closer to the time when he gets that hit. That minor defeat will make the greater victory all the more sweet. It only took me my whole life to realize that God views us the same way. When we fail, when we turn away, He’s sad, but He's not angry. And He gets excited when we step up to the plate, because it’s one step closer to experiencing the greater victory that lies ahead.

The Time Has Come

The pep talk to my son was in the fall. So here we are now in Spring, and he’s yet to get a hit in the game. His stiff, nervous, and over-thinking demeanor is so much more the contributor to his lack of connection to the ball than both the pitcher or his own swing. And game after game, he goes up, swings or holds, and either strikes out or gets walked. But he goes down swinging. Every game, I tell him I love him, I’m proud of him, and I’m excited for the next time to watch him play.

And then on day my dream, his dream, came true. We had a random Monday evening game. First pitch, swing and a miss. It was a solid strike, he swung under. Second pitch, swing and a miss. Another great throw, another swing under the ball. “C’mon bud, eye on the ball”. Third pitch, ball. “Good eye, son”. He takes a breath and tightens his grip on the bat- laser focused on the pitcher. The ball releases, another solid strike right down the center of the zone. And boom.

The crack of the bat sounded like the heavens opening in triumphant praise as the ball sailed up and out of the infield. Holy smokes he crushed that ball. The left and center fielders scrambled towards each other while running backwards trying to gauge where and when the ball will finally begin its trip back into the atmosphere (I know, but you get the idea). They miss the ball, but he’s already ½ way to second and two runners just made it home. By the time the outfielders prepare to throw he’s being signaled to third. He tears off. I notice that his normally awkward childlike gate has turned into a full-out sprint of a young athlete, and he books it to third with a slide safely on the base just as the ball is about to enter the sanctuary of the third-baseman’s glove. Ump calls “safe” with the sweeping motion of his hands. I realize at that moment that my wife and I are both screaming like banshees with our hands raised up in the air. It wasn’t even weird as the other parents (knowing my son’s previous batting history) were also yelling their approval and praise. Good gravy my son just hit a triple.

The rest of the game didn’t matter to me. He played the rest of the game just fine, but all I could focus on, all I could feel, was how proud I was of him- how proud he must be of himself. All his hard work, his failure after failure, finally paid off. We celebrated his first massive hit with some well-deserved fro-yo, with toppings, and then headed home after 8pm to finally get settled for a very late dinner. It was an awesome day.

It Finally Makes Sense

May I also say that God celebrates when we get it right. It fills His heart with joy when our eyes are open to the beauty and purpose He has set aside for us. When that perspective changes into exhilaration and bursting with excitement, He is there to celebrate with us. I never had such an appreciation for the immense amount of love and pride God has in each of us until I was entrusted with my boys.

It's in the moments of triumph that you appreciate the struggle, the failure, the persistence we’ve endured. As a parent this is the essence of what we’ve been called to do. We raise our children with certain beliefs, values, principles, in hopes that one day they will see the why and be better for it. The definition of my relationship with my kids is defined in this exchange. The more they trust me, the more I can show them, help them, teach them. They aren’t perfect, and they will fail, but that won’t change my love for them. In the same way, my life would be all these things if only I would allow God to teach me what I need to know. I know that I will fail from time to time, but I also know that it won’t change His love for me.

I am far from a perfect parent – like really, really far, but I love my kids. I love them as much when they strike out in life as I do when they knock it past the outfield. Just like we teach our children to overcome fear, failure, and heartache, God wants us to trust in Him and overcome these things so we can have life to the fullest. It makes the times you do get it right all the more-sweeter. Like, fro-yo with toppings sweeter.

Cheers to future reads.

#Fatherhood #Persistence #Dad #Love #Boys #Parenting