I sat at the bedside of my wife in the maternity ward of the old Carlisle Hospital. The nurses rolled in the bassinet with my newborn son, a day old. I was 30 years old. Tiger Woods, 29, chipped onto the 16th green at the Master’s Tournament, battling Chris DiMarco for the coveted Green Jacket. The ball crept closer to the cup, pausing, and falling in as if Tiger literally willed the ball in the hole. Legendary broadcaster Vern Lundquist made the legendary call, “... Oh my goodness! Oh, wow, in your life, have you ever seen anything like that?” The moment iconic both at Augusta and in Carlisle.
Arturo Gatti was my favorite boxer. In July of 2007, he sadly lost in what would be his final fight. He wasn’t prepared for the fight, was well past his prime. I talked to friends who were on their way to attend the fight in Atlantic City. I was in the maternity ward of the new Carlisle Regional Medical Center, my second son just born in the wee hours of the night before. It was the end for Gatti. It was a new beginning for our family.
Early in my career, my boss asked me about my professional goals. I hadn’t thought much about them. “Get married. Have a house. Coach my sons in Little League,” I answered unashamed that these had nothing directly to do with furthering my career.
My wife asked me what I wanted for Father’s Day this year. I answered honestly, “nothing - don’t buy anything. Let’s just spend the day, us.” I don’t wear many ties, have enough hot sauce, and can only eat so much beef jerky. What I really savor is just another afternoon with them, and her. Maybe we’ll chip and putt on the backyard putting green we made a few weeks ago, pretending we’re Tiger on the 16th at Augusta. Or, maybe we’ll shadow box and I’ll tell them, again, how Gatti fought an entire fight with a broken hand. In these moments, I really am living the dream.
They ask me deeper questions now. Never when I’m pressing. Only when I let the quiet give permission for them to explore. Their curiousity about drugs, sex, and rock n roll arise and they inquire, asking for a friend. I am thankful they’re still asking me. And I pray I don’t screw this up.
I can talk effortlessly about Kobe dropping 81 points in Toronto or how Rocky Balboa dismantled Drago with body blows. Yet, I can stumble through the talks that matter most.
It’s in the stumbling that I hope they see my vulnerability to say that I don’t have it all figured out and that I’ve made far too many mistakes. That they know that life holds a lot of gray. And that I will always give them my love, trust, and guidance. Impferctly fathering them the best I know how.
Yet I need them to know that in the messiness, I’ve learned and relearned a deeper truth. Our Eternal Father is with us no-matter-what. He’s not waiting for us comply or perform or achieve. The depths of His love are unplumbed. His grace without boundary. The Apostle Paul outlined it like this, “Those who enter into Christ’s being-here-for-us no longer have to live under a continuous, low-lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death.” (Roman 8:1-2, The Message).
My sons, I am proud to be your Dad. And, know this, you are free. You don’t have to succumb to the world’s expectations. Or, carry any unintended “shoulds” I dump on you. Muhammad Ali said, “I don’t have to be who you want me to be.” Boys, you are free to become who you were created to be - not who anyone else thinks you should be. Keep looking forward with great expectation of what God has before you. And, as you figure “you” out, I’ll be in your corner ready to encourage and equip you to stand for another round. Or, to just hold the spit bucket. With love, Dad.
No comments:
Post a Comment