What thrilling heroics

     No time for incredulity, the seconds are ticking away and the space pirates are closing in. My converted freighter has broken out of the atmosphere, but must achieve light speed in 60 seconds, that’s how long before the enemy ship will intercept. The passengers are counting on me. Escape is their only hope. Already, a shot from the pirate's directed energy weapon has damaged my ship, and that’s why I’m crawling along the outside of it wearing magnetic grips on my hands and feet.

     The ship’s hull shudders, a result of the damage and I hold my breath inside the space helmet, but the grips hold and I keep moving. The pirate ship, closer now, fires another energy bolt that lights everything around me. Even though it misses, the proximity of the flash darkens my visor momentarily. I hate not seeing where I’m going, but creep along anyway, the seconds are ticking.

     Finally, I reach the primary buffer panel, rattling loose from the enemy fire. Only a quick fix for now, I begin to bolt it back down. The visor goes dark again as a directed energy bolt hits the ship. The deflector shields absorb the blast, but for just a moment, my magnetic grips lose touch. I grab at the loose panel and feel my body tossed up and then slam back into the ship. Pain stings up my left leg, but I keep up the repair until the panel is fixed.

          It takes four rivets to secure it, but I feel the ship stop shuddering. I make my way back. As soon as I’m in, I throw the lever that closes the airlock. When the door clicks and the air begins to fill the chamber, I feel the ship accelerate to light speed. I’ve done it, the orphans are safe. I feel something else too, my foot is injured from being tossed around out there. Well, at least it was for the greater good.

     At least that’s what I’d like to say when people ask me what I did to my foot.

     Waiting at the Grand Canyon for the train to take us back to Williams, a little boy looked at me with amazement and concern as I walked by on my crutches. “What happened?” he asked.

     I did not want to tell him that I had been hanging my foot out of a golf cart, like I did every day, when I drove up against a fence post, unnaturally pointing my foot down, spraining it. So I just told the boy, “I wasn’t being careful.”

His mom seemed to like that answer, she looked at her son, the dad too, with a look of “you see what can happen?”

     So I did the vacation on crutches and I managed. At meals, my family would help me with my food. Most places we went had ramps and the steps weren’t too difficult. There were limitations. Doors were sometimes a challenge, heavy restroom doors especially. And on the train ride, I didn’t try to get up and move around. I still enjoyed it all.

     And I enjoyed the vacation too. It was everything I hoped it would be. And I was really just hoping for one thing, that it would be a good time with the family.

     I used to abhor the idea of settling down with a family. I thought I was destined to be a free spirit, out on the road in a retrofitted muscle car like Mad Max, or better still, out in space executing some thrilling heroics. I dreaded the thought of domestication and a mini-van.

     But all of that changed when I actually became a husband and father. And last week, we as a family took a righteous road trip, saw The Grand Canyon, Route 66, Meteor Crater and The Petrified Forrest. We drove through Winslow, Arizona where I stood on the corner. We took a scenic drive down through Sedona and went through the town where I lived as a young kid.

     Friday night I drove from Phoenix to Yucaipa with only one stop. It was about a 5 hour drive and I loved it. There were no space pirates in pursuit. My passengers were my family and it was interstate 10, not hyperspace. But it was better.

     Even though I wish that I had sprained my foot in a less embarrassing way, or better still, not sprained it at all, I can live with the injury knowing that the thrilling space heroics are nothing compared to what last week really was. Like I said, it was what I hoped it would be, a time that will create memories that last a lifetime. The family together in a van, a hotel suite, a lookout point, or gathered together for a photo. All of that was better than any fiction I could ever compose. Reality, sprained foot and all, at its best.

Is this a healthy hobby?

     It’s not enough to say “it could be worse”… that I could have worse hobbies. I could also be a worse person, the fact that I’m not doesn’t improve my character. I am defined by who I am, not what I’m not. Sure writing might seem like a harmless hobby, but when I get into what I’m doing, put on my headphones and focus hard on my laptop screen, I am neglecting the rest of the world. That world is the real world. One of my biggest problems, even from far back in my childhood is my coping mechanism is to escape from the real world into creations of my own.  

     So while I might say that “at least my hobby keeps me at home”, it doesn’t really. I can’t say “at least I’m not out on the golf course or bowling every weekend”. If I was doing that, I might be interacting with real people. That could be preferable to sitting at home with Rhapsody Music Service turned way up in my head, banging away at my keyboard about imaginary things of my own creation. Call it escape, denial, idolatry, anything but a healthy way to spend time, and you could be right.

     Thanksgiving evening after sleeping off a big noonday meal I sat down at my laptop and stuck in my earbuds. I thought I could finish my November novel that evening. At one point, I was aware of my son, Jamie standing close to me. I resisted the urge to wave him away like a mosquito, even though I still shuddered in annoyance. Jamie asked if I wanted to go sit in the living room and watch a movie. Which movie? One I didn’t care for. That made it easy to say no. I probably wouldn’t have watched anything, but because I really don’t like that movie there was no conflict in saying no. Prajna questioned me, didn’t I want to come watch it with the family?

No, I hate that movie.  

You haven’t even seen it.

I’ve seen most of it. I don’t like that actor in anything.  

I went back to my writing. I was thrilled to finally be at a good part of the story. For weeks, I had trudged through the middle of what I had hoped would be a good novel. The beginning was good and I knew how it would end. The middle had been rather dull. Now I was finally at the end. I was writing out the culmination of the story, it was all coming together, the story I had been thinking about for almost a year. The ending that I had been thinking about for months was finally happening. The climax happened. I wrote the last few sentences and exhaled in a thrill of relief. The ending was as good as I had hoped. I would work the next day on a short scene of falling action, a sort of epilogue, but the story was done. I felt high.

Then the evening went downhill. The movie ended at about the same time that I was done writing. The younger boys were squabbling and I was having a hard time stepping back into the real world where my family lived. I ended up upsetting people. Finally Prajna let me know that I had hurt her feelings by not watching the movie. That had been family time. We were together as a family, it was Thanksgiving and everyone had been watching a movie together, minus me.

I was incredulous. That, watching a lame movie, was family time?

Yes, it was. And I had skipped out on it. Regardless of how much I wanted to write, I had hurt other people’s feelings choosing to not be with them. It wouldn’t have killed me to sit and watch the movie. And it would have been spending time with the family.

I felt ashamed and let down after learning that. I was ashamed of myself for neglecting my family and I felt let down for having something I had looked forward to for so long finally come, but at a price.

So this year I learned something unexpected about writing and National Novel Writing Month. I already knew that family should come first, but I learned that I need to actively look for how to prove I believe that.

 I wrote the epilogue to Sidewinder the next morning and validated the novel. It was a bittersweet victory. I had put more into the novel than I should have. Now that it’s done, I want to keep working on it. It is indeed a good story. For now, it has a good beginning, a dull middle and a great ending. If the novel was a sandwich, it would be on a fresh toasted ciabatta bun, or maybe even French toast, but the middle would be a broiled chicken breast that was rather dry. I need to go back to work on it. The middle needs seasoning, some gristle cut away and definitely some spicy sauce or something. But it can work. It can be a good story. What it can’t be is a hindrance to being a good husband and dad.

I was going to go back to work on my memoir after November. The thing is, Sidewinder was a lot more fun. Sometimes any writing in the winter is an achievement. But it’s not really the writing that’s tough, it’s keeping my head above the murk of despair and pressing on.

In truth, nothing is easy sometimes, not even the stuff I love to do. Am I going to go for it anyway? I can’t write my novel at the cost to anyone else. That means I need to get up early if I want to write and do it all before people are up. Most days in November I was up at 4:45. Can I still do that? We’ll see what happens. At least today I blogged. More blog posts call, so does Sidewinder, so does the memoir. I’ll keep you posted.

Welcome to the World, Kid

     I’ve cut 6 umbilical cords in my life. 5 times I’ve done it with scissors, once with a scalpel. The first time I did it, I said 5 words that were easy enough to remember so it’s what I said each time after. I fell into a habit. “Welcome to the world, kid” is pretty informal. But I was tired the first time. I didn’t have time to think much. I just kept saying it. Maybe if I thought about it I would have said something else.

There is comfort in knowing what to do and expect. In the first years of your life that’s how it should be. In your first few months when you have a need, it should get met soon. When you’re hungry you get fed. When you’re uncomfortable you get changed. As the months go by, you might begin to learn that your needs are not always met right away. That’s part of growing up. There is a lot to learn about growing up. It might start with the first time you are hungry and not fed right away.

Those tiny memories fade to the back as new experiences fill your growing mind. New tastes are everywhere as you explore with your mouth. Some things taste good and some not so good. You may learn that taste is just like the rest of the world. Some new things to see and hear are nice and some are not. The same goes with faces peering down at you. You might not know why you don’t like some of them and why you feel some are nice. It’s okay. Your mind is growing and learning.

And one day you will learn the devastating truth that you are not the center of the world. It won’t dawn on you all at once. It may take a long, long time to realize that the big people in your life have other lives too. These other lives don’t have you as a part of them. There are big other lives of big people with work and meetings and big people talking on telephones. There are the long legs of big people standing around talking about things that are not about you and things you don’t even understand and you’re left to stand and look up and listen to big people and big words.

You slowly realize that there is a big world besides your own. It’s the whole wide world out there. It has loud things, barking dogs and rushing traffic. There are things you mustn’t touch and places you cannot run. Is everything out in the world bad? Will that clap of thunder hurt you? Can the wind blow you away? Is that man on the street with the cigarette and the scowl a bad man? Why do the bugs die when you step on them? Where did the cat go when he didn’t come home anymore? When Mommy or Daddy go, will they come back?

So hold someone’s hand when you’re scared, when you cross the street and when the wind blows so hard that you’re afraid. It’s okay to cover your ears when the noises get to loud. It doesn’t make the noise go away does it? But isn’t it nice to make the sound not so loud?

There, you see? You are learning a little about controlling the world around you. You can make it a little quieter. You can begin to pick and choose things. And then you are entering into a time in your life where you explore, not only your world, but your boundaries. How far can you go? How much is too much? What can you do and still be loved? It’s a time of learning, and it’s a time of frustration. Why can’t you eat all the toothpaste? Why can’t you walk to the ocean? Why can’t you hit? Why do you have to be nice?

And this difficult time won’t last. One day you will remember how good it feels to make people happy. One day you will want them to be friends, not just so they can like you, but because you now know that they need friends just like you. You will start to think about other people’s needs and feelings. And you will like knowing that you are helping others to be happy.

All your life so far, you will have felt love. It has grown from the day you were born when you felt loving hands on you and you loved the feel of your needs being met. Later, you loved seeing people you knew and doing things you liked. You loved affection and you loved to give it.

And eventually you learned to love in a new way. It is a love where you don’t just want what’s best for you, but what’s best for others, for the people you love. Sometimes that means you don’t get what you want, and it’s okay.

And all along from the day you were born and never stopping, you were made to be loved. You will be loved by your family, friends your creator. God made you for a reason. That reason is that He loves you very much. You will learn more about this as you grow. You will never stop learning about Him and His love.

But for now, sleep. Rest and grow. There is nothing in the big scary world right now that you need to know about. There are just two things in your world right now, growing and being loved. Welcome to the world, kid.

Being a Dad

     “Kid’s are great,” Cliffy said to me. He was the program director at the radio station I worked at. I was still reeling from the news that Prajna was pregnant and we had been married only a month. I didn’t know how I wanted to feel about having kids so soon. I thought it might be nice to have some time to just be a couple for awhile. But as I spread the news about our little bundle of news, all I got was congratulations. No-one would sympathize with me? Hey, I was still a kid. I just turned 26. I wasn’t ready for kids.

     But I just kept getting happy remarks. Cliffy told me don’t bounce a naked baby on your belly ‘cause you might get crapped on. But kids were great, even if they do spoil your new blue shirt.

     Did I want a kid? I guess I was going to have one whether I wanted it or not. I did get people telling me scary stories, usually involving noise, tears, or other things that come out of babies. How many diapers a day? I heard the words “…what you have to look forward to…” plenty of times. Yeah, we were going to have a baby. We wanted a family, so I accepted it. We were having a baby. This is how it would be.

     But it wasn’t. I don’t know when or how it finally dawned on me like a sunrise after a long cold night. But this is what I didn’t get for the longest time. It wasn’t about having a baby, getting a kid. It was this: I was now a dad.

     My wife getting pregnant was not about getting a kid added to my family. It was about me transforming more into the man God intended me to be. I was a dad. I am a dad.

     Being a dad means changing diapers. You will get gross stuff on you. Not to fret, it’s not as toxic as a lot of things people put into their bodies nowadays.

     Being a dad means being a target of the rage of a child. I once heard a little girl, enraged at her parents in church, whisper: “I don’t love you!” She was mostly a sweet girl who obviously was raised with lots of love to be able to hurl such a statement. Kids say what they feel at the moment, not what they might feel later.

     Being a dad means it’s no longer about you. It’s about the family with you as a part of it. And the sacrifices that are worth it? They feel the best in the end.

     Being a dad means being a role model. Whether I like it or not, my children are watching and learning, growing and imitating. I see the dry wit in more than one of my children flourishing. I also see negative character traits they’ve picked up from me.

     I am constantly trying to strengthen my relationship with God. As I do this more, I am becoming more encouraged at the underlying theme I can’t escape from in God’s Words. God loves his children. If that is modeled to me, I can do two things.

First, I can love my children the same way God loves me. It’s a love that I will never lose. I can distance myself from God (and I have) to the point where I don’t feel that love anymore. But it was always there. There was and is nothing I could do to make God stop loving me, I want my children to feel the same thing from me.

Second, I can model that love to them. I can’t control what the world will someday do to shape the lives of my children. But I want to model in them the love that they will have for their children someday. This, I do want them to learn from me.

I’ve been a dad for 20 years now and I’m still learning. There is joy in discovery as well as some anguish and pain. I have 5 living children and one gone home to be with The Lord. I won’t say waiting for me in heaven. She had her earthly fill of waiting in hospitals and is probably keeping busy.

Of my 5 children here with me, I am astounded and proud of them all. The talent, integrity, and love I see tells me that God must have a hand in the outcome as well as me. 20 years ago I was a nervous wreck about having a baby. And now I’m sure I was put on this earth to be a dad.

 

1 month-old Jamie spits up on me and Naomi can't believe Prajna wants a picture of it

The Best in the World

     I sure saw a lot of best dads in the world praised on Facebook yesterday.  Maybe it’s a guy thing, or a perceived guy thing, but I don’t remember a lot of that kind of comparisons on Mother’s Day.  Maybe people didn’t want to offend other moms or maybe they knew that their mom was the best but didn’t feel the need to crow about it.  If seems like Father’s Day is when the comparatives and superlatives are flaunted. 

     I’ve never been that competitive.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I’m humble.  If I was I wouldn’t post this every week.  But I don’t usually feel the need to one-up others or compete for a winning status.  If could be self-esteem issues.  I don’t even like playing checkers, much less with my son because he beats me nearly every time.  But it could also be that I just grew up that way.

     When I was very young one evening I was having trouble sleeping.  When my dad checked on me I told him that the traffic in the street was making too much noise and to do something.  There comes a time in a young man’s life when he learns his dad can’t do everything.  That evening, my dad told me that he couldn’t go out in the road and make the cars be quiet.  It wasn’t until right then that I even considered that.  Of course he couldn’t.  I don’t think that was a particularly courageous statement admitting such a limitation.  I think that is what most dads would have said.  But it still stuck with me. 

     For most of my childhood, my dad served two churches.  He kept busy with meetings, visitations and church related things.  But I never felt neglected.  If he needed to drive to the hospital for visiting, he would oftentimes take me along.  He made himself available for Cub Scout projects.  

     Sometimes he had meetings off-island.  He even needed to fly to the U.S. Mainland at least once a year.  And he telephoned and wrote postcards.  I still remember talking on the phone with him one day.  He told me how they had had scrambled eggs every morning for breakfast.  Just before I handed the phone off he told me: “Hey, I’ve been bragging about you.”  I will never forget that.

     Today I’m a dad.  One of the things most important to me is spending time with my kids.  If I need to run errands I rarely go alone.  I do like my alone time and try to indulge myself there when I can.  But most times it just feels right to have one or more of my kids with me, even just for a quick trip to the store.  It just feels right, as if it was modeled to me and made into who I am today.  

     I think I understand a little of the “World’s Best Dad” attitude when I consider it enough.  In my world, there were other influences that could have shaped me.  But someone in my world instilled in me some solid values about loving one’s children and being there for them.  I did have, in my world, the world’s best dad.