manmail

Not lead, LEAD. I am not talking about that heavy metal (pb) lead here.

Lead: as in led, lead, leader, leadership. That’s it.

Becoming a worthy leader to my kids is just about the hardest part of being a dad. I did not read the fine print in the Fatherhood contract well enough when we decided to batter egg with seed. Had I known, we might have had 4 fewer kids. Who knows.

My two older teenagers like to ride dirtbikes with me. We don’t do it often enough, unfortunately.

Here in southern California, we have vast tracts of open desert for us to ride in. It is not hard at all to cover dozens, if not more than a hundred miles of trails in an afternoon. The potential for getting totally lost is very real. Also, the possibility of having a wreck that disables one of the bikes or a rider is always on my mind. Being stranded dozens of miles from a road is no fun. Getting into trouble can happen in an instant: getting out can take days if one is that kind of unlucky.

Now I have been riding since before I could legally drive, so I have enough experience to keep the shiny side up most of the time. And I have been lost in the desert and have had to spend the night away from camp, waiting for daybreak. Turns out I am no good at navigating by the stars. I now know to carry a little emergency kit that has some essential survival tools anytime I go out.

When we ride together, I usually take the lead, which is fine with me ’cause I hate eating dust. But there are inherent dangers and distractions in being the lead guy. The leader runs over the snakes. He finds the half buried barb wire. He finds the unexpected ravine or open mineshaft. He discovers the big rock behind the little bush in the trail. The leader is the one constantly looking up and out for landmarks. The leader is the one constantly looking back to make sure everyone is still rightside up and close by. He must judge the skills of the other riders and not ride so fast as to cause the slowest rider to exceed his ability. Yet, to keep it fun, the leader needs to maintain a speed that keeps everyone challenged. The leader keeps his eye out for fun detours like steep hillclimbs or deep sandy washes that will induce pride in the riders once conquered. The leader’s gotta keep tabs on everyone’s fuel. A good leader, though he could do it, does not outrun his posse.

A good leader gives the boys confidence to ride faster and better than they could have if they were by themselves. Because he is really taking most of the risks for them. The bad stuff happens to the guy in the lead: the followers get to watch and laugh at his misfortune. All the boys need to do is keep upright and look to Dad for clues as to what is coming up on the trail. If they see me stand up real tall on the pegs, they know I am probably looking for the bottom of a ditch or ravine I am about to drop into. They know to slow down and see if dad comes out okay at the other end. I give them hand signals to indicate if they should go left or right, or slow way down. Basically, they have confidence that I will keep them moving at a safe, but challenging pace.

Their fun is magnified because the risks are minimized. I provide cover for their lack of experience.

Sometimes, one of the boys says, “I wanna lead for a while.” And I always let them. ‘Course they are only out front- Dad is still doing all the other work of navigation and keeping everyone together. But the point is that he feels like the leader. Nevermind that he forgot to look up or back for 15 minutes. He feels good that he just stayed upright while in the leadership position. We don’t ride nearly as fast, or take as many fun detours as when dad leads, but that is okay. We never get lost, but sometimes we discover new ways of getting home.

I can tell the boys how to ride, but they learn best while following. Case in point: My second oldest, the gazelle (called that for how he runs on the soccer field.), wanted to lead for awhile. I noted to him that the road we were riding on was hard packed and covered with loose sand. Very slippery in the corners, requiring a particular style of riding. Brake early, steady in the turns, forward on the seat, and accelerate out of the corners. I reminded him to keep his weight on the inside foot (which is quite counter-intuitive).

You probably guessed what happened. He launched, he rode for 30 seconds, he crashed. Hard. In the first sharp turn.

See, I told him what to do, but he just got lost in the moment and forgot my instructions. He wanted to be the leader, but hadn’t followed long enough so that his body knew instinctively how to handle the situation. His body limped for a few weeks after that episode.

Now, I am thinking of leadership at home. I tell my kids so much, hoping they will stay on the straight and narrow path. But where they learn their best lessons is when they see leadership modeled.

Let’s take lying for example.

We work hard to reinforce that lying is always wrong.

But sometimes I really don’t mean it. At least as far as my kids can see.

Let’s say you spot Pastor O’Flaherty coming up the front walk. Pastor is really a nice fellow but he stays until your eyelids droop, or you run out of beer. Whichever comes first. And tonight is poker night, so you are well stocked in the fridge.

“Honey”, you say to your 5-year old, “Why don’t you run to the front door and tell the nice Pastor that daddy is not feeling too well today and would Pastor mind coming back next week. I will be in the bathroom throwing up if he asks.”

Honey learns that convenience trumps ethics.

Or, let’s say you are a tightwad like me and buy most everything used. You have undoubtedly had to fill out the bill of sale for the DMV and must decide what to place in the “value” box. Last time I bought a used vehicle, the seller made it real easy. “How much do you want me say that you paid?” she asked. Open invitation to save a little on taxes. The boys were standing with us. “You write exactly what I paid”, I told her.

Junior learns that integrity is not free of charge.

I bought a remanufactured alternator from our local Kragen, which failed after the second day. So I decided to just bite the bullet and get a brand new one from Ford and return the broken one to Kragen. Through a complicated chain of events, the moron assistant manager would not give me the money back for the original alternator core, so I was out 60 bucks or so. He refunded the money for the broken new alternator, and my oldest son and I left the store in a huff, never counting the money. We were fuming that we felt ripped off and he had wasted hours of our time. Not to mention the hassle that his faulty alternator had caused us.

So as we are getting into my truck I decide to count the refund money, figuring he would have screwed it up. Turns out he did. In our favor. By $58.00. I looked at my son, incredulous. “It will take that moron hours to figure out how to credit this back if we take this money back” I said.

“Doing the right thing is going to cost us another hour across the counter with that idiot, Dad.”

And without skipping a beat, he says, “Let’s go back inside and do the right thing.”

Dad was tempted to give in on this one. Junior held the line. I thanked him later for not flinching at wanting to do the right thing. And I confessed that I didn’t want to do it, but I was so proud that he did.

Fatherhood is about living in a fishbowl. Our children watch us all the time and from every angle.

Right now, I am thinking ahead to my boys’ Fathers Days many years in the future. Thinking about what their kids will think of them. Hoping that my grandkids will be proud of my sons-their dads.

And reminding myself that I am teaching them how to lead, once it becomes their turn, with their kids.

• Have my lessons been repeated enough times?
• Do they have a clear idea of  ”what would dad say or do” ?
• Have I given them ample opportunities to become leaders themselves?
• Have I let them fail a little bit?
• Have I let them see how I admit to my failures?
• Do I praise them for the right and ethical decisions they make?

This Father’s Day- Let’s commit to make it not a day merely of ties and cologne- Let’s dedicate it to the future fathers of America (or whatever country you live in). Let’s  give forward to the next generation of dads, whether they are your sons or the husbands of your daughters. Let’s make this Father’s Day a day of rededicating ourselves to leading our children by word and deed.

Blessings

Technorati Tags: fatherhood, leadership

I have an issue boiling in my head and I need your comments to help sort it out.

I know that this blog has only been going for less than a month, which means that I need the few who read to man up and respond with a comment (or two).

I’ll tell you the issue after I get some responses. (HINT: Is being a fun daddy primarily what fatherhood is all about? Or is there a higher call upon us dads?)

My first question is this: Define or describe a Father’s love in your own words, or as related through a particularly poignant experience. Do you call upon feelings or actions: or a mix of the two? Is the Dad’s love different than the Mom’s? Consider how or from whom you learned what fatherly love is.

My second question is: What would you do for the love of your child(ren)? I am not asking what you would do to earn their love: I am asking what does your love motivate you to do? This question is asking how far out of your comfort zone are you willing to go. What would you risk? What would you sacrifice (don’t limit your thoughts to money: think status, rules, respect…)? Is there anything that is “off the bargaining table” when it comes to fathering? Bonus Points for examples of what you have done.

And please don’t bother if you are just going to say “A good dad would DO ANYTHING for his kids”. That is trite and just not true. We all have our limits, and LIMITS is a part of what I am trying to get at through this post. Tell me how far over the line you have gone. Has anyone taken a bullet . . . gone to prison . . . sacrificed a belief system . . .emptied their savings . . .?

Have a look Here if you would like some inspiration.

Blessings

Technorati Tags: fatherhood, survey

Looking backward is sometimes the only way to give us the courage to move forward. Consider taking your family of young children on a long journey to Grandma’s house in a far away state. After going only a hundred miles, the 3 potty stops, 15 choruses of “When do we get there?”, 27 cries of “He pinched me”, 2 flaming tantrums, and having to turn around once to retrieve the teddy bear that accidentally jumped out the window might cause a sane parent to want to abort the journey.

It is these times, when the journey ahead seems impossible, that a look in the rear view mirror is essential. Taking stock of just how far we have come, instead of focusing on how difficult the rest of the trip seems is a critical survival skill for every parent. If a young parent makes the false assumption that the “terrible twos” is indicative of the remaining 16 to 20 years of parenting, they are bound to be hopelessly discouraged.

Sleepless nights, sexless weeks or months, no time for the old friends, no time for self anymore, feeling enslaved to this diaper-clad human whom you love desperately but secretly sometimes resent, the “new car smell” being displaced by Eau du vomit: These drive us all to the brink of hopelessness and despair. You are not alone. You are a parent.

So here is my Rear View Mirror story. I hope that by looking back with me, you will gain at least a little encouragement to press on.

Today: You will see a  seemingly well adjusted 19 year old young man who:

• Earns good grades at University. He is a Junior and is working toward his degree in Engineering.
• Works full time every summer. With his earnings he bought his first used car, with cash, at 17. Last summer he traded in the car and got a loan for his first nearly-new pickup truck. With his summer earnings saved, he makes the monthly payments by himself out of his savings account.
• Volunteers 4 hours each week to tutor kids in math and English through a community outreach program at our church.
• Cheerfully tutors his younger brother with the math problems that his teacher can’t explain.
• Bakes cookies with his 7 year old little brother.
• Occasionally buys his Mom flowers.
• Talks openly about sexual purity with his parents and his girlfriend and her parents.
• Is willing to tell friends (or friends’ parents) “No, that kind of movie is unacceptable: let’s watch something else or find something else to do together.”
• Will take on any task that you say can’t be done.

Growing up: You would have seen parents who were praying for the very soul of this miniature terrorist. We literally said to ourselves many times, “This kid is either going to prison or is going to become successful. Prison looks most likely.” Following are a few low-points in our journey to adulthood:

• When he was about 14, his insolence seemed incurable. We began looking into military schools for him. We were seeing so much disrespect and disregard for others, we seriously feared for him. He got the picture and straightened up somewhat when he saw how serious we were about sending him away.
• I was working out of state during part of his 13th year and disrespect for his Mom was a huge issue. I guess he thought he was the man of the house since I wasn’t there most of the time. He was actually bossing my wife around and worse. Let’s just say that one of my few weekends at home was spent entirely devoted to teaching this boy how men defend the honor of their wife. He learned that this woman was first my wife and second his mother. We agreed that any other man who treated MY Wife so poorly would be asked to leave our home, and if said man persisted in abusing my wife he could expect a sound thrashing. Sounds radical, I know; just saying how desperate things were. He saw a very serious side to his dad that weekend and has forever treated my wife much more respectfully.
• For about a year we had to forgo restaurants because of the embarrassing ruckus he would invariably stir up. I will tell you just one of our many restaurant stories here: We were on vacation with the wife’s family at their mountain cabin. Her Grandparents were there, too, and they wanted to take us all out to a nice luncheon at a fancy waterside restaurant one day. We knew the boy was going to ruin the experience for us all, but couldn’t gracefully refuse the invitation. So we went. Prior to walking into the restaurant, I took little Matthew aside and explained how I expected him to behave in a way that a 3 year old mind could understand. We had had this talk numerous times before. I explained again the consequences for throwing silverware, shouting “NO!”, screaming anything, throwing food, hitting the waiter, banging the dishes, intentionally overturning glasses, using a spoon as a catapult, pinching his brother, saying nasty things to anyone (and we went through the list of nasty things he has said to others already and gotten in trouble for).  We then proceed in to where everyone is by now seated. Before I even sit down, he starts throwing a fit about sitting in the booster seat. Screaming. So while everyone else is ordering their food, we are having another “talk”outside. We return to the table and peace reigns for five minutes. Then a water glass is tossed. Outside again, this time for a spanking. Tears, hugs, reminder that Dad loves Matthew but he may not act this way. We hold hands and explore around the place for a few minutes. Then back inside. The food has has arrived by now. He doesn’t like what he is served because he didn’t get to select it himself, due to the fact that he was outside with Dad. PB&J gets thrown toward Grandma. Back outside for another round of spank, hug, “love you too much to let you act this way”.  Back inside. By now, the other patrons are enjoying our comings and goings. And we weren’t done yet. Another fit was thrown about sitting in the “little boy seat”. Another march outside, for another round of talk, spanking, hug, reminder that I love him, hold hands and explore some more. Back inside, and by now he is really hungry and so am I. We sit down and saltine crackers seem to be appeasing him. Grandpa tries to engage Matthew in a little conversation. Mistake. Matthew sasses back with some 3 year-old smack. Back outside we go, and by now you know the routine. In the end, I never touched my meal. For two hours we went back and forth. As we were walking back to the car, Grandpa said “You are doing the right thing. Keep it up and it will pay off eventually.” I needed eventually to be real soon.
• This is the kid who never met a carseat he couldn’t escape. A 20 minute trip across town was easily doubled due to needing to stop along the road to put him back in the seat. And yes, my wife once got pulled over by a cop when he saw the boy crawling out of the carseat.
• Carseat gymnastics: When in close proximity to any carseat, he would arch his back, stiffen his limbs, thrash about wildly, scream “No Mommy!”, and throw anything at hand. Putting him the seat was like putting a cat in the shower.
• After being sent to his room (I think he was about 7) I walked in quietly to talk to him about what he had done to earn his time out in his room. Apparently he didn’t hear me walk in as he was muttering under his breath and was tracing some letters in the carpeting. He quickly brushed with his hand over what he had been spelling, but I had already seen. “What were you writing there, Matthew? Please tell me  what A-S-S means. . .”
• One Sunday morning, Matthew had pushed one of his Little Tykes chairs from his room into the kitchen so he could get up on the counter to spill some milk or explore the garbage disposal or maybe just play with knives- I really don’t remember exactly. His mom asked him to push the chair back to his room before we left for church. This was a trip of maybe 15 adult size paces. He got it moved out of the kitchen, but would go no further. ‘Matthew, didn’t Mom ask you to put that chair away? Please do as you were asked.” He ran off to play elsewhere, ignoring me. A threat got him back to the chair, which he promptly moved 1 foot toward his room, then looked up defiantly at me. “Finish doing what Mom asked you to do.” Six more inches were gained, then arms were crossed across his chest. He was done. We were late for church. “Why don’t we just finish this after we get home from church?” his Mom pleaded because she knew where this battle was going to get us. “We will go after Matthew completes the task you asked him to do. Matthew, push the chair to your room.” He refused, and got a spank, which motivated him to push the chair 1 foot closer to his room. Arms crossed again, bitter scowl worn on his face. “Obey or get another spank.” No motion from the 3 foot tall emperor. A spank, this time a little harder. “That didn’t hurt” he said with welling eyes. That little guy was in a battle for control over his life and he was determined to win that day. We never made it to church. Matthew pushed that chair all the way to his room, 6 inches at a time with a spank at every pause of rebelliousness. His mom cried through the whole affair, not because she was mad at me for sticking to my guns, but because the process of bending an iron will is painful to be a part of. I think it took us the better part of an hour. We all spent a long time hugging and crying together once he got the chair put away. We told him how proud we were that he finally obeyed. We reminded him of our love for him. In the end Matthew did win the day, but not how he had hoped at the time. He won because we were willing to win over his will. He was the winner each time he learned how to gain control over himself.

Raising children is a difficult, wonderful, amazing job. Some of you reading this can totally relate to what we went through with our “strong willed child”. Some of you are completely baffled by this because your kids are more compliant. We have a couple of kids like that, too.

Raising kids has its bleak moments, for sure. I want to encourage you that those bleak moments are just that- moments. From the vantage of my rear-view mirror, the bad times are outnumbered by the fun times by 100 to 1. I see mostly the camping trips and game nights and nights spent staying up late talking and soccer games much clearer than the few rough patches. And that is important for us all to remember: The rough patches of life together pass quickly. Don’t let their immediacy rob you of the joy of parenting. The bleak moments soon pass and become a part of the quilt of your family.

I guess I just wanted to say “Hang in there”. The normal challenges of being a good dad are what draw us closer to our kids and our kids closer to us. When our kids see Dad commited to doing what is right and best for them despite the cost, they grow in confidence is us. They need to have confidence that our word is gold, even if that confidence is grown through tough discipline. Kids need to see us stick with it even when they choose to defy us. These are the seeds of trust, sown throughout the formative years and harvested when our little guys and girls grow up big. Hang in there, discipline wisely, and your kids will someday consider you as their best friend.

Blessings

Technorati Tags: discipline, fatherhood

Be forewarned if you ever come to dinner at the Postmaster house you are likely to get schooled. At the very least entertained. Possibly shocked. The following took place  recently at the dinner table:

Our 17 year old son was filling us all in about his plans to go play ice soccer with the high school youth group. He plays AYSO soccer on a grass field, so I wondered aloud what ice had to do with soccer. “We will be playing indoors at the ice rink” he mentioned casually. Pass the bread please. “Will there be girls there?”,I query. “Yea Dad, everyone in the church group is invited, girls too”.

“Girls are going to get out on the ice and crash into boys on purpose ?”

No further explanation is apparently coming from my usually tight-lipped son. Friendly he is, but sparse of words. “Butter?”

I press on:”I have played broom-hockey at the rink, but never ice-soccer: Are you sure about what’s going on?”

“Sure I’m sure. Actually, some girl broke her wrist last time we played. It’s fun.”   Nice.

By now the mother hen antennae are focused tightly on our conversation. She seems to be flashing THE LOOK my direction. THE LOOK can mean many things depending on the situation, but it is sure to evoke the flight-or-flight response in me.  After a brief mental Chinese fire drill I (rightly) guess that the Mom has done a quick sum: testosterone+girl sweaters+feats of athletic stupidity+broken bones=Dad you better do something about this. Now. “Uhhhhhhhhh . . .”

Did I mention that the antennae double as a death ray?

“Maybe you ought to wear some really thick clothes to protect yourself. Try my hunting jacket. And see if you can put a pillow in your pants to protect your butt.”  I knew it was totally not the advice the mother was expecting from me but, hey, it did sound like fun and she knows that THE LOOK addles my brain . . .

I hear the unmistakable sound of the death-ray warmup.

His older brother, ever alert to an instigation opportunity pipes in (saving his dad’s butt); “Maybe you ought to put that pillow in the front of your pants. To protect your package”.

Howls of  laughter spew from Ryan, our 7 year old. Just saying the word package brings joy to his life. “Package!!! BwaHaaHaaaaa Haaaaaaa!” Bright eyes await whatever comment will follow. He knows boy-instinctively that this conversation is going in the toilet and he’s ready to jump in.

“Your brother is right about the pillow in front. Might want to see if it would wrap all the way underneath to protect the jewels in case you do the splits on the ice”, I add.

The daughter, poor thing, just smiles demurely but takes it all in. Having 3 brothers has got to be a warping factor in her life. We pray for her.

Putting her death ray away and hoping to somehow mitigate the onslaught of genitalia jokes that is visibly building up around the table, the Mom chimes in with, “Michael maybe you could borrow one of dad’s jockstraps from when he had his vasectomy. Wouldn’t that help protect things?” 

Silence fell upon the dinner table at that moment. Not because Mom spoke of my fixin’. No, my package has been the topic of conversation ever since the fix got done earlier this year. Nothing hidden here- everyone knows what was done and why. (Still, months later, the boys will inquire, “How’s it healin’, Dad?”). Silence fell because mom said jockstrap. It is a funny word of itself, but misused it caused pause.

“Perhaps you mean cup ?”  “Besides, men wouldn’t share a strap. That’s just wrong. Would you borrow a bra  from another lady?“  “More iced tea?”

The dam broke. In less than a minute we had mentioned most of the funnest human body parts.  One thing that ladies need to understand is that boys and men like to talk about our junk. It’s just fun and we never outgrow it. We think it is an endearing trait.

 The boys got on a roll . . .

“A cup????  I need a bowl !!!” “Wouldn’t that be so funny  to show up at the rink with a bucket in the front of your pants !?” “Yea and the girls could wear buckets on their chests to protect those !”

This silliness went on for a bit of time until we had pretty much said all of the “clean” euphamisms for reproductive parts and pieces. Then one of us said “Wouldn’t it be great if we could just take our package off before we did some sport that might damage it?”

“Great idea! Just click it off and put it in a drawer. Go play your baseball or wresting. Click it back on when your done. Might make it easier to keep clean, too.”

“I don’t know how you guys put up with that stuff flopping around when you walk or run. It seems so uncomfortable.”

“What if someone stole it while you were gone?”

“I suppose you could go to the package store and buy a replacement.”

“Would I be able to choose the size?”

“Sure . . . There would be: small, medium, large and extra-large.”

“What guy is going to ask for anything but XXL?”

“Good point. XXL would soon become new small”. “Would breasts be detachable, too?” The wife chimed in.

“Absolutely. When they get a little saggy you could just trade them in for something firmer.”

 ”What size should I trade mine in for? I am a little lower than when we first married . . .” (An obvious test).

“Keep the ones you got. They’ve been good to me.” (Test passed).

“I would go smaller.”

The Mom gets a bright idea: “Maybe you guys could leave your parts at home when you go out on dates. You know, just click ‘em off and hand them over to your parents as you leave. Wouldn’t that make staying out of trouble a lot easier?”

“That might be a bit awkward, Mom. I just can’t see me handing  my johnson to you before I go on a date. That would just be not right.”

“As not right as becoming a dad before you are ready? Seriously, those parts of yours get kids into so much trouble. I wish they really were detachable. I would give them to your spouse as a wedding present right after you “kiss the bride.”

“That would be an interesting ceremony, to say the least.”

“I am liking this idea more and more,” I quip. “ If I were God for a day this is the one thing I would do for humanity. Can’t you see how messed up many of us allow our lives to get just because we can’t maintain control of our urges?”

Anyway, the conversation went on for a bit longer and we did get a chance to throw in another plug for purity. You can’t say it often enough. We might be a little more educated now, too, depending upon how you define it.

I hope this glimpse into the insanity that often prevails at the Postmaster household wasn’t TMI. Truthfully, I am not sure why I shared this, except that it is Friday and I am loosening up for the weekend.

Blessings

Technorati Tags: communication, fatherhood, goofiness