Where to start

I want to write this but I don’t want to come off sounding trite or like some whining kid who thinks most of his problems in life are because he didn’t have a good relationship with his dad. There’s a line in a song by a band that I like that says, “I cannot blame this on my father, he did the best he could for me”. I truly believe that, I believe that my dad did the best he could for me.

I guess I start this from that standpoint, because my dad was and is a good man. He worked extremely hard, working insane hours and enduring being gone for a great deal of holidays, just to put food on the table for a family of six. Funny thing is that I don’t recall any of us ever complaining too much about not having enough to eat, or having clothes to wear or having games to play or having a bike to ride and so on. We lived fortunate lives. Maybe not spoiled lives like some kids I knew but we were blessed, trust me.

Looking back I can remember times that my dad was there, like soccer games, a bike race and even one of my high school cross country meets. I don’t think this is about whether or not he was there for all my sporting events, or for my boy choir events or anything like that. When I look back, I know dad was there for vacations, camping trips and the occasional Mickey D’s outing. But the thing I don’t remember is ever having a relationship. My dad and I have never really talked; about anything.

I suppose, that if I could pick one thing that I wish was different in my life it would be the relationship with my dad. I feel like I’ve made a few attempts but I never know where to start and I just end up looking more like a stalker than a son who’s reaching out for something. It seems like a fine line between needy and honestly wanting to know my dad better, but I have to remember that he probably never really had that with his dad. His dad was kind of a hard man who didn’t seem like he ever wanted a relationship with anybody. Those were different times back then to be sure and I certainly understand the psychology of the era. But with all that said, it does nothing to dampen my desire to share with my dad about what’s going on in my life and to know more about his childhood and his life.

Here are some sad facts to share with you that you may find unfortunate but you may also find relative to your own situation. I am unsure of where my dad was born. I am unsure of how my dad came to live in Edmonds and therefore attend Edmonds High School, which is where I went to school. I have a very light understanding of how my dad met my mom. I really have no idea what my dad was like as a kid, or as a teenager, or even as a young adult. I know he served in the Navy during the Vietnam War and most of his time was spent on a ship in the Philippines, but he has never shared about any of that experience. I know that my dad attended church for a while but eventually ran from it. To that end, I know nothing. I don’t know what sports, if any, he played. I don’t know about his dreams. I feel like there is so much to know about who he is and what shaped him growing up but I have no idea how to extract that information. The worst part of this is that my dad is nearing 70 and I’m well aware that my time to learn any of this is running out.

Just sitting here thinking about all of this is hard. I tried to call him today but he didn’t answer. Then he called me back later and I missed it. I tried texting him a little later but nothing. I know he’s home alone right now as his wife is gone on a trip with her daughter, so the moment to chat would be now. I’m hoping to try again tomorrow but we’ll see. Like everyone else, I live a busy life, full of responsibilities and schedules to keep. My mother once told me though, that if I didn’t make the effort to maintain a relationship with my dad, that he certainly wouldn’t and then I would have none. Funny how moms are always right like that.

Geographically, my dad lives nearly 400 miles from us. Relatively speaking, I fear that he and I are worlds apart. Compounding any of this is the fact that I have no one to talk about this with. I have tried talking to friends who have similar experiences to mine, and one thing they have told me is how somewhere along the way they tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to supplant the void with an older man who essentially played the part of a father figure. Ultimately, that desire for fatherly approval doesn’t just go away when we get older. In one respect, I have an amazing relationship with my father-in-law, but he and I are more like brothers than anything else. I have only come across a few older men in my life that could have possibly filled that void and yet, conversation is never something I get out of the deal. Old guys are wise sure, but I would love to have more than just old guy wisdom imparted on me because old guys think that’s their mission in life. Why is that so hard? I long for the chance to just sit and talk to my dad.

When we do talk it usually starts out with the weather, mixes a question or two about work and his health and then finishes out with something innocuous relating to his wife or maybe one of my kids. It’s basic banter, nothing of any real matter, let alone any depth. I have never had a conversation with him about politics or religion or about matters of the heart, or about the past, or about love or anything with any meat. And maybe, that’s my fault. Maybe I just simply need to start talking about the things I want to share and see what happens. I can only speculate about this but I’m fairly certain that he has no idea of how to carry those conversations. I have to go back to how he was raised and believe that his father never talked about any of that.

At the end of the day, this demon feels like something I carry alone. I know that Jesus has promised to carry my burdens and I promise that I have tried countless times to drop this one at His feet but for some reason I keep picking it back up. I’m stubborn, for sure, and while I certainly do not wish to wear this as some freakish badge, I hold on to it tightly none the less. The impact of this has taught me much about the kind of father I wish to be to my kids. Being there for them is one thing but more than anything else I want my kids to know me and be able to talk to me and ask me anything. I have rarely kept anything secret from them with possibly the one exception being this story. The kids know that my dad is still around. They see him once a year at the most and are OK with that. They usually receive something from him for Christmas which helps them remember who he is, but by and large, he is not a part of their lives. There are but a couple pictures of him in our house, including one when he was probably 30 but unlike my mother and my wife’s family, who my kids know extremely well, my dad is on the outskirts, like a part of town that no one visits and few rarely talk about.

What’s hard is that as I re-read this I am struck with this idea that my dad was, and still is, very detached from his kids. My mom and dad split up when I was 20 but my dad seemed to start pulling away when I was about 14. It was almost as if he had completed some sort of duty by seeing me get into high school and at that point, he was free to leave. And when it happened, it was all so subtle. There was no fanfare, no big ugly fight between my parents, my dad and I didn’t come to blows, the cops weren’t involved, etc. To me, it felt like one day he was there and the next he was gone. And for the last 25 years I’ve been trying to figure out how I could have missed the signs, but I’m not sure there were many. Ultimately, my father found nearly all of his identity in his job and nowhere else, which explains his detachment from us kids.

Over the last couple of years I have taken several marriage studies and one of the primary reasons that men and women grow apart in marriages is because women find their identity in their kids and men find their identity in their jobs. When that happens, married couples lose sight of their marriage to each other and nothing binds them any longer. I could carry on but this one point is relevant as it is exactly what tore my parents apart and what also kept my father from being a part of our lives. Dad had a good job and all his friends were there and he spent most of his time there and it must have seemed like mom had it all under control at home so why engage. Even after they split up, dad remained attached to his job because it was where he found solace, companionship and acceptance. If he needed to chat with someone, he did it at work.

Without a conversation, I am left to speculate. I’m sure that most of my estimations are fairly correct but it only leaves me with clinical answers and voids me of any emotions except my own, which are still raw. I could tell you that in time this will all pass but again, it’s been nearly 25 years and it’s harder today than ever before.

I feel a little like I’m rambling right now and before long I will probably go back and edit out a bunch of this, just so I don’t sound so erratic. But maybe getting some of this out and onto paper will help with how I have been feeling over the last several years. This has been building up, to be sure, and I carry some guilt around. Mainly from the perspective of having moved away from the family core, but also from the perspective that I have very physically and emotionally pulled away from my brothers, my sister and their families. I probably need to get some of that out and onto paper as well but this is where I need to start. I just need to investigate this and see where it leads before diving into anything else.

At the end of the day, I want the movie scene finish. I want that 4 minute, sound bite filled conversation where my dad, laying on his death bed, tells me everything. And then with his last breath, he tells me he’s proud of me and loves me. Even as I write that I feel so selfish and suddenly this is all about me. Maybe I knew that all along, that this is just my desire. Maybe my dad is good with how things are. If my dad thinks that this is how a relationship works, he might be completely OK with where we’re at. In which case, maybe I am just a whiner, maybe I’m the one with the issue. 

I have considered all of this so many times and thought it all through. I don’t believe for a second that my dad is OK with how things are but I also believe that he has no idea how to start the conversation. It’s going to take some courage, probably on my part, to jump in with both feet. That’s the hardest part though. In the midst of wanting approval, there is a fear of failure, of rejection, of losing any contact, of complete separation. It’s a scary proposition but the alternative seems even scarier.

To be fair, my dad has reciprocated the “I love you” at the end of a phone call. Granted, that’s new in the last few years but at least there’s something. I remember the first time he said it too and I almost dropped the phone. It’s funny how big of a deal that was to me, and even though he and I don’t talk very often, I greatly appreciate a little thing like that, even if the conversation is not the most scintillating. Part of my problem may also be that I need to accept my dad for who he is, knowing that what I get is what I see, which may be very close to the truth. Living with some sort of fantasy that he is going to want to carry on some kind of deep and meaningful conversation may be ridiculous. It may be the case that this is what I get; a simple man with a big heart who has trouble showing much emotion. A lot of men are like that.

It could also be that I am over thinking all of this, which is something I do. Coming to terms with that thought would be a lot easier if I knew what he was thinking…or not thinking. But in getting this out of my head, I can start to take some steps that I have avoided in the past; namely that of starting some simple conversations that are a little more explorative than our usual chats. Hopefully I don’t come across as intrusive and hopefully I can remember to do everything from the perspective that I truly care to know more, which is the absolute truth.

My dad is really not that complex, which is how most of us are, truly. It’s just that I feel like I know so very little, so the complexities are in the unknown. It seems like there are all these layers and yet what’s really going on is the fact that my dad’s life is like a book with 30 chapters and I’ve only perused 3. Granted, I might be in a few more, but only in name. Because he and I have never really talked, there is an aura of mystery there for me, and perhaps that’s the greatest draw. Perhaps I’m simply pining to read the book.

Recently, upon the advice of a friend, I suggested we move towards a video chat of some kind, like Skype or FaceTime or Google Hangout. Conceptually this is good but it also means asking my dad to figure out the technology side, which can be challenging. His wife is helping with things and hopefully this will be a new chapter for us that would include an opportunity for him to see his grandkids more often and vice versa. I am also hopeful that a face to face conversation will lead to more in depth talks, but I am certainly aware of the idea that the technology may provide unnecessary distractions, including a feeling that our chats are no longer perceived as private.

Ultimately, I’m ready for something different, for sure. I’m ready to learn something more than simple surface data. For some reason, I really doubt that my dad is just a simple man.  Somehow, something tells me that my dad is full of insight, wisdom and knowledge but he has never had an outlet for it other than work. I’m looking forward to some good conversations; I’m looking forward to where we start.

My kids are nuts

This has to be the only explanation as no sane person would walk to the school bus in nineteen degree weather wearing shorts. I love my kids dearly but I’m starting to fear for their ability to think straight. Over the weekend, my youngest had a baseball game. Needless to say, but the wind was up and the chill cut right to the bone.

We sat out there for four and a half hours watching two games, cheering for the team and not moving, because that’s what you do. In an effort to be prepared we may have had three blankets each, plus winter coats, scarves, gloves and beanies; you really have to be ready for these sorts of sporting events in the high desert. My son on the other hand, along with half his team, wore only their jerseys and no under shirts. It wasn’t until the very end before a few of them donned their team sweatshirts. It’s as if my kids have some sort of internal heater that keeps them warm even in the coldest of conditions. It could also be that my kids are crazy.

Regardless of which, what is with the wind around here? I suppose it’s always been this way. Parents and grandparents can probably tell the tale of days gone by that were just as windy, but spending seven hours on a soccer field with forty mile per hour gusts, with a 25 degree wind chill, is not my idea of a normal day in Redmond. I suppose I’ve become expectant to some degree. I know it’s coming, for sure, and yet it surprises me every time.

Just a couple of days ago, we were at a track meet for my oldest and the wind would not stop. I observed scores of other parents who were all playing the patient game and doing their best not to leave early and let their kid figure out how to get home. We paced around waiting for the next event, sighing because it was going to start a little later than originally scheduled. As events would end, kids would make their way over to where most of us stood and it was funny to watch as parents would acknowledge their child’s success but would do so as they were quickly making their way to the car, like little stone statues, waddling along because their knees and hips were frozen. We were no different. The race ended and before my daughter could wander off with her buddies, we had done a happy dance of sorts and were sensing the warmth of the car.

I would tell you that I don’t mind the wind but that wouldn’t be truthful. Honestly, the cold is just fine by me, I can layer up, but the wind is something special. I’ve been thinking for a while now, that we need to build some sort of a wind break, kind of like a big bug deflector, and place it right along Helmholtz. This doesn’t help my friends in Eagle Crest but this is just my way of telling them I wished they lived closer. I’m thinking the deflector could be really tall, so the wind would stay up until past Prineville, letting them know we care about our friends to the east. Although, this hasn’t been scientifically tested, so it might just wipe out everyone from Powell Butte on. I’m thinking this could work. It would at least be interesting to try.

Obviously this wouldn’t cut out the cold but if the wind were gone, the cold would be much more bearable. And then I wouldn’t have to think my kids were completely nuts, maybe just a little weird. I can’t figure out where they get it from.

Being the change.

When I was a kid, probably grade school age, maybe ten or so, I loved playing outside. Every chance I got was like a little vacation from anything inside and I used to wait, sometimes not so patiently, anticipating the moment I would be released to get out there. It was almost as if I was a prisoner of sorts to the indoors and going out was my freedom. And that freedom was viewed the same whether it was snowing, raining, sunny, windy or anything. My friends and I quite literally lived to be outside.

Looking back, I think the number one reason why playing outside was so epic was the lack of rules, regulations and encumbrances placed upon us by our parents and teachers. We were responsible for making the rules for the games we played at recess or after school in the neighborhood. Nary was there a time when an authority figure came around and told us we were climbing trees all wrong, or that our game of man-hunt needed more players or our basketball games should have had a referee. We figured it out, on our own, every time. Sure, there were moments of intensity when one of us didn’t agree with something and it usually boiled down to some yelling but in the end, we all came back to play the next day.

Most of us can place a dot on the time line of our lives when we stopped living for the sheer joy of playing outside every day. Few people make a living out of playing outdoors and most of those positions still involve some level of responsibility. This is not meant to be a moment to look back in regret, however. It should be a fond moment of recollection where upon we evoke powerful memories, ones filled with laughter and care free smiles. More importantly, this could be your opportunity to assess your current place in life and make a change or two.

I’ve talked about change before on a few levels and have noted the power that change can have when it means more than just some trite slogan. This is not meant to be slanderous but the truth is that very few people change their every day routines without a major shake up. Modifying behavior is serious business but a quick check of the material found in the check out line at the grocery store would suggest that anyone can do it. And while it is true that anyone can do it, statistically very few people actually commit what is necessary to make a noticeable change in their lives.

Look at it this way; we have all committed to some sort of change in our lives at some point. Whether as a New Year’s resolution, or because of a commitment to a loved one or friend, or possibly because of a dare or a bet, we have lots of good reasons to make a change in our lives. For example, when you commit to lose weight, your diet has to change. This means all the food in the refrigerator and freezer has to change too. The way you cook, the way you shop, the places you eat out and so on. How many people do you know who have literally turned their lives upside down for their diet? And yet somehow we expect some miraculous change to come?

And how about when you commit your life to Jesus? Have you read the Bible? It says that when you say yes to Jesus, your old life has to go and you begin a new life. This means that all the old habits have to be thrown out. Things like cussing, lying, cheating, your driving habits (you know who you are) and so on. How many born again Christians do you know who have literally turned their lives upside down for their faith? Is it OK to live as a Christian just on Sunday morning? Are we somehow changed from the inside out just because we say so?

Here’s what I think: change comes at a price. What price are you willing to pay? For a lot of people, change is expensive and it’s not worth the eventual cost, so therefore most people only talk about it, they don’t actually follow through. Seeing change through to fruition requires accountability and cannot be achieved without it and most of us don’t want anyone to see us fail, so we bail out and make up excuses. Personally, I’m tired of excuses. Like the line in the song goes, “I am the king of excuses. I’ve got one for every selfish thing I do.”

Getting out from under the scepter of excuses takes bravery; and a really big shovel. I think it also takes getting outside of our current situation and assessing where we are in the world, where we are in our community and where we are in our family dynamics. We tend to place these restrictions on ourselves because it’s what we’ve become accustomed to. Old habits die hard, it’s true, but it is indeed possible to bury them where they belong. If you’re struggling with an old habit, maybe it’s time to ask someone close to you to hold you accountable to the change you wish to see in yourself.

When we were kids, if there was something we didn’t like we were told to change it, provided we had the power to do so. Usually it was an attitude. Funny how these things come around again.

Questions without answers

I need to vent.

Sometimes all I need is a platform from which to air my thoughts, my frustrations, my anger, my ideas...all the little things that rattle around in my head. This blog has served to fill that for a long time but I don't contribute often enough. As a consequence, I am constantly feeling like I have something on my chest. This weight of words is very heavy at times but ultimately I am the only one responsible for relieving that weight. All it takes is putting pen to paper, or more aptly, fingers to keys, and the weight lifts immediately. I love that about writing.

Currently, there are a few things that need to get out of my head.

First of all, the tragedy in Boston has really chapped my behind. Before diving too far, please know that my heart goes out to the families affected by the loss of 3 people, to the families affected by the injuries to more than 170 people, including life altering injuries like the loss of a limb and to the thousands of runners who were there for nothing more than running a truly epic race. This was indeed a tragedy.

Beyond that, let me say how disgusted I am by the immediate and vehement rhetoric that followed this tragedy. It is difficult for me to fathom how any sensible human being could be so filled with so much hatred, that the first thought that pops into one's mind is to believe this tragedy was caused by a Muslim. Quite literally, there is no proof whatsoever to suggest such an accusation. No group or individual has come forward claiming responsibility for these acts. There are no suspects who have been made public that would suggest these claims. And yet, within mere minutes of the events of Monday the 15th of April, hundreds of very public individuals took to the airwaves to condemn someone or some group without even the faintest piece of proof.

My friends, you should be offended. You should be sickened by the sheer ugliness that has become commonplace. As a society, I would hope and pray that each of us wished for some sort of unity for our country and for our world. This is not to suggest that peace is some big Kumbaya moment, but we each should understand that in order for any sort of unity to have a chance, we have to work together, we all have to accept some level of responsibility. The idea that an eye for an eye only leads to more blindness is a concept that seems to have been lost on a lot of very angry people. The fact that they themselves have already become blind, so to speak, is ironic, but there may be no saving some people.

What probably bothers me most is the fact that there are thousands of people who hear the vitriolic statements and agree with them. I know very sensible people who jumped on the bandwagon and replied to those same hate filled statements with assent. Do you really think that by eradicating one group of people, all the hate will be gone from the world? My dear friends, the hate will live on in your hearts, to be propagated in the future by the next thing you come to hate. Boston is simply the latest in a deluge of tragedies that we learn about on an almost daily basis. I pray it becomes something we can learn from, not something that pushes us further away from each other.

Another thing on my mind lately are marriages. I have been burdened, in a good way, by the deterioration of marriages and families and relationships. My heart aches when I hear of another family that is being torn apart by a plethora of factors. This burden really has nothing to do with gay marriage or which kind of family dynamic is struggling, I may tackle that later, but instead I grieve every time I hear about another couple that chooses to walk away. I have been so blessed by an amazing wife and the two of us have built a fantastic life together. Recently we watched a video that prompted us to discover that we are equally burdened by the same thing. That epiphany is leading us to look into how we can help.

Ultimately, I am convinced that people simply do not talk to each other enough. The lack of good communication is what is tearing this world apart and it's happening one family at a time. Couples come together because of a mutual attraction. But when that fades, a lot of times there is nothing of substance to sustain a relationship. It's almost as if couples need to be taught how to talk, how to effectively communicate what is on the inside, in order to grow and learn to love the person right next to you. I read something recently that suggested true love is simply a fairy tale. The idea is that real love takes a tremendous amount of work and that every relationship has the potential to stand the test of time if both people are willing to work at it. It's an interesting theory, and while it fails to address the issue of compatibility, it does correctly note that every relationship requires a great amount of work from both sides.

Lastly, I am about to make a rather serious change in my life and have been writing lately on the subject of change. I will make a point to post some of those writings to this blog very soon. In the mean time, I am grappling with some unnerving thoughts relating to managing this upcoming change. There is the issue of relating this major change to the world, so to speak. It is a good thing for me and naturally I want to shout it out but there are a lot of affected parties. I have kept it a secret until now and plan to continue to do so until everyone that needs to know has been told, but it has been hard not to blurt it out. I think the one thing that digs at me most is knowing that every time we make a change in life, the impact is felt far beyond what we can immediately see. I have written about the ripple effect before and this time is no different. Being sensitive to who these changes will impact is important to me and so I travel this road lightly for now so my ripple will hopefully be navigable by all.

Soon enough, a few thousand people will know and will be affected by this upcoming news. My immediate prayer is for knowing the right words to say and the right steps to take so as to be as honorable as possible in this time of change. For those who read this, stay tuned, that news is coming soon.

As I reread this tonight, I am seeing a very common theme in all of this and it is the word communication. It seems to me that much good could be had if we would simply be willing to talk to each more from an insightful perspective, and not an incite-ful one. I guarantee we have would wind up with more answers than questions.

The why

Writing is my escape.

I’ve been writing for over twenty-five years now and it has never occurred to me that I might need to explain my need and/or desire to write.

I was on Twitter this morning and there are several fellow writers that I follow, including one guy who dove into detail about why he writes. He’s been writing since May and is considered an avid blogger. As he poured it out on the page, his reasoning was sound and his methodology was solid. This is a guy who writes because it truly makes him happy, but even more than that, it is quite literally who he is.

So I sat there, sipping my coffee, considering for a moment why I write. I started thinking about the years I have spent putting my thoughts down. For a long time, I kept those words very private and then slowly I started sharing my thoughts.

That release of words from my brain onto paper was nothing short of miraculous for me. It kept me sane when all I really wanted to do was scream. For the last several years I have posted most of my writings online, with the idea that maybe others could relate or possibly benefit from anything my rambling heart might say.

To some degree, writing is visceral. Instinctually I will grab a pen and paper and write based on something I heard or read. I do it because I feel it’s the right response to the questions and statements in my head. Sometimes all I really need is an opportunity to let those words get out of my brain and onto paper.

What’s always fascinated me is, once I get the words out they become more alive, like they could give life or take it away depending on who was reading them. Words are like that, in so much as they have the ability to create or destroy. We build up or tear down with our words and it makes no difference whether those words are spoken or written, they can have the same impact. Once I get them out of my head and onto paper I reveal their intent. This fact has helped me shape a lot of my most current works because I have become much more reflective of what I have to say.

Not once have I given any serious thought to a book, though. It seems I have enough content built up of a few choice topics that would allow me to consider such a venture, but I’m not sure I was built for such scrutiny. Once I post something online, I can advertise it’s there if I think the post was good, or I can leave it for others to find, knowing in my own sheepish way that the article may be offensive to some, or that it may be too specific for a broad range or readers.

It’s odd how writing can be so freeing at one moment, then create a certain amount of anxiety the next. It’s like my right hand has the pen but my left is chained to the desk. Regardless, I pray that when you read this you can envision the colloquial nature with which it was intended, knowing that I could very well have just told you all of this. At the end of the day, I am thankful for the chance, however, to share what’s been on my mind. It is truly, my escape.