Fathers' Day ended up as a big event at our house. Abigail Lindsey Jolly arrived. Three weeks early. Surprising her momma and daddy and all the rest of us. It was a day if rushing around tyring to get all the folks in the right places. Abby's grandma from Minnesota flew in just in time. Big brother Isaac was shuttled from hospital to our house and back (but got to enjoy a bit of the "cousins camp" along the way) It was a whirlwind of logistics, hurrying, waiting, thinking through cars and carseats, and all the while silently praying that the delivery would be timely and safe. It wasn't until we crawled into bed on Sunday night that my bride reminded me it was Father's Day, and she was sorry I spent it rushing all over Dallas. I told her it was a great day, a trifecta day, I got to see all my grandchildren on the same day and all were safe and sound. What could be better?
It occurred to me in the midst of all this rush that there may have been some things I have not taught my son. He was holding up well, but had that shocked, slightly dazed, happy, concerned look on his face. I'm sure he feels that since he has a son, he knows the ropes, he knows what to expect. But as one who has two daughters and one son. Daughters are different, not better, different.
Sons become the little shadow behind you for the chores. They want their own tools, they want to throw everything, they like hitting things, and they like to tag along on their daddy's heels. It is one of the most gratifying things in the world to have this responsibility. Of course, they go their own way eventually. There are differences, but the golden years of tee-ball and yard work and hunting are all memories and teaching moments that every daddy should enjoy.
Daughters on the other hand tend to intimidate us. We don't really understand the language, we don't understand the dress code (how in the world do moms know these things? I think there must be an underground handbook that dads don't get) and we sure don't understand the emotional landscape. But daughters capture us early. Somewhere in our house is a picture of me holding my oldest daughter Jordan. She is only few days old. The shot is me sitting on the couch, elbows on knees, holding this little girl out in front of me, staring at her in wonder. The expression is still there on my face, with her and her sister. We look on them with wonder. How can I protect? How can I insure their safety and happiness? It might have been a different look had I known what I know now. These little girls are much tougher than I would have imagined. Both of my girls have had to endure things I wish I could have prevented, but a daddy's ability to protect only goes so far and is usually nothing more than an uncharted heart and a lot of tears.
So I'm hoping my son intuitively knows how to deal with this little girl who is going rewire his world. I'm hoping that he will understand that she will get her view of men by how she observes her daddy. This will put tremendous pressure on him to model the kind of man that might one day occupy her life. I'm hoping that he understands that the way he treats her momma will be the framework for how she will expect to be treated. It is a tall order and one that a lot of men stumble over. But he is a good man and will rise to the occasion, just like my sons-in-laws have done and continue to do.
I haven't gotten to hold Miss Abby, or tell her how much I love her. I hope to when I get home from this trip.
Godspeed, we have added another traveler to our journey and she is a doll.
Don
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Learning the New Normal
Last week on Thursday I had another episode of A-fib. In retrospect I probably ignored a lot of the classic symptoms and plowed through my week, building to a panic-stricken run to the ER. And as usual, when I was describing recent activities, diet, sleep, and poor health symptoms, my bride went from concerned to annoyed that I had let it get this far. Let me say right here that she was correct, she should have been annoyed, this was risky behaviour that impacts her life as well as mine. As we sped to the ER, pain overwhelming, I was desperately hoping that I didn't lose consciousness, wondering to myself, "Is this it? Is this how it ends?" the only emotion I can remember is remorse over putting my bride through this. So, early in this post is an apology to my bride, my companion, the only true constant in my life, I am sorry.
With that said, there have been some changes made. There is a new normal.
First of all, there is a deep-seated realization that this is now a real possibility in my life. There aren't three strikes, there are only two. First occurrence is listed as a "lone event" A-fib. You have two episodes, even a year apart, and now it is "chronic A-fib" I think this criteria is a little narrow, but the medical establishment is a pretty tedious bunch. I don't get any mulligans.Apparently they impose both stroke and distance. Now every time I don't feel well I have to consider that this might be another onset. For the past 20+ years I have lived with the panic just below the surface that my eldest daughter will call and say the C is back. Now that panic has to be applied to my "condition" While this is not a panic to me, it is to my bride and I have to apply the same standards to myself. So below all the events of my life is this ugly little toad sitting in my garden, waiting to make an appearance at the least opportune moment. My life has taken on a new normal.
Secondly. Now I have to take a little pill every day. A teeny-tiny little pill. A minuscule reminder that this heart deal could pop up any moment. Every. Single. Day. I have been taking vitamins every day for years, so it shouldn't be a big deal. Right? But who knows what vitamins do anyway, except make you gag every once in a while. But this little, tiny pill speaks to me every morning, "Hey, moron, you ignore me and I will get even." Stupid pill. But I have taken it everyday since last Friday. I can do this. I owe it to my bride.
C. I love this joke...watch Home Alone. This normal now makes me analyze everything I do. When I work out, I can't get my heart rate over 120. Is this normal? Is this what it is supposed to be? Should I work harder? or back off? It is some help that almost none of the workout equipment in hotels monitors correctly, so I just turn on my inner listening device and rate how hard this exercise should be and how long. So far so good.
Now at 58 I am watching a little better what I eat. Over the past 10 years or so I have slowly cut out fried stuff and high fat, not health, they just made me feel poorly. Now I watch it more closely. One week in, nothing white after 6PM...well, the Pinot Grigio, but that really doesn't count.
Sex...none of your business.
Some of us mature more slowly than others. Perhaps a lot of you have made these adjustments, but it is new to me. But I am going to adjust. I owe it to my bride and my three kids, my three in-law kids, my five (soon to be six) grand kids. I read somewhere a long time ago.."Live long enough to be a problem to your kids" I plan to.
Godspeed, how the journey is traveled has changed a little, but not the joy of it.
Don
With that said, there have been some changes made. There is a new normal.
First of all, there is a deep-seated realization that this is now a real possibility in my life. There aren't three strikes, there are only two. First occurrence is listed as a "lone event" A-fib. You have two episodes, even a year apart, and now it is "chronic A-fib" I think this criteria is a little narrow, but the medical establishment is a pretty tedious bunch. I don't get any mulligans.Apparently they impose both stroke and distance. Now every time I don't feel well I have to consider that this might be another onset. For the past 20+ years I have lived with the panic just below the surface that my eldest daughter will call and say the C is back. Now that panic has to be applied to my "condition" While this is not a panic to me, it is to my bride and I have to apply the same standards to myself. So below all the events of my life is this ugly little toad sitting in my garden, waiting to make an appearance at the least opportune moment. My life has taken on a new normal.
Secondly. Now I have to take a little pill every day. A teeny-tiny little pill. A minuscule reminder that this heart deal could pop up any moment. Every. Single. Day. I have been taking vitamins every day for years, so it shouldn't be a big deal. Right? But who knows what vitamins do anyway, except make you gag every once in a while. But this little, tiny pill speaks to me every morning, "Hey, moron, you ignore me and I will get even." Stupid pill. But I have taken it everyday since last Friday. I can do this. I owe it to my bride.
C. I love this joke...watch Home Alone. This normal now makes me analyze everything I do. When I work out, I can't get my heart rate over 120. Is this normal? Is this what it is supposed to be? Should I work harder? or back off? It is some help that almost none of the workout equipment in hotels monitors correctly, so I just turn on my inner listening device and rate how hard this exercise should be and how long. So far so good.
Now at 58 I am watching a little better what I eat. Over the past 10 years or so I have slowly cut out fried stuff and high fat, not health, they just made me feel poorly. Now I watch it more closely. One week in, nothing white after 6PM...well, the Pinot Grigio, but that really doesn't count.
Sex...none of your business.
Some of us mature more slowly than others. Perhaps a lot of you have made these adjustments, but it is new to me. But I am going to adjust. I owe it to my bride and my three kids, my three in-law kids, my five (soon to be six) grand kids. I read somewhere a long time ago.."Live long enough to be a problem to your kids" I plan to.
Godspeed, how the journey is traveled has changed a little, but not the joy of it.
Don
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Sons
Yesterday my son turned 32. This realization prompted me to stop and contemplate the last 32 years. I have long moved past the point where I look on him as a kid. He is a man, and a good one. It is with no small pride that I can say that.
Saturday I was treated a memory snapshot. He and his bride and 2-year-old son had come to our house to visit and eat dinner with us. There had been some health turmoil in my life and I simply didn't feel up to the drive to their house, but desperately wanted to see them, in particular that good-natured little boy. So as I was cooking dinner (this is not a chore for me, but a relaxation) I glanced out the back window into the yard and saw my son sitting on a lawn chair, watching his son play on the slide. Both were laughing, enjoying the sunshine, the day, and the moment. It occurred to me that the cycle was continuing in a good and fulfilling way for me.
I remember calling home when I was a young father, having my son pick up the phone and bursting with enthusiasm, "DAD!" Then in those years when he was about 3 to 14, whatever I was doing he wanted to do. It was with very deep and secret pride that I had this little shadow on my heals. Our interests have diverged, but my sense of pride has not, and my sense that the imprinting was done properly. Now it is his turn. Even now when I get a chance to help with painting a room or hanging a ceiling fan, the 2-year-old wants a tool to "help." How can you not enjoy the moment? If the father is runner, the son wants to run, if he is a yard guy, the son wants to be a yard guy. This trailing of the father for these few short years is a precious and time honored teaching tradition.
So it is with some pride that I see a son, as a grown man, who is kind to his wife, who adores his son, who is responsible for his family in all things important, spiritual, emotional, and physical. Then I look at my sons-in-law and realize that I see the same marks of integrity with them. That my prayers through all those years for other fathers raising their sons have been answered. I see my 9-year-old grandson enjoying the backpacking and cycling and interest in family and friends that his daddy has. I see my almost 3-year-old grandson have the same intensity for work, and a very mischievous sense of humor that is patterned on his daddy's blueprint. My daughters chose well.
This gives me great hope for the future. These little boys will follow the paths of their fathers and their grandfathers. It is with great anticipation that I look down the road and see strong, healthy, balanced men follow in the paths of their fathers.
Happy Birthday to my son. I hope the legacy that I received from my father and passed on to you will be of value to your son and his sons and on and on.
Godspeed, our immortality is manifested in the integrity of our progeny. This is a very important task that we undertake. Happy 32, Ben.
Don
Saturday I was treated a memory snapshot. He and his bride and 2-year-old son had come to our house to visit and eat dinner with us. There had been some health turmoil in my life and I simply didn't feel up to the drive to their house, but desperately wanted to see them, in particular that good-natured little boy. So as I was cooking dinner (this is not a chore for me, but a relaxation) I glanced out the back window into the yard and saw my son sitting on a lawn chair, watching his son play on the slide. Both were laughing, enjoying the sunshine, the day, and the moment. It occurred to me that the cycle was continuing in a good and fulfilling way for me.
I remember calling home when I was a young father, having my son pick up the phone and bursting with enthusiasm, "DAD!" Then in those years when he was about 3 to 14, whatever I was doing he wanted to do. It was with very deep and secret pride that I had this little shadow on my heals. Our interests have diverged, but my sense of pride has not, and my sense that the imprinting was done properly. Now it is his turn. Even now when I get a chance to help with painting a room or hanging a ceiling fan, the 2-year-old wants a tool to "help." How can you not enjoy the moment? If the father is runner, the son wants to run, if he is a yard guy, the son wants to be a yard guy. This trailing of the father for these few short years is a precious and time honored teaching tradition.
So it is with some pride that I see a son, as a grown man, who is kind to his wife, who adores his son, who is responsible for his family in all things important, spiritual, emotional, and physical. Then I look at my sons-in-law and realize that I see the same marks of integrity with them. That my prayers through all those years for other fathers raising their sons have been answered. I see my 9-year-old grandson enjoying the backpacking and cycling and interest in family and friends that his daddy has. I see my almost 3-year-old grandson have the same intensity for work, and a very mischievous sense of humor that is patterned on his daddy's blueprint. My daughters chose well.
This gives me great hope for the future. These little boys will follow the paths of their fathers and their grandfathers. It is with great anticipation that I look down the road and see strong, healthy, balanced men follow in the paths of their fathers.
Happy Birthday to my son. I hope the legacy that I received from my father and passed on to you will be of value to your son and his sons and on and on.
Godspeed, our immortality is manifested in the integrity of our progeny. This is a very important task that we undertake. Happy 32, Ben.
Don
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