The Love that is My Son

My last blog was about my daughter, so I thought I’d share some thoughts on my relationship with my son. I’ll try to follow somewhat the same format as the other, with the theme being, life is better when they grow up.

Tim’s early school years were not without stress. He was small entering kindergarten, and they almost held him back until they realized, (teacher quote), “There was a genius inside that little body.” When he was preschool age, I was set to drive away from my church softball game when my friend brought me my son I had forgotten was there. This brain lapse occurred a few years later at the rental car agency on Kauai—we almost left for the airport without him. (Thank you, Dennis) He spent many hours in his youth at fields and gyms against his will. While Jennifer loved sports, Tim loved movies and drama. (I should have put both of those in the present tense). This love developed despite two sets of grandparents who were against going to the movies. So we all got in a little trouble when he was 6 or so, and hurt himself. His Nana said we’d pray to Jesus for it to get better. Tim said, “We don’t need Jesus, we have E.T.”
He got suspended in 3rd grade for using the magnifying glass to set fire to ants in the school playground. Didn’t turn him into a serial killer, though.
In church productions, he memorized his lines and everyone else’s. We have old super 8 movies of him in his Dinky the Donkey costume, mouthing everyone’s words as the play progressed.
He and I had numerous one-way lectures about his grades. It wasn’t until 8th grade during one of my tirades that he explained something to me that changed things forever, and made me wonder just how much damage I had caused over the years.
The haunting words of Harry Chapin’s “Cat’s Cradle” were on my mind a lot in high school, because it seemed like every time he was in a play at school, I had an out-of-town basketball game to coach.
But, in keeping with the theme that “it’s better when they grow up,” I can say the following. If he had stayed a little boy:
I wouldn’t have been able to continue the “family tradition” of weekly lunches at Barro’s pizza while he attended Tustin High School. (While Jennifer had ridden with me into the parking lot, Tim wanted to be let off a block away and walk so he wouldn’t be seen riding with Dad to school.)
I wouldn’t have been introduced to the works of Stephen King. Tim has always been a fan, and has been very astute at knowing which of his books I would like and ones I shouldn’t bother opening. (He may have been wrong in recommending “Misery”. Never liked Kathy Bates and I see her in every page in the book.). But I loved The Stand and the Dark Tower Series.
I wouldn’t have watched him grow into his job to the point where he was the “go-to” guy when anyone had a question
I wouldn’t have had a chance to affirm the first time he was terminated from a job. He came home and said, “Dad I got fired because I screwed up like I usually do.” While wondering how much of that self-image was my responsibility, I got a chance to tell him that the company made a big mistake and God had something better in store for him. (By the way, his first 3 employers went out of business shortly after he left. Since, he just got laid off in the mortgage crunch last week, Citicorp is in trouble!!)
I wouldn’t have had an opportunity to watch his incredibly tender heart, mostly directed towards his animals.
We wouldn’t have had a sounding board for our antipathy towards most things conservative.
I wouldn’t have watched him develop the value system that both his earthly and Heavenly fathers are proud of.
I wouldn’t have Anne
I wouldn’t have Sammy (Sheltie)
I wouldn’t have Pippin (Australian Shepherd)
John Eldridge in "Wild at Heart" writes than manhood can't be earned it must be bestowed, usually by one's father. So, my son, I dub thee, "Man."
If I may plagiarize, “This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased”