Tag Archives: family musings

You know, I don’t even remember our initial meeting.  I was just a man with a need and she needed a place to stay.  It wasn’t anything more than that.  Sure, I checked out plenty of others before she caught my eye.  Actually, I wouldn’t even say she caught my eye.  I mean, let’s face it: the new ones always grab your attention.  Maybe it’s the thought that as long as you’ve got the right amount of cash you can take one home, or the idea that you decide when and where without any argument.  All I know is she was there, I needed her and the price was right, so I took her home.

That was over 20 years ago and she’s still with me.  She’s never refused me.  She’s been so faithful, through thick and thin.  No matter how I’ve neglected her, she still warms up to me with just a little coaxing.

She’s a little worn now.  Ok, the truth is she’s a LOT worn now.  But I still get a thrill every time I go out to the shed and fill her with gas and oil, pull the rope and hear her roar to life.  She’s missing pretty bad now, smokes a bit and uses as much oil as gas, but my old Craftsman 3.5 hp. 20-inch mower starts within two pulls every time, and usually with just one.

I should replace her.  I’ve replaced the pull handle with a piece of wood.  It shamed me to do it, but I couldn’t justify spending the money on a brand new part.  What’s the chance of finding a new handle for a 20-year old mower?  And if I found one, it’d cost more than she’s worth.  Do I sound cold?  I’m being realistic.  Oh, I’d never tell her that.  She deserves better from me.  All the times I’ve used her to mulch leaves, garden debris and so much more.  She never complained, never quit.  She just….kept goin’.

We know each other.  I know 5 pushes on the primer won’t do: it has to be 6.  I know not to wonder if she needs oil.  We’re past that.  I KNOW she needs oil every time I take her out of the shed.  I don’t give her a bath anymore.  The oil-soaked grime has become an adhesive that holds the remaining loose, bubbling paint in place.  Small tufts of grass poke through holes in the deck like unwanted whiskers on a great aunt’s chin.  I won’t scrape them away: they’re plugging small holes.  Even the flaws others would call ugly have become endearments for me.

There will come a season when I’ll pull her from the shed and…and she won’t start.  The oil change, the new spark plug, the clean air filter: nothing will work and that’ll be the end of her.  I’ll have to get a new mower.  I’ll have to.

I’ll tell you something, though.  No mower could replace her.  And I won’t go for some self-propelled liquid-cooled self-mulching job, either.  Just give me a good engine and a bag that catches the clippings.  That’s all the mower any man needs.  She proved it to me.  That’s all I got to say about that.

Like every family, we’ve got a pretty strong morning routine at our house.  Mom has it all down to a science.  Like a well-trained corporate time management guru, she has meticulously timed and planned every event that has to take place in the morning.  It’s a tightly wound piece of work my wife has constructed, and some would probably call it excessive…but it’s necessary because we have Nathan.

Nathan James

Nathan is 6 years old.  That’s an amazing statement, considering the way his life began.  Nathan was born to a girl  who was already trying to raise two other boys on her own.  Like so many young women, motherhood wasn’t something she had planned for: it simply ‘happened’, and then it happened again, and now…yep, once more.  No dad was in the picture, and no one, including his mom, could say with any certainty who dad might be.  She was simply struggling to survive, getting help from her mom and getting ready for her third child.  The truth is, this isn’t an unfamiliar story at all.  But, like every other story, this one’s a bit different.

This pregnant mother of two had Lupus.  I learned that Lupus is an autoimmune disease that can damage any part of the body.  She had Chronic Lupus, meaning her symptoms had been around for quite a while.  It attacked her kidneys with a vengeance.  Still, she wanted to raise her two boys and hoped to raise this child to come.

Nathan arrived in the same way that Nathan does everything: in a big hurry.  He was born 3 ½ months premature.  He weighed 1lb, 10oz.  He was born with chronic lung disease, cerebral palsy, hernias, two holes in his heart and a few other ‘syndromes’ that cause no trouble, are impossible to pronounce and require no medical attention.  He is deaf in one ear (his right), and needs a hearing aid in his left.  As a baby, he required oxygen 24/7.  He had two ports on either side of his chest: one for drainage and I can’t remember for certain what the other was for.  The scars are still there.  The care that he required would wear out many mature couples, let alone a single mom raising two boys.  After trying to handle one night of a heart monitor screaming, oxygen sensors beeping and her own physical limitations being tested, reality made Nathan’s mom rethink things really hard.  She made an amazingly mature decision for someone her age and when Nathan was 6 months old, still in the hospital, she decided to place her third son for adoption.  For Nathan’s sake, this proved to be the right decision. Last year, his  mother died from complications due to kidney failure.

Nathan underwent 3 surgeries to correct problems once we adopted him.  He has problems with fine motor skills.  He rushes everywhere and falls fairly often due to balance issues.  He’s strong willed and stubborn, spends a LOT of time in time-out and is constantly being reminded, “If you do what you’re told, things will go well with you!”  Nothing comes very easily for Nathan.  From climbing up onto my bed to snuggle to getting food to his mouth without spilling any, he struggles with things most 6 year olds have mastered.  He is amazingly bright and extremely sensitive to others…and he is the happiest person I’ve ever met.  Blonde hair, blue eyes and a smile that never fails to melt the coldest heart: that’s Nathan.  Yes, I’m his dad and you bet I’m biased.  That doesn’t discount the fact that this is one truly, remarkably and eternally happy boy.  Let me tell you something that might help you understand.

One of the routines in the morning is for Nathan to climb into my bed once mom has awoken the princess (my daughter).  Nate wakes up and to keep him out of trouble until breakfast, he comes and snuggles with dad.  Sleep is impossible once Nathan is awake, but it doesn’t keep me from trying.  I’ll lay there, quiet, still, trying to convince him that dad is sawing logs, but he’s nonplussed.  That little arm wraps around my neck and then a tiny mouth presses against my ear and whispers, “You need some cuddle?”  I always need some cuddle.

He gets as close as he can and we cuddle and talk and giggle.  He tickles me, I tickle him and we just delight in being there.  And nearly every morning he says, “Dad, this is gonna be the best day EVER!”  And he means it.  He forgets all the time-outs of yesterday, the skinned knees, bumps and bruises.  All those frustrations of not being able to do something easily disappear, replaced by endless possibilities and wonderful chances for…whatever.  That’s the most amazing thing to me: there are no preconceived notions, no daily planners or schedules for Nathan.  It’s simply being in the midst of love that he confesses his heart.  Today is gonna be the best day EVER.  How?  He doesn’t know.  Why? There’s really only one reason for that kind of optimism.  Love.

Perfect love casts out all fear.  Remember 1 Corinthians 13?  Pay close attention to one verse in particular in that chapter: ‘It always protects, always trust, always hopes, always preservers.  Love never fails.”  Six years old, considered developmentally delayed and behind, Nathan grasps what I still have trouble remembering.  God’s mercies are new every morning.  I am loved with a love that surpasses understanding, beyond my ability to measure or comprehend.  Yesterday is over, the night always becomes morning and joy is mine because He loves me.

Oh, daddy God in heaven…teach me to embrace Your love, Your mercy, Your grace and goodness in a way that makes me truly believe that EVERY day is gonna be the best day EVER.  Teach me to be like Nathan.

I’ve made declarations many times, and most of them because of something my parents did or said over 30 years ago.  ‘I’ll NEVER dress like that!’  ‘I’ll NEVER say that to my kids!’  I can actually remember making these proclamations with the conviction of Mel Gibson in Braveheart.  “FREEDOM!”  Freedom from doing things like mom and dad, freedom to be the world’s coolest adult and, eventually, its most understanding parent: this was my decree.  Others might age and grow odd in the eyes of the young, but by the grace of God, not I!  NEVER!

‘Never’ has come to my house.  It didn’t make a big scene, either.  I had no idea it had arrived, nor how long it had been here when I finally noticed, but there’s no doubt that ‘never’ is here.  I first noticed ‘never’ out by the mailbox one afternoon.  Working from home, I’m no longer compelled to conform to the world’s view that you HAVE to change out of your sleeping attire in order to be productive.  I’m a husband, a father, and a mortgage-holder, so leave me alone.

‘Never’ appeared wearing black dress socks, slippers, Mickey Mouse boxers and a too-tight T-shirt, standing at my mailbox.  Remember ‘jolting’ awake in class, feeling as if everybody else was staring at you?  That’s how I felt, standing at my mailbox, realizing I’d unknowingly (or subconsciously, if you wanna go there) dressed like my father.  Here’s the personal revelation that kept me awake that night: this wasn’t the first time.  And no, I do NOT want to talk about it anymore.

As the kids grew older, ‘never’ appeared ever more frequently.  Many times he came in the form of a Jeopardy game show answer (“WHAT is wrong with you?” or, “HOW does your mind work??”).  The mother of all ‘never’ moments, the one that I knew I could never EVER utter is tossed around like confetti now.  “Because I’m your father and I said so!”  Yes, I know.  Don’t judge me.

There are also many undeclared ‘never’ moments.  These are the things that you wouldn’t imagine, couldn’t imagine in your wildest nightmares ever saying. Thinking about them would be like buying a padlock for a shed you don’t have to protect things you don’t own: why would you do it?  But, nevertheless, they pop up everywhere.  “Is that your underwear?  Then why is it on your head?”  I never imagined I’d have to say that to anybody anywhere.  “Don’t bite the bottom of your shoe!”  Nope, never crossed my mind.  “Yes, it’s yours, but not everyone wants to see it, ok??”  Not unless I moved to New York city would I have imagined a need for that one, but I underestimated what kids can make you say.

My kids have broken down my social guards.  If my socks don’t match, it’s usually because I was busy making sure my sons’ did.  If the inside of the car looks like McDonalds after a birthday party, it’s because at some point, having a happy meal was the most important thing in the world to somebody in the back seat.  And when my wife and I giggle at something that makes my daughter roll her eyes, we just keep it up until she gives in and giggles with us.  And when kids make their ‘never’ proclamations, I just smile.  You see: I won’t make those anymore.  Never.

My daughter is 9, which automatically makes her a recovering Disney princess devotee.  At least that’s what I’m hearing from moms who also have rooms bombarded with Ariel pillows and Jasmine bedspreads.  “It doesn’t last forever.”  They deliver this information like a verbal pat on my back with a reassuring smile.  They’re sick of listening to “A Whole New World” and “Can You Feel the Love Tonight”, and mending all those dress-up gowns is one more chore added to a never-ending list.  And I get this, I truly do.  But it’s a little different for a dad.

At least it’s different for this dad.  It’s not just because I work from home, either.  The pinnacle of the princess period ended before I started writing from home and I see only the remnants of it now.  But unlike my wife and all those other moms, I miss it.  I miss seeing it go because of what everyone swears will follow: the revocation of my prince card.  Oh, it’s inevitable.  I’ll be replaced because it’s the natural order of things.  I hate the natural order sometimes.

Every princess needs a prince or else she’s just playing make believe.  Now, you have to understand that I waited 20 years to get my prince card, and it’s not an easy thing to come by.  It’s only awarded to a father by his daughter, and then only if she’s really into playing the part of a princess.  Nobody was more into being a princess than my girl.

I had two suit jackets that hung in her closet: one I grew too chubby to wear in public and another purchased at Goodwill specifically for dressing up.  Mom added dramatic brocade and gold buttons, plus plenty of ribbons that no doubt had been won for doing all sorts of valorous deeds while rescuing distressed damsels.  At a moment’s notice, I could transform myself from dad to whatever prince she required.  Mom would call me from work and give me the heads up.  Prince Charming for her Cinderella, John Smith for her Pocahontas, and Aladdin for her Jasmine: whatever prince was appropriate, that was me for the evening.  I’d arrive home and there she was, literally sitting by the door waiting for me.  I’d put on my suit jacket and I was my baby girl’s prince.

Every daughter is a princess in her father’s eyes, but not every dad gets to be a real go-to-the-ball, glass-slipper finding prince.  I did, and I loved it.  We danced and we drank grape juice out of wine glasses at the Royal Balls held in our tiny living room.  We greeted the invisible guests: we held ballroom dancing contests that we ALWAYS won, and a reporter who looked suspiciously like my wife was always there to interview us afterwards.  It was born of Disney’s films and my daughter’s imagination.  It was all make believe, but…I was her prince.  Me.

I woke up one morning and realized the princess parties had stopped.  It’s been years since I wore my special jacket.  No more little feet on top of mine as we dance.  She’s so smart and so beautiful and…so much bigger now.  And it hit me hard that everybody was right.  Things do change and I’m just dad again.  She’s too cool now and I’m…well, I’m just dad.  That makes me sigh one of those shuddering sighs that get stuck in your throat and make your eyes moist.

But I’m not turning in my prince card, not yet.  Last week, my daughter invited me to have lunch with her.  At her school.  In front of her friends, even.  I was prepared for all the dramatic eye rolling every time I said a dad thing that would prove how un-prince-like I really was.  It happens, they grow up.  Get used to it, dad.

But it never happened.  She clung to my arm as we walked to the cafeteria.  She smiled at me with the same excited blue eyes that melted me when we danced and I realized I’m still her prince, even if the title has changed.  How big can a smile get?  I thought I knew, but then she proved me wrong by inviting me to join her for lunch again this week.

So I’m keeping my prince card…and this goofy smile shows no signs of disappearing anytime soon.