What I Learned on His Summer Vacation

Fair is fair. My son has probably written more essays for me than I had to write in high school and college combined, and he's just entering the tenth grade.

I realize that in this life I am not only teaching David, but I'm also learning. Some of the lessons are fairly cut-and-dry. Others are hard to swallow, and take a little longer for me to wrap my head around.

On my son's summer vacation, I have learned:

Nobody's perfect. I hope I haven't given the impression here that I demand perfection from my son, or that I believe that I am perfect. Believe me, I know I'm far from that, but I am doing the best I know how to do, and I just want him to do the best that he can. I expect mistakes and lapses in judgment, but all I really want to see is him being the best person--the best David--he can be. It's me that I hold to a higher level, and it's my failures that eat me alive.

I'm just a man. Thank God for the friends who continue to remind me that I am only human, and the family that encourages me to continue being the best father, son, brother, and uncle that I can be. Thank God for the son who, even as he continues to take his sweet time to learn the life lessons I so often feel that I fail at teaching, is teaching me patience, forgiveness, and tolerance. God is blessing me with some seriously important lessons in this life, and I'm beginning to worry about whether I'm passing or failing.

Deep down, your child wants to please you. Not that I've seen a lot of this in the course of a "normal" day, but when I do see the lengths he will go to in order to do right by me when he's been in trouble (or knows that he's plucked a nerve), I realize that it is in him to want me to be happy with his performance. This is a relatively new response from him, as before he would only do "right" by me in order to gain a material "want." This is progress, right?

He's watching and listening even when he appears to be ignoring me. I see this when he writes an essay, or explains a concept (such as respect, or trust) and uses the words or examples I've used to illustrate these terms in the past, or when others tell me about conversations they've had with him that somehow incorporated information I'd either discussed or passed on to him. It's in him. Suppressed at times, but I think--sometimes--it's slowly becoming a part of him.

Teaching is tough and re-programming is exhausting. When a child has been exposed to and permitted to get away with disobedience, defiance, and disrespecting others for the first eleven years of his life, it makes disciplining him especially difficult. In fact, it makes efforts to teach the child about self-discipline seem futile. That "...but I've always done it this way" attitude doesn't lend itself to much more than a "then you've always done it wrong" response from me. And I don't buy into the "that's just the way I am" argument. It usually receives a similar "then you need to change the way you are" response. I told him that I didn't bring him into my life and into my home because I wanted him to teach me to be like him. I brought him into my life to show him how to make something of his, so he will never have to live "like that" again.

Parenting is difficult. In fact, there are days when it just plain stinks. I think I always knew this, but hadn't experienced just how difficult it can be until I was knee-deep in it. I knew it would be a thankless job, and I was well aware that in my efforts turn his life around I would be met with various levels of resistance. I think what I never thought I would feel is rejection. I've been able to deal with rejection before, but I wasn't being rejected by family. Whether or not he is actually rejecting me and the life I'm trying to share with him, or if it simply appears that way, it's difficult for me to process and has--at times--left me feeling somewhat defeated. If it weren't for my family, friends, our amazing priest, and that excellent new counselor encouraging me to stay the course, remain consistent with my message, and push myself to keep things in perspective, I think I would have completely lost my mind and failed my son.

Successes can feel like failures in an instant. Especially when there are "relapses" in behaviors, which have occurred so often that I'm left wondering if the effort was made to correct the behaviors, or if it was all just an act used to manipulate.

Everyone else is better at this than I am. If they're not, they do a great job of making it look easier than this feels. My hat is off to all the single mothers and fathers who make single-parenting look dignified. I still feel like I stumble through every single day. I continue to second-guess myself. I still lie awake at night wondering if I could have handled the days events any better. I still struggle to not take the ugly stuff personally. I still wrestle with whether or not I am, in fact, helping my son. I know I have years to go before I will know if I have made a difference in his life, and the fear that maybe I haven't tears me up inside.

Unconditional love sure can look "conditional." How can any child look into a pair of bulging eyes as they're about to pop out of a head flanked by throbbing veins in a man's temples and see unconditional love? It's in those instances when it feels like I'm losing my mind that I wish I could be two people in the same moment and counter the disciplinarian with the side of me that is capable of nurturing. I can come back with "nurture" later, but have not figured out how to show anger and love in the same instant, and am fairly sure I never will. My priest has told me that it's okay to get angry, and that it doesn't hurt for my son to see me get angry. In fact, it's actually worked to capture his attention so that he doesn't think what he's done is even remotely acceptable. But as the sole parent in the house, I feel bad that in that moment there is no "softer" side to help explain to him why whatever he's said or done was met with such a reaction. The only thing I know to do is to take a break to calm down, then come back for the "heart to heart" explanation of why a particular behavior received the reaction it did. Not that I suspect he didn't know what he said or did was wrong, but to assure him that I do not love him any less even though I'm angry or disappointed.

Barney demonstrates what unconditional love is better than anyone I know. He's who I turned to when I was trying to illustrate to David what loving without conditions looked like. I could starve this dog every single day for the rest of his life, and even though his stomach would be on fire from the acid that had nothing to digest, he would still love me as much as if I'd just poured him a full bowl of kibble. I could refuse to pet him or withhold doggie treats, and he would still lay by my side or lick my face if he came within a tongues-length of it. He just loves. He always has. In trying to explain how God loves, and how we should love, I had a beautiful example curled up at my side. Barney doesn't love me more because I bought him a new ball, or expensive food, or a Christmas gift. Barney doesn't hate me when I'm too tired to play with him. Barney doesn't care whether a person is rich or poor or black or white or young or old. Barney doesn't retaliate when I have to leave him outside all day because I know I'll not be able to make it home at lunch. Barney doesn't even know how not to love.

The Lord is my strength. And I don't rely on that strength enough. I don't even try to tap into it until I feel completely spent. It's in my weakest moments when I'm overcome with anger or fear or a combination of both that I wish I had kept Him closer to me in order to properly guide me, my actions, and my emotions. I do think God has blessed me with the kind of friends and family who prop me up when I feel as if I've been knocked out, which is a good thing. And as we know, all good things come from God.

Photo by Victoria Cank