To my imaginary, non-existent audience, this post is for my 2 boys. Everyone else go away, or read a different post.
There was a time, long ago, a time when I argued that God was a myth, that I asserted there was no such thing as "love"...that love was an invented concept...nothing more than an expression of biological needs and humans' fear of loneliness combined. I know now, and am painfully reminded from the events of last evening, that love is very real.
The only thing I have really cared about for about 18 1/2 years is my family. There was, for me, a cathartic moment when Josh was born...a deep, lasting realization that nothing I could do in life was more important than holding this little guy's hand until I had to let go. Career, achievement, material pursuits must, now, fall below being deeply involved in his, and then Jordan's life. I made a vow with the universe that I would not be absent, as my father was, or ever-EVER lie to my boys...I would never never never say "we will" when I know we won't, or "I will" when I know I can't. I have taken pride in knowing I
have been honest, and involved, and supportive. I have taken pride in being at nearly every T-ball game, and baseball game, and soccer match, and basketball game, and swim meet, and cross country meet, and track meet, and concert, and Christmas program. I have taken pride in making sure there was breakfast in your bellies every morning, at least a few dollars in your pockets, and lately, gas in your tank. I have tried to the extent possible-and still do today-to prevent hurt, both physical and emotional; to forsee danger and steer you away from it; to get you there on time; to read to you, and tell stories, and teach you to spell, and learn your times-tables, and help finish overdue projects, and rarely say "no", even when it opposes Mommy.
But "pride" is a dangerous and deluding thing. Pardon the crude analogy, but when someone has B.O.,
they don't know it-but those around them sure do.
Some weeks ago, Jordan and I had a peaceful, adult, but emotional conversation about the distance I sensed between him and I. He shared how bothered he was, how uncomfortable he felt with the tension and bickering often present in our home. Though he was indirect about it, I know the real source of that tension and discomfort is my temper-the way I react to frustration with housekeeping, or grades, or cellphone bills.
Last evening, Josh expressed-in a style very much like my own-that I was a source, a catalyst for rage on his part-and have been for 18 years.
I don't smell my own B.O.
During the war that developed last evening with Josh, I said I was done caring about his success or failure, that I was taking my hands off, and he's on his own.
I can no more follow through with that threat than I can stop breathing! I will never stop loving, worrying about, and wanting to hold the hands of my boys. Josh and Jordan -I love you both very, very much. I want to be "Daddy" as long as I live-and as long as
you live. I want to still carry you on my shoulders.
I absolutely don't want to sermonize here. But in the last few weeks, at that Men's Fraternity thing I go to, we have learned about "wounds"-including the "father wound". The focus is on working through wounds we may be carrying around-but it is, now, glaringly obvious that I have been wounding my precious sons. My temper and anger, and inability to control it, have been far more wounding than I've realized. As a Christian, I am to believe that Christ can change people-their hearts, their cores, their wiring. I hope last nights horrible scene, if in fact all things can be used by God for good, is the moment at which I shed my lifelong battle with temper. I will seek the help of the God I say I believe in, and try to develop the "fruit of the Spirt"-which includes self-control.
After the fight, I felt like I had lost a loved one. There's a knot, or a hole, or an ache that develops in the chest. It's the same feeling as breaking up with a girlfriend. Nothing else seems important. And the anger or hurt slowly transforms into an intense desire to reconcile. My twisted inability to openly express emotion makes that harder for me than it should be. And pride blocks the procees of seeing my own contibution to the problem. So I've chosen this chicken-shit, spineless method of reaching out to both of you for forgiveness, reconciliation, understanding, and patience.
Almost simultaneous with begining this "essay", I got a text message from Josh that said he, too, was sorry and that he loved me! I've tried like crazy to never let you guys see me cry. It doesn't happen very often. It has multiple times in the last 15 hours, especially when I read Josh's text.
I am thankful and relieved that reconciliation is possible. I love you guys so much.
Daddy
lters was born In 1949 in California. He dreamed, as a kid, of flying. He joined the Air Force but was not allowed to fly because of poor eyesight. After his discharge, he acted upon an idea he first had at 13 to fly. In 1982 he purchased 45 weather balloons and 2 helium tanks. He tethered his Sears lawn chair to his Jeep, then filled 42 of the balloons with helium and tied them to the chair (he 
