Shoes

The other day, my wife asked me to read a moving article about a young man named Nathan Stiles, a Spring Hill football player who collapsed while walking off the field and later died as a result of previous head injuries.

It was an article from ESPN; its primary topic was not the injury and its circumstances, but rather the legacy of this 17-year-old young man and his family's experiences and the direction in which they are now moving after his death.

Nathan's parents started "Nathan Project" to spread the word of God. According to the ESPN article, his father, Ron Stiles, wears his son's size-12 Nike high-tops to every Nathan Project event. Ron has size 10 feet. He told the journalist writing the article, "I'm never going to fill those shoes, [...] But I'm going to do everything I can to walk in them."

I really don't know how I made it through that article without my eyes watering and releasing a torrent of tears. Maybe I was just too tired to experience a fully cathartic moment.

Almost immediately the article got me thinking about Brody. I don't know how I could ever cope with any tragedy happening to him, and I have so much admiration for Nathan's parents because of their extraordinary strength. Would I be able to muster the fortitude to stand so strong in such an incredibly difficult situation? Before I can come close to being able to imagine what I'd do, I have to consider who I am as a father right now.

Just a month ago, we dressed Brody in a wrestling singlet for his 18-month pictures. One shot had him standing in my wrestling shoes, the tops of them almost coming up to his knees. An adorable picture!

Ron Stiles had talked about trying to walk in his son's shoes. In a proud moment, I had just had my son try to walk in my shoes.

What will Brody end up doing in his life? Will he be a strong Christian? Will he be a wrestler or soccer player? A musician or scholar? A gentleman who'll champion the happiness of others by standing up for the little guy?

I wonder what kind of relationship I'll end up having with him. Some of my most personal conversations -- the ones where I'd revealed my deepest emotions -- have been with my own father. It took a while for me to open up to him, but it finally happened when I was in my early twenties.

I think my problem was that I never understood his life or what it had been like walking in his shoes. The only shoes I remember seeing him in are penny loafers, cowboy boots, or hiking boots. His feet have carried him so many places, both good and bad. He's been to places so dark that I hope I -- or Brody -- never have to follow. He's been to places so bright and magnificent that I hope I do get such a chance.

He's stumbled and fallen, he's splashed in life's puddles. He's followed the map, and sometimes he blazed his own trail.

I haven't always picked the best shoes myself, so there are definitely times I hope Brody doesn't try to walk in my shoes.

If he does, however, I hope he tries on the flip flops so that he can relax and enjoy life, the cowboy boots so that he can step lively and proud with each resounding step, the wrestling shoes so he can experience competition and success as a product of hard work, and the loafers so he can walk with an air of a professional.

And there will be times that I hope he goes barefoot so that he can feel the earth and grass on his toes as he makes his own path.

He'll buy new pairs of shoes he won't wear often, and some for special occasions only. Some he'll wear daily and get his money's worth right away. I hope he finds a comfortable pair or two without having to search too hard.

I can't always tell him which pair to go with, but I can be there to advise him. He may want to try a pair just like mine, and I may have to tell him early on that he has no choice in the matter and that he has to wear certain shoes.

For right now, he's switching off and on between a nice pair of Stride-Right shoes and his boots with the flashing lights on the side. I hope that he listens when I try to give advice and that he's able to imagine what it's like to walk in someone else's shoes without having to directly experience it for himself. I pray that God gives him the opportunity to enjoy every step in life, and I pray that God gives him the strength to endure when the path becomes rough. Most of all, I pray that, like the old "Footprints" poem says, Brody allows God to carry him through the dark times on his journey through life.

Guys Night

This is a topic that I'm sure every father either thinks or writes about: the evolution of the time-honored "guys night."

Once upon a time, it was all about spending the night at a buddy's house as we played video games, munched on Doritos, and drowned ourselves in Mountain Dew (because it was cool and it allowed us the normally taboo caffeine high, which exceeded that of normal caffeinated drinks). Later, "guys night" became a gathering at some's apartment as we played darts or pool, noshed on cheese fries, and guzzled beer. Now, "guys night" has become one of my favorite things to do with a pretty cool little dude: we spend the evening playing with mulch or flowers or plant stalks in the flower bed, chowing down on fish sticks, and drinking Diet Mountain Dew (me) and milk (Brody).

My, how things have changed!

"Guys night" has gone from involving good buddies, "bestest" friends, drinking buddies, and "bros" to my best little buddy, Brody.

Tonight, Emily is enjoying a much-deserved evening out with a good friend, and I'm pretty well entertained just watching as Brody stomps around making myriad odd noises. Every note from his mouth is full of glee, but from time to time these noises have a trace of frustration, most likely due to his inability to grasp the concepts of nature at this point. When he sees Billy the dog pressing his nose against the window, he barks back at him; he doesn't go up to the window and interact, he just goes about his business and utters, "woof-woof-woof." Some of his other noises are nonsense syllables, but my heart melts every time I hear him say "Daddy" or "Dada" and he gives me that adorable toddler's toothy smile -- his mommy's smile.

He busies himself by making scattered piles of mulch, all the while looking back at me, as if he's making sure that I'm as proud of his work as he is. At one point he sets down a large piece of mulch at the top of a pile and looks up to me, squeals from a huge smile and claps his hands. He trots back and forth around the landscaping bricks, playing some new game that only he understands -- and it's only important that he understands it, not that I do. He then starts climbing up the front step only to turn around again and step off because he now knows how to do it without falling down and he wants to show off.

Brody now goes about picking more and more of the stalks from the flowers... Only the green stalks, though, and not the dead ones. I wish he knew the difference so that he could help with the gardening. He casts the stalks down into a new green pile -- he won't mix the green stalks with the brown mulch -- and then stops to stare at it. Maybe he's unhappy with his creation, or maybe he's just having fun being random and chaotic, but he then sweeps his pile with his hands and scatters green and brown all over the gray concrete sidewalk.

He's so full of smiles and giggles that it breaks my heart to take him inside, but it's getting cold and he's refusing to put on his sweatshirt. I ask Brody if he wants to go inside. Nope! What do you want for dinner? Nope! (It wasn't even a question that warranted a "yes" or "no" answer.) Just the same, he only wants to play around outside. He cries and whimpers as I carry him in, but at my mention of Mickey Mouse, he forgets all about his woes. Our biggest concern now is which Mickey Mouse cartoon we'll watch tonight.

Soon, we'll go up to the kitchen to get something "yummy" to eat and then we'll chill in the basement. I'm just amazed at how things have changed so quickly -- how "guys night" has evolved over the years. It certainly wasn't an overnight change, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Driving Wisdom

Last week, Brody learned a new dance at day care the "car dance." From what I can tell through observing an 18 month old trying to do any specific kind of dance, the moves consist mainly of him holding his hands out in front as if he were gripping a steering wheel and then turning the wheel back and forth. It is pretty cute when he busts out the car dance at random moments rarely on request, however. In fact, he'll pretend to drive almost everything; any inanimate object that can fit in his hands becomes a steering wheel. Although his mom and I are hoping more for a career in an applied science, this kid may have a future in one form or another of driving.

Unfortunately, watching Brody do his car dance forces me think about the distant future when he'll actually be driving a car. I can't imagine the changes that a span of 14 years will bring, but I do know that I'm both looking forward to and dreading the chance to teach him how to drive. It'll be a great father son moment, but then again, how qualified would I be to give him lessons on how to be a good driver?

I still vividly remember the primary source of most of my driving wisdom: my own father. Whereas there were distinct times that his driving scared the daylights out of me (two in particular stand out in my mind: cruising swiftly down steep hills around Lake Shawnee and getting lost in downtown Philadelphia; both instances resulting from geography and terrain, not necessarily his skills), he is perhaps the best driver I know. He had lots of good advice; wisdom that goes far beyond what I'd learned in Driver Ed in high school. Keep yourself from having tunnel vision and have your head on a swivel. Don't drive in the grooves of the road; keep your wheels where there's the best traction. Use your turn signals, even when you don't think there's anyone around.

I had a decent Driver Ed teacher in school, but he couldn't match the effectiveness of my dad's lessons. So now I wonder: what would make me a qualified teacher for Brody whenever his car dance evolves to the advanced stage of actually driving an automobile?

Well, I do drive a lot. Almost 3 hours a day to and from school. I drive when my family goes somewhere. I drive my friends when we go out. I drive when it's a school vehicle other than a bus.

I haven't had the extensive training or experience that my dad has had, so I'm not an expert on what a good driver is. But I have had the opportunity to think about what makes a poor driver. Here are some random thoughts about driving that have entered my head while driving the last week and a half. Don't worry, I did not write them down while I was driving, nor did I type them in my phone as text messages. These are some of the points that I will be sure not to make with Brody:

* Oversleeping and / or running late entitles you to forego any traffic laws that prevent you from arriving at your destination
* Seeing that someone is about to enter the roundabout ahead of you means that you should speed up and tailgate that person to punish them for daring to get in your way
* It's smarter to speed when passing through small towns, where there are always speed traps, than it is to speed on the highway out in the country, where there are significantly fewer speed traps.\
* Even if you cannot multi task very well, it is all right for you to talk on your cell phone while driving. It is clearly evident which of the two tasks is more important to you and which will get less concentration from you, but these phone calls surely must be very important
* Although flicking a cigarette out the window is littering, if you're driving a hybrid and/or have a "go green" bumper sticker, it definitely makes up for your pollution (both the cigarette butt and the exhaled smoke)
* Contrary to the popular belief that the only people who have a right to park wherever they want are firemen, police officers, ambulance drivers, and whoever is dropping a woman in labor off at the hospital, it is also permissible for you to park half in the handicap stall and half in the loading area whenever you're in a hurry, simply because you're special
* If the car in front of you arrives at a stop sign and is waiting for a gap in traffic so that they can turn left, and you pull up right behind them and want to turn right, it's perfectly fine for you to pull forward next to the car, block their view of oncoming traffic, and make your turn (especially if the car is a little coupe and you're driving a big pickup truck)
* Turn signals must be for the weak, submissive, and or anal-retentive. If you don't feel like you need to use them, then don't worry about it
* If you're driving a company car and/or you're on the clock, drive as slowly as you want to drive. Your time is much more valuable than ours
* The inside lane on the highway isn't just for passing, just as the outside lane isn't just for slower traffic. Drive in whichever lane you want; anyone who wants to pass you can pick the other lane
* Stop signs tend to be more recommendation than requirement, especially if someone is coming down the road and you don't want to take a risk that you might get stuck behind them
* High beams really aren't that bright for the cars in oncoming traffic. If cars flash their lights to let you know that your highs are still on, ignore their signal
* The middle finger is an appropriate reaction gesture to anyone who angers you while they are sharing the road with you. Obscene language is acceptable, too, even when children are present
* When you see a police officer or sheriff's deputy, you should slam on your brakes, even if you're already going under the speed limit. You may be violating one of the obscure traffic laws that only the keenest eye of the law can see
* Slippery roads, thick fog, or precipitation of any kind means that you should a) drive as carelessly as you normally do or b) drive as though it's your first time facing adverse conditions (a steady speed of well under what is truly safe)

I'm not a perfect driver, and while my wife does point this out (sometimes she makes a good point...), she also trusts me to drive whenever we're going somewhere together. My track record isn't that bad, with no serious traffic violations or accidents under my belt, so maybe I do have what it takes to give Brody some good tips on driving. With my two left feet and no sense of rhythm, it would definitely be better for the boy for me to save the dancing tips and focus more of the driving aspects. I think I could handle helping him with the car dance, but I also think I'll limit myself to an area where I've got some talent.

Thoughts on Parenting

I heard Joel Osteen on television say, "If you don't tell your children who they are, then someone else will." Giving a child a sense of identity is such an important job for a parent, yet kids spend an incredible amount of time searching on their own, wondering who they are. They look everywhere for this identity, when all along, their parents have been trying to keep it in plain sight. Emily and I have no clue who Brody will be, what kind of student or athlete he will be, or what his passions will be. Someday, he'll come to us and ask us what kind of child he was. What would we tell him?

My wife and I haven't filled out Brody's baby books near as well as we've been sure to make posts and notes about him on Facebook. There are all of these memories of various firsts that we don't want to forget; the baby books are never handy or convenient, but FB never fails to be a great forum for us to use in bragging about our son. There are so many images of Brody that are difficult to capture with words, so I've been good about capturing pictures on my cell phone. My screen saver at school is a slideshow of his childhood to date. The point is that I love him with all my heart and I would do absolutely anything for him. He is our flesh and blood, a life created from our love with the grace of God.

I've come to realize that as human beings in this day and age, our models for parenting are our own parents (the good, the bad, and the ugly), what we see on TV or in movies or in books, and the parents with whom we interact on a daily basis. These models come together in our minds to form the ideal parent, the "Super-dad" or the "Mega-mom." We hope and pray that we will do well as parents, and we cross our fingers that our children won't hate us or run out on us. We sit back and look at the problems of other parents and make our judgments. It's sad that we make these judgments, but it's also so easy to make these judgments and to condemn people for their parenting sins. As a teacher and a Christian man, I truly pray that God gives me the wisdom to know better than to make the mistake of prejudging too much from the outside.

I heard a story the other day about a woman who was with her daughter at church camp. One day they were doing dome horseback riding. The woman held her 3-year-old daughter in front of her as they rode. The horse bucked, throwing both mother and daughter. In order to protect her daughter, the mother held her closely, dropped her own shoulder, and used her own body to bear the brunt of the impact. Her hip was broken in two places, she had a couple cracked ribs, and her shoulder was dislocated. The little girl had just a couple scrapes and bruises. She was told that it would be an excruciating road to recovery. The poor woman acted in such a way that any parent should act. After all, who wouldn't want to protect their child in such a manner or in such a situation?

With every bit of my heart, I know fully that I would do just that to protect my son, and I would do much more to protect him. At some point during parenthood, a parent truly realizes how much he really needs to do to put the child before himself. I'm sure that if anyone were to offer the subtlest suggestion that a parent felt any other way, then this parent would be on his feet shouting and punching the air with his clinched fists. But I've seen it too often in the seven years I've been a teacher and coach. Something changes along the way, and people forget to put their children ahead of them.

Somewhere, the questions are no longer "What is best for my son?", "How can I make things right for my daughter?", and "What do I need to do to protect my children?" The questions become "Why isn't my son more like so-and-so?", "How am I going to deal with this mess my daughter has created?", and "What will they think of me as a parent?" For some people, life happens too quickly or too suddenly and before they know it they find themselves stuck in a whirlpool of self-centered thinking.

I hope to never get caught in that swirling vortex of self-centered compulsion. It's nearly impossible to escape once you have become wholly consumed by how things affect you. You naturally find yourself needing to know why things are happening to you, when you are supposed to deal with things, or who might happen to be judging you. Perhaps above all, you constantly ask how on earth you're going to be able to deal with these things. The uncontrollable obsession with yourself becomes a piece of driftwood. It keeps you afloat and allows you to get gasps of air, but you're still being sucked toward the center of the eddy, your submersion becoming more and more inevitable.

As parents, we all run that risk of falling into the whirlpool. We could accidentally swim too close to its current--we'd have had no intention of becoming so self-centered, but we couldn't control it. What is it then that we can do if we should ever become caught? It no longer becomes a question of who's undermining your authority or stepping on your toes, and it's not about how you look as a parent. The question needs to once again come back to what's best for the child. The mother or father must place the child before themselves.

Coming back to the story of the mother who got bucked off the horse with her daughter, I don't think she ever cursed the horse for undermining her authority and pushing her into the control of gravity. Nor do I think she considered how to land safely so that she didn't hurt herself. Instinct took control and she protected her daughter, much the same way I pray that I will always watch out for Brody. May God give me the strength, wisdom, and guidance, and by putting Him first--truly first--I will have no problem in doing so, and Brody will know that he has always been a key component of the most cherished part of our lives--our marriage. He will know--whether it's from his baby books, our online blogs, or the affirmations we say to him--that his identity has always been blessed with our love.