Conversation #2
My son's curiosity has been loosed upon the world like a starved monster breaking out of its cage. The past few weeks Joshua has been asking me (and his mother) about everything. Why is the sky blue? I describe to him some basic principles of light and how the earth's atmosphere filters color. Why are there so many different Bibles? I explain that people have translated scripture to make it so that they can understand it in a way that makes better sense to them. And my personal, soul-tickling favorite: Why does this guitar sound different from that guitar? I go through with him how the different kinds of wood affect a guitar's tone. I can already tell he loves science, just like I do. Josh is a [young] man after my own heart.
His questions excite me; I'm living for this. But I'm exhausted by questions of my own: Just what kind of masculine example am I setting for my son? What kinds of practical and ideological lessons will he learn from me, and carry into his own adulthood? How bad will it be when he goes through his rebellious adolescent phase? I've already had several discussions with my wife about this. She understands how important this kind of father-son connection is to me, and every now and then when I'm describing something to Josh, I catch her sly little smirk as she passes by. She's had a few different kinds of "looks" over the years since we got married, each one different from the last. This is her subtle (and sexy) way of teasing me, and it drives me crazy. Lately we've been working it out in the bedroom.
I'm careful to let Josh be his own person. He has asked about sports a couple of times and I've explained to him that if he wants to play pee-wee football, for instance, I will support it. Sports have never really been my thing, and since he's not around any of it at home, he doesn't care much for them either. Lately he's been [naturally] very interested in guitar. I bought him a little Squier Bullet Strat about a year ago, the body of which is smaller for young kids. He hates that thing, and I would, too. It's a piece of junk. He wants to play my nice guitars, and so I only allow him to handle them when he's with me in my office/studio room. His fingers aren't big enough to play a full-size guitar yet, but neither of us care. I make him wash his hands and, if necessary, send him to change out his dirty clothes before we sit down to play. It will take a few years for him to understand the level of craftsmanship that goes into an American-made guitar and the equal level of care required to keep it in good order.
And so here we are on another weeknight, Josh and I in the office. This afternoon the look on his face was of an unmistakeable intensity, but I couldn't figure out what it was about. He was perfectly fine throughout dinner but now the look returns. He has been waiting until we were alone to talk to me. I draw him out. "Josh, what are you thinking about?"
My son bursts into tears. School trouble of some sort. I set my guitar down, take the guitar from his hands and lean it against an amp. He buries his face in his hands. "Did you get in trouble with a teacher?" Sobbing loudly, he shakes his head no. "Then either you forgot something you needed or... you got in a fight."
He doesn't look at me but the last part of what I said resonates in him. It's practically shaking his soul. I let him take his own time to get it out. "Danny pushed me at recess today."
"Did you fall down?"
"Yeah."
"Why did he push you down?"
"He said I'm stupid because I don't watch TV."
"That's all? What did you do to him?"
"Nothing." His sobbing slows down a little.
"He called you stupid and pushed you down, and you didn't try to hit him back?"
"No, sir." "Sir"? I haven't tried to teach him that yet. I'm waiting for him to turn twelve or thirteen for that. Still, I'm glad.
"Josh, I have to let you know something. The reason why we don't have cable in the house is because I believe TV makes a person stupid. When you watch TV, you're filling your mind up with lots of junk so there's not much room for anything else. That's part of the reason why you're so dang smart."
Finally he looks up at me with dry, irritated red eyes. "Really? You think I'm smart?"
"Yes, of course. But don't go bragging about it to your friends because that won't help you. Anyway, has this Danny kid pushed you before?"
"No, but I see him pushing other kids and pulling girls' hair."
"If he comes up to you again, look at me... If he pushes you, I want you to hit him as hard as you can. But don't hit him unless he hits you first. Try to avoid him before getting into that kind of situation. Do you understand?"
The deep furrow in his brow, pointing deep down to the very center of the earth, begins to lift. "Dad, do you get in fights?"
"Well, not really. Adults have different ways of arguing about things instead of actually hitting each other. I fought your Uncle Zack a few times when we were kids. I don't remember getting into any fights when I was in school."
"But God doesn't like it when we fight."
"No, He doesn't, but there's a time and a place for it. Remember how I told you to only hit Danny if he hit you first. There's a difference between being mean, and defending yourself. Don't worry about him calling you stupid; I know you better than he does and you're really smart."
The next thing that comes out of Josh's mouth amazes me. "He called me stupid 'cause he wants to be like me."
Holy freaking cow, THIS from a seven year-old? When he grows up he's going to have wisdom like I never had!
"Wow, son, I'm really proud of you for realizing that. Now, I'm going to teach you how to throw a punch."
I spend the next half hour showing him how to properly ball up his hands into fists, then how to throw the punch and draw back. On my knees, I hold my hands in front of me, palms out, to act as his first punching bag(s). I coach him along the way. It dawns on me that his classmates are mostly pretend-fighting because of the cartoons they watch and video games they play, but my son is getting real training directly from his father, and he's taking it very seriously.
Josh may think he's behind what's going on, but hopefully someday he will come to understand that he's set apart. He is a shining star; a prince.
His questions excite me; I'm living for this. But I'm exhausted by questions of my own: Just what kind of masculine example am I setting for my son? What kinds of practical and ideological lessons will he learn from me, and carry into his own adulthood? How bad will it be when he goes through his rebellious adolescent phase? I've already had several discussions with my wife about this. She understands how important this kind of father-son connection is to me, and every now and then when I'm describing something to Josh, I catch her sly little smirk as she passes by. She's had a few different kinds of "looks" over the years since we got married, each one different from the last. This is her subtle (and sexy) way of teasing me, and it drives me crazy. Lately we've been working it out in the bedroom.
I'm careful to let Josh be his own person. He has asked about sports a couple of times and I've explained to him that if he wants to play pee-wee football, for instance, I will support it. Sports have never really been my thing, and since he's not around any of it at home, he doesn't care much for them either. Lately he's been [naturally] very interested in guitar. I bought him a little Squier Bullet Strat about a year ago, the body of which is smaller for young kids. He hates that thing, and I would, too. It's a piece of junk. He wants to play my nice guitars, and so I only allow him to handle them when he's with me in my office/studio room. His fingers aren't big enough to play a full-size guitar yet, but neither of us care. I make him wash his hands and, if necessary, send him to change out his dirty clothes before we sit down to play. It will take a few years for him to understand the level of craftsmanship that goes into an American-made guitar and the equal level of care required to keep it in good order.
And so here we are on another weeknight, Josh and I in the office. This afternoon the look on his face was of an unmistakeable intensity, but I couldn't figure out what it was about. He was perfectly fine throughout dinner but now the look returns. He has been waiting until we were alone to talk to me. I draw him out. "Josh, what are you thinking about?"
My son bursts into tears. School trouble of some sort. I set my guitar down, take the guitar from his hands and lean it against an amp. He buries his face in his hands. "Did you get in trouble with a teacher?" Sobbing loudly, he shakes his head no. "Then either you forgot something you needed or... you got in a fight."
He doesn't look at me but the last part of what I said resonates in him. It's practically shaking his soul. I let him take his own time to get it out. "Danny pushed me at recess today."
"Did you fall down?"
"Yeah."
"Why did he push you down?"
"He said I'm stupid because I don't watch TV."
"That's all? What did you do to him?"
"Nothing." His sobbing slows down a little.
"He called you stupid and pushed you down, and you didn't try to hit him back?"
"No, sir." "Sir"? I haven't tried to teach him that yet. I'm waiting for him to turn twelve or thirteen for that. Still, I'm glad.
"Josh, I have to let you know something. The reason why we don't have cable in the house is because I believe TV makes a person stupid. When you watch TV, you're filling your mind up with lots of junk so there's not much room for anything else. That's part of the reason why you're so dang smart."
Finally he looks up at me with dry, irritated red eyes. "Really? You think I'm smart?"
"Yes, of course. But don't go bragging about it to your friends because that won't help you. Anyway, has this Danny kid pushed you before?"
"No, but I see him pushing other kids and pulling girls' hair."
"If he comes up to you again, look at me... If he pushes you, I want you to hit him as hard as you can. But don't hit him unless he hits you first. Try to avoid him before getting into that kind of situation. Do you understand?"
The deep furrow in his brow, pointing deep down to the very center of the earth, begins to lift. "Dad, do you get in fights?"
"Well, not really. Adults have different ways of arguing about things instead of actually hitting each other. I fought your Uncle Zack a few times when we were kids. I don't remember getting into any fights when I was in school."
"But God doesn't like it when we fight."
"No, He doesn't, but there's a time and a place for it. Remember how I told you to only hit Danny if he hit you first. There's a difference between being mean, and defending yourself. Don't worry about him calling you stupid; I know you better than he does and you're really smart."
The next thing that comes out of Josh's mouth amazes me. "He called me stupid 'cause he wants to be like me."
Holy freaking cow, THIS from a seven year-old? When he grows up he's going to have wisdom like I never had!
"Wow, son, I'm really proud of you for realizing that. Now, I'm going to teach you how to throw a punch."
I spend the next half hour showing him how to properly ball up his hands into fists, then how to throw the punch and draw back. On my knees, I hold my hands in front of me, palms out, to act as his first punching bag(s). I coach him along the way. It dawns on me that his classmates are mostly pretend-fighting because of the cartoons they watch and video games they play, but my son is getting real training directly from his father, and he's taking it very seriously.
Josh may think he's behind what's going on, but hopefully someday he will come to understand that he's set apart. He is a shining star; a prince.