Don’t Blink

My son turned 16 the other day. It’s funny how time can pass unnoticed. One day you are holding your newborn baby for the first time, and the next you are making plans to get him his driver’s license. The intervening years, which sometimes seemed to go by so slowly, suddenly feel like a blur. My hands still remember encircling his sturdy little frame as I lifted him into his car seat on a long-ago October afternoon. Now those same hands have to reach up to pull him in for a hug, that sweet toddler now a 6’3” 275-pound offensive lineman.

A few weeks ago, I sat in the stands as my son and over 100 other boys completed full contact drills at a two-night summer football camp. Each year after all the drills are over, the coaches get together and award T-Shirts to a handful of the boys who showed the most improvement and a good work ethic. Hearing my son’s name called, I watched with pure joy as he jumped happily to his feet and trotted eagerly forward to receive his shirt. After shaking the coach’s hand, he turned and began to make his way back to his teammates, a proud smile covering his face. I looked on as he paused for a brief moment, clutching the T-Shirt to his chest as he scanned the bleachers until he found me, waving quickly as he made eye contact. I gave a wave and a thumbs up back as I fought to control my emotions. 

One unexpected byproduct of becoming a parent for me has been the unavoidable contemplation of my difficult childhood. As I watched my son looking for me, I remembered searching the stands for my father at various athletic events. I rarely found him there. I have always made being present in my son’s life a priority, not out of obligation but out of a real desire to be a part of his world, to share in his victories, and to support him when he stumbles. It is truly the smallest moments that define our lives, and I see that day in the stands as a gift of inestimable value. The child in me still struggles with reconciling why I was somehow not important enough to my father for him to feel the same. Each milestone that passes in my son’s life bears an echo of another one missing in my own, from learning to throw a football or tie a tie to my first shave, and countless others. All were passed either alone or with a poor substitute. 

Before becoming a police officer, I worked for a year at a juvenile correctional facility. Much has been written about the crisis of fatherlessness in our communities. Few experiences can more poignantly illustrate the damage done by a father’s absence than a job working with incarcerated boys. Assigned to a disciplinary housing unit, I worked with a partner supervising an average of 22 boys between the ages of 13 and 19. Many were convicted of serious crimes including murder, and virtually all had a history of violent behavior. In the course of my year there I only encountered one boy from an intact home where a father was present. Few had any relationship whatsoever with their fathers, some did not even know who their fathers were. Most had sought the brotherhood of street gangs as a poor substitute for the family connections they had missed. Lost, angry, and confused, they would bluster, threaten, and fight, grasping for a way to make sense of their approaching manhood and the feelings they wrestled with. Once, in a moment of rare candor, one boy confessed to me that sometimes he would fight with staff just to receive physical contact from someone. 

As a young police officer, I would continue to see these same dynamics play out in the homes of the young men and boys I would interact with. Psychologists believe that in the absence of solid parental figures, the presence of a mentor or role model can weigh heavily in saving a child from total ruin. In many instances, this person takes the form of a coach or teacher. A person who guides, rewards, and demands accountability can work wonders for a child with no viable role models at home. I experienced this firsthand in my own life and attribute much of whatever success I have attained to the influence of several coaches who worked with me as a young man. As I have gotten older I have continued to seek out role models to help guide my behavior and actions, and I encourage my son to do the same. There is no one blueprint to becoming a man, but many fine examples exist to show him what a man looks like. I hope that he takes the best from all of the men he interacts with, including his father, and leaves the rest behind. 

I read a quote recently about being a parent; “Your children do not belong to you, they are delivered here through you to live their own lives.” At times this idea terrifies me, probably because deep down I know it to be true. I struggle each day with the fear that comes from surrendering my control over someone that I so dearly love. Each day I give a little more of him to the world, and a little bit less of him remains with me. A part of me will always see my son as that little boy happily extending his arms to me as I pick him up, or unselfconsciously holding my hand as we walk through a crowded shopping mall. Watching as he searched for me in the stands that evening, it was that small boy that I still saw, searching for, and finding his father.

Nothing can prepare you for how fast it all goes. They tell you, of course; “Don’t blink, you’ll miss it.” But there is simply nothing that marks the passage of time more starkly than watching the growth of your own child, and it must be experienced to be understood. It has been my honor and privilege to be my son’s dad. Raising and caring for him has made me a better man and a more complete human being. It is my greatest wish that more men could heal, rise to the task of being a father, and allow themselves to feel this way about their own children.