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Preparing for childbirth has been an educational experience,
to say the least. It has also been a time of quiet reflection…frequently
interrupted by grizzly bear sounds emanating from the mound of pillows festooning the
port side of the bed.
Too often men slide through life failing to reflect on how
far they have come and what it took to get there. Not me - I know. I have not come a long way and getting here has
not been hard at all. I just kind of
wandered around in the desert then, Hey, look! There’s a water fountain! And
I have been standing here ever since.
Despite lately finding myself married to a complete stranger;
one who has been desperately smuggling a full aquarium around under her skin
for 8 months - I number among the fortunate few who rarely, if ever, come under
substantial spousal flack regarding my many outdoor pursuits. As a single person I guess I assumed that was part of life and the time and ability to do
these things was just part of being me.
I now know: that is a terrible lie.
When I consider the time I spent as a child traveling around
the state hunting and fishing and whatnot - I am amazed. I did something terribly
fun and dangerous nearly every weekend, generally with Dad, and if not – then
with an infinitely less responsible Uncle. I also realize now that those Uncles
genuinely were not the least bit worried about me, my safety, or possibly
dying. Back then I assumed all adults were bound to keep their nephews safe
as a matter of course. In retrospect: I actually had that thought as a 6-yr-old
while riding through the woods perched on the hood of a tractor like a chubby
hood ornament with Uncle Buster’s admonition “Don’t grab that exhaust pipe – it
is 800 degrees” ringing in my ears.
Mom was right to worry.
At the same time all that was going on, Dad raised two other
kids, stayed married, kept a job, paid for a house and cars and got us all
through expensive private colleges that we probably did not deserve.
Now, with the impending specter of fatherhood looming over
me; it all makes sense: I didn't get to hunt, fish, and act like a Wild Boy on
the weekends because I was born with it;
I got to act like a Wild Boy because Dad
was born with it - and more importantly; born with the ability to stay efficient during the week. If the water
heater had still been out of commission at 5PM on Friday – nobody would have
been going deer hunting. If Mom couldn't wash her hair – everything stopped.
Last week I considered my list of mandatory to-do’s for the
week and this thought went through my brain: “I could just stay here and deck
the attic on Saturday instead of going fishing” and in my mind, in that
instant, that option actually sounded plausible.
It was a terrifying moment, so I immediately retreated into my
workshop to sulk.
As I sat there at my Fishing Stuff Bench, sulking, it hit me
that now, finally, I realize what it means to be a Dad; mostly because: I've turned into mine.
So, instead, of decking the attic and painting the hallway
on the weekend, I wore myself out all week doing it at night, then I went
hunting on Saturday at 4AM, got my truck stuck, found a deer skull in the
woods, got covered in ticks even though I know about Lyme disease, heard 5
turkeys gobble, got soaking wet, got covered in mud, then came home feeling
very pleased with myself.
Maybe you can also learn to be a Do-It-Yourself-er (see below) and a Lifelong Wild Boy; but I can tell you one
thing: it is definitely hereditary.
Thanks Dad.
