Father's Day 2015

"It is a wise father that knows his own child"- William Shakespeare 

It is 7pm on Fathers Day, and I'm sitting on the back porch enjoying a cigar and stout ale...very manly, I know.  Jami has taken the kids to her grandfather's farm for a bonfire. Thus, my Fathers Day gift has been some peace and quiet, which in turn has given me time to reflect on being a father.

First, a few memories of my own father. My father and I are quite opposite in personality. I would describe my father as conservative, reserved,  and intellectual. On the other hand, I'm fairly liberal, artistic, and prone to flights of fancy. This disparity in disposition, resulted in neither one of us "getting" the other when I was growing up. What does a shrewd business professional say to his son when the latter informs his father that he intends to go to the Joe Kubert School of Cartooning and Graphic Arts, to become a comic book artist? The father sees this idea as unrealistic, or a phase. When the father encourages the son to save his money and to never accrue credit card debt, the son sees the wisdom of the elder as being overprotective and an unwillingness to "carpe" the "diem". There was a disconnect.

The son does recall watching the father run down a country road carrying a torch, that as the son understood would eventually be carried to the Pan Am Games in Indianapolis circa 1987. In the son's eyes, his father was an olympian, the son's heart swelled with pride. The son remembers a Christmas when he received fake razors, and the father slathered the boy's whisker-less face with Barbasol and proceeded to shave the boy's face. The son felt like a man. The son reminisces about the time the father put up a basketball goal, and brought home a new bmx bike. The father often showed his love and selflessness in his provision for his family. 

In recent years my father has from time to time lamented over the fact that he had a short fuse and a quick temper when my brother and I were younger. And yes, I suppose I could tell a few stories of when that temper reared its red face and pursed lips. But why? That's not how I choose to remember my father.  I see my father as a man who loved his family dearly and wanted the absolute best for his family, sometimes to a fault. He worked his ass off to provide for his children, perhaps to give them the things he never had when he was growing up?

I choose to remember my father in snippets of memories that play in my mind like an old 35mm family home movie. The scene of him embracing his boys at his father's funeral, unaware that this was the first time his sons had seen him cry, plays in the theatre of my memories. The time I saw him head laying down on his crossed arms as he sat at the patio table, trying to compose his emotions after packing up my brother's Camero and watching him drive off to his freshmen year at college; this picture of love is nestled into my memory. I can easily picture my father choking back tears as I handed him my boy, and he held his grandson for the first time.  

This is the father I tenderly remember.

For my own children, I hope I can provide for them the way my father provided for me, my brother, and my mother. Also, I hope that I know them. That I can understand, appreciate, and encourage their personality quirks. For all os us, I hope that we can guide our children and help them become who they were meant to be, and not try to mold them into who we would have them be. 

Easier said than done.

Update: my daughter came home and saw the cigar that I was 3/4 of the way done smoking.  She picked it up and threw it into the yard and told me, "you shouldn't blow smoke."

the end of innocence

 "You should try losing some weight over the summer." she said to me. The "she" in question, was a serious babe, maybe the cutest girl in our sixth grade class. I probably made a joke, because then...as it is now, it was my go to defense mechanism. However, 24 years later I can still remember those words slashing their way into my psyche. It turns out that sixth grade is a very vulnerable time for kids emotionally. I was coming to grips with my appearance and growing ever more self-conscious. I was admittedly a little chunky, I had an affinity for Hostess cupcakes and was a year or two shy of a growth spurt that would allow me to shed my "baby fat". However, I was not so big as to warrant that particular comment from that particular girl. My perception was that I was fat, whether or not that was true is beside the point; perception is reality. I wonder if she remembers saying those words to me? I wonder if she ever thought how those words would echo in my head, and make me worry about whether or not people liked me or thought I was cool? The doubts, insecurities, and self loathing her words put in my head wreaked havoc on my self-confidence, the consequences of which I still deal with at age 36.

"Turn the other cheek." I was brought up in a religious family, and this adage was preached from the pulpit on Sundays. When I was in sixth grade me and my buddies used to walk around downtown Washington, IN after school. We would head to the White Steamer after school, where we would scarf down cheeseburgers prepared on a flat top grill that had been searing ground beef patties and grilled onions the same way for twenty plus years. We'd then walk around, hitting up Tater's music and movies, and The End Zone sporting goods store. We were killing time, not a worry in the world. One day another group of guys, a year or two older than us, was downtown too. In the unfair social hierarchy of the teenage world, these fellas were, to borrow a term from S.E. Hinton, Greasers. My friends and I were Socs.

One of the boys from their group was named Danny. He'd gone to our school a few years back, but moved away. He had apparently moved back to our little town. As they passed us on their bikes, I remarked to my buddy Bruce, "Hey that's Danny Dinosaur". We laughed. In third grade I got in a playground fight with Danny, probably because I called him Danny Dinosaur. This put-down seems comically unoffensive to me now. However, I'm sure the attitude with which I called him this pre-historic insult, was plenty hurtful. I won the fight then, if you can call it winning. When the teachers pulled us apart I was on top and strangling him with both hands.

I'm not sure if on that day downtown, he remembered our fight from third grade or not, but when he heard me say Danny Dinosaur again, it brought back that rage from our playground battle. His group cornered my group and he preceded to punch me twice in the face. The punches didn't hurt, but the sting of embarrassment was a much worse pain. 

I wanted to hit him back, but then I remembered, "Turn the other Cheek". If I could go back and tell my sixth grade self something, I'd tell myself "Hey after Danny throws that first punch... knock his ass out!" I'd warn myself about how not standing up to that bully, would create a ripple effect chipping away and sometimes hacking away at my self confidence. I'd apprise myself that if you don't fight this kid, you'll be scared to go to the movies on the weekends, or to the county fair, or to the 4th of July festival in the park. I'd tell myself that for the rest of your life you'll be constantly battling those feelings of fear that creep up inside you and make you shut down. "Sixth grade Josh, if you don't stand up to this punk now, you'll find that you become afraid to stand up for anything...it will mess you up for life."

Having learned to box, wrestle, and fight since 6th grade, I've decided that I will teach my kids to defend themselves. They will know to never start a fight, but if someone picks a fight...they will by god end it. "Turn the other cheek" is a great idea in theory...but in the real world it doesn't pass muster. In the real world, kids can be cruel. My son is learning this.

The other day my kids were all outside playing. Our house has a trampoline, playset, basketball goal, and a decently sized backyard, all of which create an enticing place for the neighborhood kids to come play. With eight kids playing in our backyard, it looked like recess at the Cecil house. Two of the neighborhood boys, both a year or two older than E, were from my observation, trying to play something. I wasn't sure what it was, but my instincts told me it was nefarious. As I continued to watch them, I noticed that they would run to a corner of our yard, or to the top of the playset, or to the trampoline. Whenever E attempted to join them, they would run away saying, "go away" or "leave us alone". Once I figured out that they were purposefully trying to exclude my son while playing in his yard, I got livid. Confronting the boys I explained that we don't exclude others in our yard, if they were going to continue this behavior they would be asked to leave. 

Reflecting on this incident now, it breaks my heart. E is such a sweet and innocent goofball of a kid. The interests of these older boys are, I'm sure, quite different than E's. While they've rounded the corner age-wise, where they're probably more into sports and less into Pokemon, E still enjoys the freedom of imaginary play. E doesn't understand that some kids don't think superheroes or Yoda are cool. When those boys attempted to run away from him and not let him be a part of their game, not only were they hurting his self esteem, they were destroying his innocence. He was learning that the world is not always nice, and sometimes kids are mean. 

I was learning that I will not always be able to protect my kids from a world that can often times be cruel. I could see the lightbulb going off in his eyes, illuminating the blissful darkness where the idealistic beliefs of, we're all friends and we can all get along and play together, sleep. It pains me. I don't want his self confidence to erode, and for him to be afraid of older kids, or of trying new things, or not being good enough. I struggle to learn those lessons today, because I did not learn them when I was young. I understand that it is my job as a father to instill that confidence in my kids. They must be brave enough to know, that even though the world around us can be cruel and unfair, they have the ability to live in it and change it for the better.

I'll leave you with one of my favorite poems, "If", by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you   

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

    If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!