There was a farewell at church today. Lots of people. And upon walking in I was surprised to see that, even with all the visitors, the west half of the third row was wide open.
Why was it wide open?
Because that’s “our row.”
And I chuckled. It was just like growing up.
And upon further reflection I realized something both terrible and wonderful…
I am my father’s son.
That’s the good news.
And the bad.
As much as I fought it in my youth, wanting to be my “own” man, there’s just no outrunning my upbringing.
On the one hand, I seem to have a lot of the tendencies I always loved about Dad. Most of them are small, private things. And it makes me feel good… like it’s going to be ok. I think this story has a happy ending.
And I also struggle with many of the same demons Dad fought his entire life (that I remember).
It’s frustrating. At times it’s terrifying.
I’m most afraid of the effect my procrastination, risk-taking and disdain for anything resembling authority has on Lauren and my girls.
And I wonder… are Dad’s weaknesses the natural companion to his strengths? Because what he was good at, there were few better. And what he was bad at, he was terrible. Not a lot of balance or moderation.
And I loved that about him.
I also know that those weaknesses were tough on Mom for a long time. And created tough spots for the family that I mostly avoided… but Amy, Pepper, Brooke and Kristen took on the chin.
It’s tough for me to have perspective here.
I want to be just like Dad. And I’m terrified I’ll be “just” like Dad.
Where’s Dad when I need to talk to him?
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