That didn’t go like i thought it would
This weekend I called my dad to talk to him about some things that have been bothering me in our relationship. I expected defense. I expected to be told I was wrong, that I was seeing things incorrectly. I expected to feel silly for even bringing it up.
Instead, I was met with grace and a proactive plan on how we’d move forward.
Man, the amount of time I’ve spent having that conversation in my head only to find myself washed with what can only be described as “life” is flooring - I’m laid flat. It took a couple years for my finger to find that green call button and tap it… why?
Why do I think I can’t go to my father with something that is honestly bothering me? Am I scared of what I’ll hear? Am I faithless as to what might transpire? What’s the worst that can happen… he tells me I’m worthless and never wants to speak to me again? Is that it? What’s the best that can happen… he rights every single wrong he’s ever committed and becomes super-dad. Do I want that?
None of those questions are rhetorical.
I’m reflecting on my son Bray, and the moments he’ll feel like he needs to confront me on something. How do I feel about him then? I feel bold. I’ll step into the conversation unafraid, ready to die to myself for another opportunity to grow closer with him; to show him one more way in which I’m ready to love and adore him. I might take it personally, but I won’t take it out on him. I’ll listen, intently, and I’ll respond gently to encourage more of his courageousness to bridge a gap that seems cavernous.
That’s the kind of love I have for my son… do I believe that my dad has that kind of love for me?
Again, not rhetorical.
Might I take a second to speak for a generation I’m a part of, knowing relationships exist in nuance and detail; that a generality rarely, if ever, defines something so fragile with totality - we’re kind of sissies. We don’t like confrontation. We don’t like what might be at the end of confrontation. We think we know ourselves, until it’s time to slay the dragon - at that point we shake free from our armor and run butt-ass naked away until we make believe we could walk into the mouth of the cave again. We freak out because we don’t know what we’ll get - but may I offer, that’s not the point.
I think more than the answer, the offering of vulnerability from child to father (or vice/versa) is the magic. It has everything to do with what happens after, but it has EVERYTHING to do with the act of opening up to the relationship.
Woo-iness aside, here’s what I’m getting at: talk to your dad. I thought he would do something I would regret. That isn’t wrong, that hesitancy isn’t “bad.” It just is. The act of approaching him with my thoughts and concerns offered him an opportunity to be dad, to step into his role, and he did. I’m so happy he did. Of course, none of these things ever go to plan - they won’t turn out the exact way you think they will… but you’re dad. And you have a dad. This is what we have to do, to find these moments, to be there in full, and to stay in them completely. Our children are depending on our ability to not wuss out anymore on the hard stuff, the scary stuff, the emotional stuff.
Talk to your dad, because someday your kid is going to talk to you, and you’re going to want to be ready to welcome them just like my dad did to me.