I See You . . .

"I see you."
It's a beautiful line in "Avatar", the movie by James Cameron.
"I see you."
It is the greeting given by the Omaticaya people meaning that they show deep appreciation for each other and affirm the presence of the other.  They don't see the trappings and posturing of each other - they see each other for who they really are.  It is a sign of deep respect.

As with so many things, this makes me again consider my children.  Do I really see them?  Do I truly appreciate them for who they are meant to be?  It is easy to get caught up in the trappings of what I think my kids need to be like and what I think they should be.

If I really see my kids,

• I will treat them with sincerity and honour.
• I will respect their words and opinions. 
• I will appreciate their humour, 
• I will know their desires and dreams.
• I will follow their conversations and offer my guidance and wisdom as necessary.

Truly seeing my kids means I pay close attention to them and to what is happening around them.  And that is paying attention to what matters to them and to the big picture of their lives.  Perhaps seeing takes more listening than I thought - to see them with my eyes and my ears allows me to see them with my heart more clearly.

Really seeing someone means you need to look into their eyes - deeply.  If we can honestly look our kids in the eyes, they will learn to trust us.  Their eyes are what see us.  And who do they see?  Do they truly see me or do they see someone I'm pretending to be?  Good question.  Makes me wonder about the value of a life of integrity lived out in front of my kids.

I only pray that the attention I give leads them to believe they have been truly seen by a loving and interested father.

What helps you truly see your child?

Bring Your Best

I've started to meet with a couple of guys every couple of weeks to talk about our lives, share some stories, laugh about some things, challenge each other on other things, and even (gulp!) shed a tear when the time is right.  We are doing a couple of things through this:  1) raising the bar for each other as husbands, fathers, and employees;  2) holding each other accountable to the commitments and ideas we hold fast to;  3) lifting each other up on our shoulders to the height of the "raised bar".  It takes one level of friendship to talk about the raised bar.  It is another level entirely to be part of one another's attempts to hurdle that bar.  Fatherhood is best done in the presence of a brotherhood of like-minded men.  It is not meant to be in isolation.  Perhaps it is in the presence of others that we are inspired, challenged, and urged to bring our best.

In our discussion last week, we were talking about what the heck we were doing getting up early to meet at a local park for 7 AM.  What was going to keep us coming and getting together?  One guy mentioned that the accountability to a couple of guys was enough to get him there.  There was no way "I would be able to blow you guys off".

That was one of those comments that just sort of hung there, longing for a response, begging for one of us to reach out and grab it.  The pause was pregnant with "Brian, do you blow off your kids?"  Are there things my kids need from me that I ignore and avoid?  Are there things my kids are asking for from me I am either too dense to realize or am too busy to notice or am too afraid to acknowledge?

Here are a couple of questions I've decided to ask myself to check on this:

• are enough of my conversations deep enough with my girls?
• do we spend enough time laughing?
• do my girls hear me love and respect their mom?
• do I know my daughters' hearts? their dreams, desires, hopes, fears, and dislikes

This entry has gone off in a bit of a different direction than I first thought.  It's making me think of the classic Harry Chapin song, "Cats in the Cradle".  I don't want to find out too late that I've blown off my kids without even realizing it.

Any thoughts on how we "blow off" our kids and maybe some signs that we are doing this to them?

A Life of Sacrifice

It's 9:44 pm.
I have just got the kids to bed, my wife has gone to sleep, the laundry is spinning, and I've just finished an 11 hour work day.  Who said a dad doesn't do a "second shift" most days?

It got me thinking about what we sacrifice as fathers.  What do we give up because we have a family to be responsible for?   I see my time slips away.  I can't work on the wooden ship model I have as much as I'd like to.  There are movies I'd love to watch, but I know my kids would not enjoy them.  There is a saxophone gathering dust in the corner - not played since the end of college.  I sometimes wonder about joining a soccer league.  There are even things I would do with my job if I didn't have a family to care for.   But my time is given to more important things - like bedtime routines, tickle fights, back rubs, and conversations about Polly Pocket.

And I know there are men who sacrifice more than I do.  Men like those in a Dads Group I'm running right now.  Men who haven't seen their children for months and therefore sacrifice those bedtime routines, the spontaneous tickle fights, and the quiet back rubs.  These are men who come home to an empty house or apartment because their children just aren't there for whatever reason.  These are men who have time to watch those movies, work on a hobby, or spend extra hours at work because they don't have to rush home to anyone.  When I think of these guys, I wonder who is sacrificing more.

It makes me appreciate all the more the opportunity I have to sacrifice the things that don't last for those moments that build memories and a legacy.

It gives the sacrifice purpose.

What do you sacrifice for your children?

Tiger's Legacy - a swing of the club or a swing in the backyard

Just some miscellaneous ramblings about the man Tiger as father.  It is interesting how the world is divided on his return.  Some come down very angry and demeaning about his return to his job (and that is what golf is for him - a job).  Others are praising his ability to maintain his focus and intensity while his marriage is in ruin, his children are not with him, and all around him circles the mixture of jeers and praises, looking for a place to land.  Here is a man (a husband and father) who has publicly fallen from grace - a man so polished, so squeaky clean in image that anything hinting of disrepute seemed to slide off of him, like my fried egg out of my teflon pan this morning.

And then there is the new commercial - an emotionless Tiger looking into the eyes of his father (and therefore into you, the viewer's eyes).  Is this a look of repentance? of focus? of disinterest? of a teenager listening to the same lecture from his father for the thousandth time?  I don't know.  What I have heard is that Tiger's father was not a model of faithfulness as he modeled manhood and masculinity for his only child and so perhaps this commercial reflects a look of distrust.  And Tiger's life may be an example of how the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.  The legacy we leave is usually written in indelible ink.

And the news stories are all unclear on how things are going with his marriage.  Is Elin leaving?  Is she staying?  Is she angry he has returned to golf?  Just what is she thinking - and do I have the right to know?  No, I don't believe I do.

But I am forced to look at a twisted response our world has to husbanding, to fatherhood, to the roles men take.

I say "twisted" because, like Tiger, most men's occupations and performance at a job are seen as the marker of what makes a man.  The feeling that comes from so many angles is that "Tiger is amazing because he can come to work and focus on the tasks at hand without letting his private life get in the way."  He is lauded for his ability to compartmentalize his life.  He is rewarded for keeping those distractions like a wife and children from impacting his golf swing.  What about the response that says: "Tiger is amazing because he doesn't let his work get in the way of his private life, his fathering, or his marriage"?

When Tiger swings a golf club he leaves an impression and a legacy that will carry on after his death. Centuries from now people will likely be talking about the greatest golfer of the Twenty-first century: his professional legacy will be intact.  But will anyone be talking about his legacy as a father?  Who will his children be?  What difference will they be making in this world?  Does a golf swing make a better world for us all?  Or does taking responsibility for involving yourself in your marriage and with your children make a better world?

This whole situation forces me to wonder about society's priorities.  More is made about a man's performance at his job than of his performance as a father and husband.  Guys need role models who are not distracted by the fame or the work or the rewards and who choose to do the family thing because that is the best legacy they will ever leave.  Guys need to be the role models that do the same.  Children need to have fathers (men in their lives) who use work as one of the means to building a strong family.  And we all need to honour the men who make this kind of choice - who choose to be at the backyard swing and leave the golf swing for another day.