Intentionally Raising Sons…and Being One
Tampa, FL
August 22, 2022
A couple years ago, I noted how little time the typical adult spends with his parents. A couple years later, I acknowledge how little I’ve done about it.
Since I lamented how few days I have left with my own parents, I’ve continued to see them as infrequently as I always did. We were together one weekend last summer, and another one last Christmas.
That’s it. And I haven’t been with them since. Until now.
I arrived Friday morning, and enjoyed a relaxing day catching up over sandwiches for lunch and scallops for dinner. We met my brother for lunch Saturday, and had his family over for dinner that night.
After playing golf on Sunday, my mother and I spent Monday in St. Petersburg. Once a geriatric after-thought, this charming city has transformed itself from “God’s waiting room” into an energetic enclave of sidewalk cafés, fine museums, and expansive parks around a buoyant waterfront. While there, we explored the James Museum of Western Art, and met my brother for lunch.
But we didn’t do anything particularly “memorable”. Nothing we did warrants extensive chronicling. We simply enjoyed a long weekend sprinkled with small moments. But that’s OK. It’s the little things that matter. In retrospect, we realize the little things are usually the big things.
Extravagant events grab attention. But conversations over morning coffee, discussions during dinner, or sitting silently together while reading a book are the moments that matter most. They are unremarkable, regular, and routine. But like drops of water perpetually percussing hermit shale, they eventually carve the canyons that contain our lives.
My mother married young, and I’m glad she did. Had she not, she wouldn’t be who she is, and I wouldn’t be here at all. As she put it to me over dinner, we grew up together.
My father never grew up. He wasn’t much to write home about, and hardly came home himself. He was rarely with us, and hardly cared.
But my father’s absence made my mother self-sufficient. And it made the way for the man who became my dad. My step-father married my mother when I was in high school, and has been my father ever since.
He and I have always had a wonderful relationship. But I had only a couple years with him before I left home, so was unable to receive much paternal guidance before I graduated.
Of the total time most people spend in-person with their parents, 95% of it is before they leave high school. Of course, the flip side of that coin is that parents see of so little of their kids after they receive their degree.
Herman Kahn said that the only times you can change a man are before he’s six, and after he goes to college. By the time children get their diploma and move away, parental opportunities to mold kids’ character are mostly gone.
But whereas small children are influenced primarily by their parents, college kids are often swayed by the ill winds of passing fads and corrosive ideas. Particularly in an era with a persistent flow of cultural sewage, the parental role shifts from that of the river, to that of the dam.
Our second son is finishing high school, and his older brother will soon complete college. Chances to make indelible impressions are slipping away.
Like most parents, I wonder if I could’ve done more to help my sons grow up. I’m certain I could have. Why didn’t I? Was I too distracted by work, indolence, or fleeting diversions to devote adequate attention to what matters most?
Probably. It’s not unusual. A lot of people are. But why?
Because I never had a plan. I wasn’t intentional about raising my sons. Not that I did a terrible job or that they aren’t terrific. I didn’t, and they are. But what if I’d approached my paternal role like a professional project?
We all have a notion of the men we want our sons to be. But few write it down, determine how it will happen, develop criteria for bringing it about…and then act on it. Almost none of us are intentional when it comes to our kids. We mean well and we try hard. But we’re often haphazard, reactive, and ad hoc. Competing priorities consume our time, and hectic lives subsume the best of intentions.
Like many young men, Jon Tyson was elated (and alarmed) when he learned his wife would bear him a boy. He was overwhelmed at the prospect of being a father and raising a son. Did he have what it takes to make his child into a man? He organized his thoughts, and developed a plan.
He detailed his tactics in an instructive guide to “raise sons of courage and character.” Titled The Intentional Father, it documents the preparation, initiation, and formation processes through which he accompanied his son after he became a teen. It was well thought-out and extremely thorough, and I wish I’d had the foresight (and discipline) to provide a similar approach to my own kids.
But I didn’t.
It’s been said that the best time to plant an oak was thirty years ago…but the second best time is today. Fortunately, my sons are young men of sound mind, good heart, and healthy instinct. As I’ll forever be my parents’ son, I’ll always my sons’ parent.
And it’s never too late to be good at that.
JD
