On being a dad

Being a dad is weird

Very few of us get much in the way of real-time instruction when we first become responsible for other humans. There are many reasons for this, but the most obvious one is that we've all been taught by John Wayne or Don Corleone to "Be a man."

Asking for help is foreign to most of us. At least it has been for me.

This first law of man ensures the absolute prohibition of acknowledging any weakness

There can be no shaky voice with the sniffles, and dear god, don't you ever assume that a grown man can bury his face in his hand and sob when life kicks him in the privates one too many times in succession and his proverbial plate becomes too full.

Two years ago, we still lived in our yuppy fantasy and needed to travel seven hours to Gatlinburg, Tennessee, to get a cabin in the woods. But this year, I had no time or tolerance for a long drive to an overpriced tourist town. Instead, we hung out in the woods 45 minutes from home in a Vrbo rental with all the majestic trees, crickets, and noises of the deep woods, with zero commute cost and a cheaper nightly rate. While it lacked a hot tub on the deck, it was music-themed with a turntable, classic records, and producer Rick Rubins's memoir as the coffee table book.

As I unloaded the minivan just seconds after our arrival, I came through the screen door of the A-frame to hear my 10-year-old daughter Hannah yell, "Who is Johnny Cash?!?"

In my mind, I had a mini-crisis. The passionate music nerd in me wanted to stop and sit her down and say, "Hold on sweetheart; you can't just listen to Cash on a whim. Johhny is a fundamental moment in your musical journey. You need to understand the cultural context of his work and how he set himself apart from Elvis and Dylan."

But before I could get a mansplained dad rant out of my mouth, I heard the needle of the turn table bump loudly, and then the hiss of Folsom Prison came on full blast at the precise moment any human should experience the man in black for the first time.

"....always be a good boy, don't ever play with guns….But I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die..."

I stood there holding suitcases in each hand as my wife Katie turned around with the silent, concerned eyes you give one another when you realize you have accidentally exposed your kids to something beyond their innocence paygrade.

My six-year-old son, the mascot of our family and aspiring vocalist himself, thought it was hysterical and repeated the lyrics several times that evening.

At that moment, my shoulders relaxed, and I laughed. I yielded to the insight that we can’t script our kids’ lives or protect them from everything. I don't believe the universe could have crafted a better experience for my 10-year-old daughter than stumbling onto a turntable with Folsom Prison cued up by the previous occupant of our rural refuge.

Kids come out of the box curious and are much more intelligent than we think they are. As I cruise around in my minivan with a dead sparkplug and a check engine light that won't go away this afternoon, I look for the meaning in the insanity of our suburban life. I shuffle people to dance, soccer, and cub scouts, and I realize that life's wisdom and spiritual growth are baked into the people around us, especially the ones we are raising.

I've always spoken to my children like they were adults and assumed they are entitled to understand why we do what we do. While I love protecting my tribe, I must also protect my kids from the heaviness that erodes my heart when I get too plugged into media, politics, or the daily grind we all must face.

So allow me to offer a few amendments to the law of man

Be a man, but be gentle.

Be open-minded.

Be willing to let kids ask questions and challenge you occasionally.

Be willing to let them figure out the turntable on their own.

Being a dad is hard, but it gives us a purpose. It's Terrifying but fun. Exhausting but hysterical. It's challenging but makes us better humans.

Above all, it is a gift.

Enjoy it.

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