Father’s Day

The severe storm’s strobe lightning turned night into day.  Loud thunder rocked the house, rattling the windows and china– but the boy continued to snore lightly.  On the cusp of being a teenager, the young man’s body was growing right before his weary father’s eyes.  It seemed like every night when the dad got home from work, the kid had grown another inch.  Time was rapidly accelerating.  The father sat in his son’s room, unsuccessfully trying to grab time and hold it in place.

It was like trying to stop a speeding train.

The father couldn’t sleep. The violent storm outside had woken him up. The storms of life had kept him awake.  He walked from the master bedroom to where his son’s room. He sat on the floor next to a sea of video game cartridges and old toys.  The kid was sleeping soundly through the storm. The boy was at peace.  The father wished it could be that way all the time. But being a preteen wasn’t easy.  It was something the father knew all to well.

It was 3:02 a.m.  The sunrise was still three hours away. And the storm was intensifying.

The one thing every newborn should have stapled to his or her leg is an instruction manual. This boy was the child the father had made all his mistakes on. And he had made some whoppers. But now, though, he knew couldn’t fail him.  There was little margin for error. The teenage years are too important. Too influential. Like drying concrete, this was the time when his self-image would set for life.  The father knew it all too well.  But the only guide he had was his own teenage years. And that was a flawed manual at best. He prayed a lot about this.

Another clap of thunder shook the house.  Lightning had hit a tree down the street, causing a small fire before the heavy rain doused it. The electricity flickered, but did not go out.

The father watched as his son’s chest rose and fell. He remembered the stories he used to make up for his son when he was little.  The ones that he told him while sitting in this very spot.  About the little boy and his dog traveling across the great mythical land of Tejas. How they fought dragons and took on bandits.  The father would weave moral stories into the tales, little life lessons that he hoped would take his son through life.  He wished he had written them down.  He hoped that his son had listened.

Lightning struck nearby again, causing the son to turn over and mumble something incoherently under his breath. The father thought that he was going to have to slip out of the room — but the boy soon fell back into a deep sleep.   The father relaxed and continued to think about his boy’s journey to manhood and his role as a father.

The rain pelting the window sounded like water hitting a car in a carwash.  The pines in the backyard danced a hypnotic dance as the lightning continued to illuminate the inky sky. But the thunder’s bark was more distant now. The storm was beginning to move on.

And then it occurred to him. As the father watched his beloved son, he realized that he didn’t need to give him advice. He just needed to give him his undivided attention. The boy needed his father’s time. The epiphany illuminated the father’s heart like the lightning had the night.

Standing up, the father’s knees cracked.  Another sign that time was moving too quickly. And as he began to walk gingerly out the door, he heard his son’s voice call out, “Dad, whatcha doin’ in here?”

“Just checkin’ on you,” the dad said quietly.

“Oh, OK.  And Dad…”

“What?”

“Happy Father’s Day.”

The father looked at his son’s sleepy face and said the only thing he could,”No, thank you. I wouldn’t be one without you.”

And with that, the storm was over.