push

Path of [Least] Resistance…

Standard

One of my favorite players, while coaching ‘semi-pro’ was a guy named Jerry. The league knew him as this out-of-control and sort of dirty player. He would get wound up with his asthma attacks and get into verbal altercations on the field. But to me, despite his reputation as a loose cannon, he was actually more coachable than many on the team. The guy could’ve easily ripped my head off, he was a fairly large guy (playing defensive end) and a physical force on the field. However, in the few times when I did need to directly to intervene, he was surprisingly respectful. I mean, he would address me as “coach” and, every time, after a few mumbles, he would back down. He would even often apologize later.

Only once, with a little alcohol involved, did I catch a small glimpse of what was driving him. At the time, in his late forties or early fifties, he recalled how his own dad had pushed him. He was abusive and never satisfied. And football was the direction his dad was pushing him in. Jerry had D-1 offers as a younger man. Yet, ultimately, he walked away from the sport at that level and much to do with the pressure he had felt. Obviously, he was still very conflicted over all of this. He played as if a demon were biting at his ankles, a man on fire, and probably pushing a little too hard for a man his age. I’ve lost contact with him, not even sure if he lives in the area anymore, but his story is a cautionary tale for me as I try to navigate my son’s current involvement in athletic endeavors.

I love sports as a training ground for life. It is an opportunity for character development, to learn lessons about work and reward, teamwork, etc. I had my own regrets for having started competing only very late in high school and, therefore, have been very pleased that my own son wrestled over the winter and has been practicing for football season. He’s an amazing athlete for his age. He won his bracket in wrestling, his first year out, with a combination of will, natural strengths, and things learned from his coaches. It has not taken much encouragement to keep him going. He is an enthusiastic participant and seems to really enjoy himself with other kids his age. There have been a couple of times when he was upset and seemed ready to quit, but the next day he has always come back for more.

Desirous Distractions

Of the things I hate most, his tablet is probably in the top ten. We had successfully hidden it away (he didn’t miss it after a week or two) and yet brought it back out due to some current circumstances that make it better to keep him occupied. The result has been like an addict, or binge, where he would use the device non-stop if we allowed it. It turns him from an active and engaged kid, who loves to swim in the local pool and requires a ton of attention, to a slug barely moving for hours. It’s not healthy and that’s the reason why I’ve fought back against this and haven’t minced my words on this topic with him either. I’ve been glad that we had football practices to give that indisputable non-negotiable reason to separate him from the screen. However, the other day, after practice, he confessed that he wished that he didn’t play football so he could be on his tablet more!

One of my successes, so far, as a parent was to keep sports as his idea. Sure, I want him to play, I have done my part to facilitate his involvement as well, but I’ve mostly let him lead in what direction he wanted to go and was glad that his own desires lined up with my own. I’m sure my own hopes and expectations have found their way to influence, children likely know their parents better than their parents know them and generally want to please them. He knows that I’m a Penn State football fan and that, Charlie, the elementary wrestling coach was an old teammate. So it isn’t really surprising that he went down this path similar to my own. Still, I didn’t want to be one of those dads, the kind living vicariously through their son and putting undue stress on him. It does seem we’re too sports-obsessed, where youth leagues are year-round, there is this camp and that camp, which is driven by parents with glowing ambitions more than it is by the children themselves. I wouldn’t be all that surprised if many of these overworked and pushed too hard will quit. At the very least, it won’t be enjoyable.

The big question for me is what would I do if my son said “I don’t want to play anymore.” I’ve already assured him that not playing doesn’t mean he would get more time with his tablet and that he would probably be bored. And he seems to understand that he needs to finish what he started as far as the current season. Nevertheless, the chill I felt, all of my own dreams of watching him now threatened, could easily lead to my being more controlling. It is scary to me that a tablet, this path of least resistance, has so much appeal that he would sacrifice all for it. I’ve also had to question my own motives. Am I doing what is best for him? When I restrict access, when I push him to do things that make him uncomfortable, that’s the reason why I do. But as a parent, we really need to be careful not to project our own desires onto our children so much that they are stifled and not free to be themselves.

The Elusive Balance

My son would likely be completely happy if I just let him play on his tablet nonstop. Maybe he would eventually get over it on his own if we didn’t interfere? I mean, I doubt it. There are always new games to download and more distractions to occupy for hours and hours. And that’s my concern, that the hours he spends vegging out could be put to much better use. It would be negligence, on my part, to simply give him what he wants and never resist his short-sighted perspective. It is my job to develop him, to make him ready for life and sports are one of those tools used towards that end. I don’t want him to develop character, not to be a character in a video game. I want him to get exercise, experience the tactile and real world, and not just live in the fantasies that others created for him. I must resist him.

That said, football is also just a game. I don’t want to be that dad who ended up putting so much pressure on his son to be successful that it ruined our relationship and he quits in frustration. There is much more to life than statistics or the accomplishments that the world will notice. Yes, I would beam with pride if my son were to score a touchdown, be on a state championship team, and be good enough to compete at the next level. A college scholarship, of course, would be great. He doesn’t seem to be the type that will get that in the classroom, so why not encourage the path that he does have? Still, that is exactly the problem. I quickly get way out ahead of reality and with that could quickly destroy even my own enjoyment of the moment. He should, as a child, be involved because it is fun. Certainly, I must coach a little, put some restrictions here and incentives there, but ultimately he needs to choose.

I don’t want my son to go down the path of least resistance. I want him to be resilient, a leader, involved, pushing back, and growing his abilities rather than comfortable. I truly want him to be better than me in all regards. Or, at the very least, to be better for having had me be a part of his life. Sometimes this will require me to bump against his will, dig in my heels a bit, and not let him rest on his laurels or waste the opportunities he has. Other times I will need to step back, let him go his own way, learn at his own pace, and accept that his goals for life may not align with my own. The real struggle is the wisdom to know when to intervene and how. Hopefully, he knows my heart is oriented towards his good even if my execution is flawed. And, actually, I’m okay if we’re not always friends so long as what I’m offering him is a way to go beyond my own limits and reach his full potential as a man, that’s my reward.

Why I Gave Up My Mother For Lent

Standard

I’ve been going to my parent’s house more often since I’ve been off the road. It sure beats spending time by myself in an empty little house or eating alone in a restaurant. And, besides that, my mom’s cooking is unmatched in the world. The usual routine was to have a meal during the week and also come home for Sunday dinner.

My plans to “leave and cleave” never came to fruition. All of my closest friends eventually married and disappeared from my life. My siblings (especially the married ones) are very independent and not usually available. Thus there is little other choice for meaningful social interaction during the week besides home. And, since my dad isn’t much for talking about much besides work, the bulk of my time talking is with my mother—who is quite similar to me in personality and temperament.

Going back a step…

Apparently, as a child, I was the only one who would cry when my mom would step out for a minute with the garbage. This separation anxiety never fully went away either. Even as an adult I’ve had a terrible fear of losing my mom. That could simply be because I’ve remained single and (besides a few online mothers who have been there for me) have really only had one significant nurturing person in my life.

In the past couple years, in particular, as my only opportunities for regular meaningful social interaction at church dried up and marriage remained unattainable, my mother was all I had. My mother is the one who has always been there for me through thick and thin. I love her despite our getting under each other’s skin sometimes.

Too much of a good thing?

As the saying goes, familiarity breeds contempt. That is suggested in Scripture where too frequently visiting neighbors is advised against: “Too much of you, and they will hate you.” (Proverbs 25:17) It does seem too much of even a good thing is bad. And, at very least, the law of diminishing returns may eventually apply to any activity and one would be better doing something else with their time.

Anyhow, with the thoughts of my over-dependency in mind, and my own terror over the thought losing this person who has been in my life longer than anyone else, and considering that Lenten season is about sacrifice, it became clear what to do:

If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple. (Luke 14:26 NIV)

It is easy for those born into Christian homes to treated this teaching of Jesus as hyperbole or a command only necessary for new converts, but what if Jesus did mean it to be taken literally?

Would you literally give up your mother and father to follow after Jesus?

My mother, while imperfect as I am, was never the smothering type. Late into middle school (possibly the start of my 8th grade year) things weren’t going very well and I begged my mom to homeschool me. She denied the request. And, despite my discomfort with her decision not to give me what I wanted, she made the right call. Because, even though it is impossible to know where I would have ended up otherwise, I did eventually break past some of my shyness and am glad for that experience rare for a conservative Mennonite.

Mary and the sacrifice of motherhood…

I’ve been listening to a lot of Jordan Peterson lately and his contrast of the “devouring mom” with Mary (the mother of Jesus) caught my attention. Interestingly enough, both feminists and patriarchal men do not give Mary her due because both undervalue female contribution—both see masculine roles as superior and therefore discredit the importance of motherhood.

Mary, as a mother, was willing to sacrifice her son to the world. In fact, the first miracle of Jesus recordes in Scripture, was at the prompting of his mother:

On the third day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine was gone, Jesus’ mother said to him, “They have no more wine.” “Woman, why do you involve me?” Jesus replied. “My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” Nearby stood six stone water jars, the kind used by the Jews for ceremonial washing, each holding from twenty to thirty gallons. Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water”; so they filled them to the brim. Then he told them, “Now draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet.” They did so… […] What Jesus did here in Cana of Galilee was the first of the signs through which he revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him. (John 2:1‭-‬8‭, ‬11 NIV)

That is an extremely interesting exchange between a mother and son. Based in his initial response, the miracle was out of the timeline that Jesus had in mind. Mary, for her part, totally ignores his “my hour has not yet come” protest and, without further comment, moves on to tell the servants to do what her son tells them to do.

It is important to note that the choice of “woman” by translators could give an incorrect sound of rudeness. According to various sources, the word he used was more similar to “ma’am” and might suggest he was distancing himself a bit from his mom or asserting some independence. But, despite being pushed outside of his comfort zone, he complied readily with his mother’s request.

Mary did what a good mother does for her son. She gave him a little nudge, she showed her confidence in him—first in ignoring his initial response and then by her instruction to the servants to follow his lead. And because of that we have this wonderful example of motherhood.

Before Jesus could become the ultimate sacrifice to the world he first needed a human mother willing to nurture him and then give him up. In some ways Mary shared equally in the sacrifice made by God. She, like God, sacrificed her own son—the child who grew in her womb—to be tortured and killed.

My mom…

My mom, like Mary, has always been my biggest encourager. Yes, like all good moms, there was always a push and pull. She would probably be happier if her other children not moved so far away and I may have happier to stay in her home until married. But without her push I’m not sure how much I would’ve accomplished with my life. It because of my mother that I opened a savings account as a child, it is because of her that I bought my house a decade ago, she has encouraged my writing, and her overall push has always been for my independence. She has empowered rather than enslaved me.

My mom had a good balance of empathy and necessary toughness. Unlike some parents, both she and my dad always tried to be fair (perhaps too fair) in how they presented me to the world. For better worse, we aren’t a family that is much for overselling ourselves. If asked, I would probably say that my parents are average and not without their flaws. Yet, in true fairness, saying my parents are average is a vast understatement—they are extraordinary people and I’m very grateful for them both.

So, anyhow, I have given up many things dear to me in the past year and, Lord willing, I will be completing the transition from Mennonite to Orthodox this year.

However, for all the once important things I’ve sacrificed in an unbending quest for the truth, I’ve not yet broken my dependency on my mother. My mom said goodbye to her mom last spring and, with my budding romance, it is bound to happen sooner or later—that is why I gave up my mom for Lent.