They Break Your Idols

Sorry about the hiatus. I'm sure you were scared that I had gone to the corner store for milk and cigarettes and would not return for years, as I have done in the past. Fortunately for you, I did not go to the corner store, but to Philadelphia, and so I have returned in a timely manner. Philadelphia was great, but coming home was better.

Earlier today I was out walking with my little ladies. We walked to the park to inspect the partially frozen and rising river. We visited the playground where the girls played that they were giant spiders on the climbing ropes, captains of a ship at sea in a storm, and giggled maniacally as I sent them down the little zipline thing, which actually looks pretty fun. We walked through the gardens, where the girls speculated about what kind of flowers would be there, when spring would come, and quizzed me about what my favorite flowers were. (They are peonies, followed by dahlias, and then Snapdragons, although I also have a fondness for gerbera daisies.)

But before all that, on the first leg of our adventures, a kindly looking middle aged man doing an outdoor project said "hey sir" and gave me a big old smile and said "these are the best years of your life" indicating the rollicking chattering little girls who were now ahead of me, then behind me, then all about me. And I told him that I was certain her was right. And I meant it.

The people who say that kids just aren't for them are wrong. The people who say if that is their attitude then it is better they don't have them are wrong. I admittedly did not have much use for children as a young man, and that is just a proof that I was young and silly and more selfish than I am now.

Having children means having less stuff for yourself. It means being responsible for others all the time for years. It means that there are bar excursions and travel and bottles of Pappy that just will not be a part of your life. It means a more strenuous road.

But that strenuous road is the true scenic route.

I just came back from a work trip. While there I stayed in a fancy hotel, ate excellent food, had stimulating conversation, and got to enjoy the sites. Sights? Cites? Seitz? Whatever. One of those.

At the end of it, and even during, what I actually wanted was my girls. There really is not a period of time away that is optimal. Because the friendly middle aged man is right, and these are the best years of my life because of the joy that my children bring me. Their innocence, curiosity, honesty, and playfulness are a constant delight.

And part of the magic of children is that I have grown to delight in them. Young Patrick could not have enjoyed them the way that I do now. After years of tested patience, experience, sacrifice, and perspective I get to appreciate how wonderful they are. And miracle of miracles, it extends to the children of others as well.

So yes, children will break your idols. They will force you to spend your fun money money on replacing the TV they struck repeatedly just to see if it bleeds. They will turn up their noses on the dinner that you spent the last hour cooking, and that you selected because it was one of their favorites the last time they ate it. And at the end of it, you will come out with a little more of the image and likeness. You will have striven, sacrificed, and loved without thought of self--not always, and never perfectly, but one cannot help but be ennobled by it.

This is the scenic route, with quaintnesses, beauties, and oddities that the people flying over to the next destination see so distantly that they cannot imagine how it could be for them. I am content to take this slow and winding road, going nowhere glamorous, and I can only hope that it does not go by too fast.

But you may have noticed that this picture is incomplete, because this is not something I have been doing alone, and my joy could hardly have been complete if I was.

These are also the best years of my life because of my navigatrix. My co-pilot. My love. 

One of the great joys of fatherhood is seeing little reflections of my beloved in my children. It can be a look, or the way they say something, a little quirk they share, or the foods they simply will not eat. I'm sure the joy will not be dimished by watching this unfold in them as young women and, god-willing, to get to see bits of my Emma in their children in good time.

It was pointed out earlier today that the King James translates agape as "charity." I think there is a lot in that, in that love must be active. It must be doing on behalf of. And in our campaign to keep these marvelous little gremlins alive these muscles of charity have grown strong. It would be hard to love someone more than I did today when my wife broke off what she was doing to go into Posey's room because Posey wanted her to watch while she played barbies. And she went, not because it was practical, or useful, or guaranteed the biggest dopamine hit, but because she loved her, and she acted in charity.

There are plenty of hard days. There has been stress. The money has been tight. The nights have been long. The vomit has been everywhere. I have woken up to feet in my face with six people in my bed made for two more times than I can count. But we've done it all together. I bless the Lord that I wake up in those arms and get to do bedtimes with those children.

The good life is loving and being loved: actively, attentively, sacrificially. Go to it.