Yesterday a father told me he recently “lost it” with his boys. They were acting up and wouldn’t listen to his correction until his anger got the best of him. He yelled. They quieted. I asked him one simple question – “So, When and how did you repair?” His response was ccd and the opposite of FM, baby. “I haven’t,” he replied matter of fact and quite righteously to boot. My next question was ccder.
Why not?
My client now began to explain his behavior with many words. He told me about the big project he was trying to work on and how his boys were to blame for him blowing up. What’s he supposed to do when they won’t listen, he continued. They only respond when I finally unleash the fury, he kinda trailed off on this one. Finally, he challenged me with how could he have handled it better. He painted a scenario that had him driving his car and his three boys in the backseat. They’re fighting and causing all kinda distraction. They know Dad can’t do anything because he’s tied up driving, so they keep going despite Dad’s request for them to calm down. So, Dad yells and eventually they quiet down out of fear. What else you gonna do?
I listened and told him a story. A real life one. I began telling him a story about my Dad in his exact scenario. Mom and Dad would be in the front seat and my two sisters would be on either side of me in the back. We were driving out to Colorado on a family vacation. We must have been 12,10, and I was 9. I would usually start the commotion by tickling my sister in the side until she would almost puke. Such fun. My other sis would try to stop me and I’d give her a sharp elbow to the ribs till she cried like a baby. How much more fun could we be having? Dad was driving and would let this go on for a few miles as we made our way across I 70. Suddenly, without warning, he would pull the car over into the berm and get out. We got quiet. He didn’t say a word. He walked over to the right side of the car and opened it for Mary. Mary got out followed by yours truly and finally, KA. Dad would get back in the drivers seat and take off. He would go about twenty miles an hour down the berm as cars streaked by.
We RAN. We ran and ran and ran. We would start to catch up to the car and he would keep going. By now the Kansas sun is causing us all to sweat like sprinters, cause we were! After a mile or so of this ridiculousness, Dad would stop the car, get out and calmly walk around the back of the car and open the passenger side to the back seat. KA would slide in and over. I would do the same and Mary would finally plop in as well. Dad would close the door, get back in the drivers seat, and quietly we would make our way to Colorado.
My father was far from perfect. He had his demons as we all do. My father, however, was the kindest man I think I’ve ever met. My father was tough too. My father taught me by his example and I didn’t particularly like it either. My father led us, anyway. You see, fathers are called to lead even when it’s hard, even when they’re busy, even when they’ve got other jobs to do, even when they’re trying to drive. Fathers are called to lead their families. Fathers are expected to be fathers everyday.
And, fathers are masters at repair when they blow it. Virtuous fathers repair faster. These humble men look up to keep perspective, look in the mirror to get better, and understand that their job description is to turn boy’s into men – En brera. Fathers don’t lose it. Fathers, the virtuous ones, learn from their mistakes and patiently, humbly, and lovingly lead their families. Fathers are master repairmen. Fathers are models. As my client wrote out his learning, I smiled. He got the message and is on his way to becoming the father he wants to be. My mind rushed back to linger a bit with my memory. It is good to look back and learn. It is good.
Thanks, Dad, for your example…
BUILT TO LEAD 