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I was sitting in a bathtub full of 1)moldy2)sheetrock when my 13-year-old son asked the question. “Can you take me golfing sometime?” he said.
I had a bathroom to remodel. It was fall, and the forecast for the next week was for a 100 percent chance of Oregon’s 3)liquid sunshine. I wanted to say no. “Sure,” I said.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well, maybe you could, like, pick up Jared and me after school on Friday and take us out to Oakway.”
“Sounds good.”
Friday came. The showers continued. But at the appointed hour, I changed from home-improvement garb to rain-protection garb and loaded the boys’4)clubs and mine in the back of the car.
In front of the school, Ryan and Jared 5)piled in. Ryan looked at me with a perplexed expression.
“What’s with the golf hat, Dad?” he said.
It was, I thought, a silly question, like asking a 6)scuba diver what’s with the swim 7)fins. “Well, I thought we were going to play some golf.”
“Uh, you’re going, too?” he asked.
Suddenly, it struck me like a three-iron to my gut: I hadn’t been invited. Thirteen years of parenting flashed before my eyes. The birth. The diapers. The late-night feedings. Helping with homework. Building forts. Fixing bikes. Going to games. Going camping. Going everywhere together—my son and I.
Now I hadn’t been invited. This was it. This was the end of our relationship as I had always known it. This was “8)Adios, Old Man, thanks for the memories but I’m old enough to swing my own clubs now so go back to your rocking chair and crossword puzzles and—oh yeah—here’s a half-off 9)coupon for your next bottle of 10)Geritol.”
All these memories sped by in about two seconds, leaving me about three seconds to respond before Ryan would get suspicious and think I had actually expected to be playing golf with him and his friend.
I had to say something. I wanted to say this: “How could you do this to me? Throw me overboard like unused crab bait?” We had always been a team. But this was abandonment. Adult abuse. Why did it all have to change?
Enough of this mind-wandering. I needed to 11)level with him. I needed to express how hurt I was. Share my 12)gut-level feelings. Muster all the courage I could find, 13)bite the bullet, and spill my soul.
So I said, “Me? Play? 14)Naw. You know I’m 15)up to my ears in the remodel project.”
We drove on in silence for a few moments. Then, I dropped him and Jared off, wished them luck, and headed for home. My son was on his own now. Nobody there to tell him how to 16)fade a five-iron, how to hit the 17)sand shot. And what if there’s lightning? What about18)hypothermia? A 19)runaway golf cart? He’s so small. Who would take care of him?
There I was, alone, driving away from him. Not just for now. Forever. This was it. The bond was broken. Life would never be the same.
I walked in the door. “What are you doing home?” my wife asked.
I knew it would sound like some 13-year-old who was the only one in the gang not invited to the 20)slumber party, but maintaining my immature21)demeanor, I said it anyway “I wasn’t invited,” I replied, with a trace of snottiness.
Then my wife laughed. Out loud. At first I was hurt. Then I, too, laughed, the situation suddenly becoming much clearer.
I went back to the bathroom remodel and began realizing that this is what life is all about: change. This is what fathers and sons must ultimately do: change. This is what I’ve been preparing him for since he first looked at me and screamed in terror: not to play golf without me, but to take on the world without me. With his own set of clubs. His own game plan. His own faith.
God was remodeling my son. Adding some space here. Putting in a new feature there. In short, allowing him to become more than he could ever be if I continued to hover over him.
I remember how grown-up I felt, walking into that dark clubhouse, the smoke rising from the poker game off to the left, and proudly plunking down my two dollars for 22)nine holes. Would I have wanted my father there with me that day? Naw. A boy’s gotta do what a boy’s gotta do: grow up.
I went back to the bathroom remodel project. A few hours later, I heard Ryan walk in the front door. I heard him complain to his mother that his 23)putts wouldn’t drop, that his 24)drives were 25)slicing, and that the course was like a lake. He sounded like someone I knew. His tennis shoes squeaked with water as I heard him walk back to where I was working on the bathroom.
“Dad,” he said, dripping on the floor, “my game 26)stinks. Can you take me golfing sometime? I need some help.”
I wanted to hug him. 27)Rev my 28)radial-arm saw in celebration. Shout: “I’m still needed!” I wanted to tell God, “Thanks for letting me be part of this kid’s remodel job.”
Instead, I got one of those serious-dad looks on my face and 29)stoically said, “Sure, Ryan, anytime.”
当时我正坐在装满发霉的灰板的浴缸里,我那13岁大的儿子问了这样一个问题。“你能找个时间带我去打高尔夫球吗?”他说道。
我得装修浴室。那时候是秋天,天气预报预测下周绝对是俄勒冈州典型的雨天。我本想回绝儿子,却答道:“没问题。”
“你有什么主意吗?”
“噢,也许你可以,比如周五放学后来接我和贾莱德,然后带我们去奥克威高尔夫球场。”
“这主意听起来不错。”
周五到了。雨一直在下。但到了约定的时间,我换掉装修时穿的工装,换上防水衣裤,并把我和孩子们的高尔夫球棒放进车尾箱。
在学校门口,瑞恩和贾莱德挤进车里。瑞恩一脸困惑地看着我。
“爸爸,你怎么戴着高尔夫球帽?”他问道。
我觉得这问题好傻,好像在问一个戴着水下呼吸器到深海潜水的人干嘛穿着脚蹼。“噢,我们不是要去打打高尔夫球吗?”
“啊?你也去打吗?”他问。
突然,我像被一支高尔夫球3号铁杆击中腹部一般——原来我不在被邀请之列。为人父母13年来的情形在我眼前瞬间闪现。看着他出生,帮他洗尿布,在深夜里喂哺他,辅导他做作业,和他一块堆堡垒、修单车、玩游戏、去野营。我和儿子去哪都一起。
如今,我却不在被邀请之列。情况就是这样,我们的关系到此决裂,我早知道会这样的了。就等于他在说:“再见了,老爸。感谢那些回忆。但我已经长大,我会自己挥动球杆。现在,你自个儿回到你那张摇椅上,填你的纵横字谜去吧。噢,对了,这儿有张巨力多的五折优惠券,你拿去用吧。”
这所有的回忆在两秒间一闪而过。在瑞恩起疑心,想到我原以为要和他还有他的朋友一起打高尔夫球之前,我大概有三秒的时间思考该怎么回应。
我得说些什么。我本想这么对他说:“你怎么能这样对我?把我像那些没用过的螃蟹诱饵一般扔下船?” 我们过去一直都是上阵不离父子兵的。可这回你却抛弃了我,伤害了我这个大人。为什么一切都变了?
够了,别再这样胡思乱想了。我要对他坦白。我要表达自己受到的伤害有多大,告诉他我内心深处的感受,鼓起我所有的勇气,硬着头皮,尽诉心里话。
然而我却说:“我?去打高尔夫球?不是啦。你知道我要装修浴室,正忙得不可开交呢。”
我们在沉默中行驶了一会儿。接着,我放下他和贾莱德,祝他们好运,就把车开回家了。我儿子现在没有我在身边了。那儿没人会告诉他怎样挥动5号铁杆打出左/右曲球,如何打沙坑球。如果有闪电怎么办?如果他体温过低怎么办?如果高尔夫球车失控怎么办?他年纪这么小。谁来照看他?
我独自一人,驾车驶离了儿子。不仅是这刻,而是永远地驶离了他。就这样,我俩的关系破裂了。生活不再如往常。
我走进家门。“你回家干嘛?”我妻子问道。
我知道那将听起来像个在一群人中唯一没被邀请参加睡衣派对的13岁小孩,但不管了,我很幼稚地说了句:“他们没邀请我。”语气酸酸的。
接着,我妻子大笑起来。起先,我可受伤害了。接着,我也大笑起来。心情顿时平静多了。
我回到浴室继续装修工程,并且开始意识到人生就是不断“改变”。这是父子最终都要做的——改变。自他第一次看着我惊慌尖叫,我就一直在培养训练他要做到这点:不是自个儿打高尔夫那么简单,而是要自个儿应对世界的挑战。用他自己那副高尔夫球杆,按自己的比赛策略,以自己的信念来面对挑战。
上天在改造我儿子。在这儿加些成长的空间,在那儿加进些新特征。总而言之,比起我继续呆在他身边,这让他更有所成。
我记得自己成长的滋味——走进那间漆黑的俱乐部会所,缕缕烟尘从扑克牌游戏处升起,飘离左侧,我自豪地扔下两美元,玩场九洞高尔夫球游戏。我那天希望父亲和我一块呆在那儿吗?不。一个男孩得做他要做的事:成长。
我的思绪回到浴室的装修工程上来。几小时后,我听见瑞恩走进前门。我听见他向他妈妈抱怨自己没把球轻击进洞里,发球都偏一边去了,偏得很厉害,雨水把球场给淹成了湖。他听起来像我过去认识的某个人。我听见他走到我正忙着改造的浴室,他那进了水的网球鞋走起来吱吱作响。
“爸爸,”他说道,他身上的雨水滴落到地板上。“我的高尔夫球技糟透了。你能找个时间带我去打高尔夫球吗?我需要人教教我。”
我想拥抱他,想把我那旋臂锯调至高速以示庆祝,想大喊:“他还是需要我的!”我想告诉老天:“谢谢你让我参与到这孩子的成长改变当中。”
然而,我脸上只是装出了一副那些严肃的老爸脸上常有的表情,恬淡寡欲地说道:“行啊,瑞恩,没问题。”
I had a bathroom to remodel. It was fall, and the forecast for the next week was for a 100 percent chance of Oregon’s 3)liquid sunshine. I wanted to say no. “Sure,” I said.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well, maybe you could, like, pick up Jared and me after school on Friday and take us out to Oakway.”
“Sounds good.”
Friday came. The showers continued. But at the appointed hour, I changed from home-improvement garb to rain-protection garb and loaded the boys’4)clubs and mine in the back of the car.
In front of the school, Ryan and Jared 5)piled in. Ryan looked at me with a perplexed expression.
“What’s with the golf hat, Dad?” he said.
It was, I thought, a silly question, like asking a 6)scuba diver what’s with the swim 7)fins. “Well, I thought we were going to play some golf.”
“Uh, you’re going, too?” he asked.
Suddenly, it struck me like a three-iron to my gut: I hadn’t been invited. Thirteen years of parenting flashed before my eyes. The birth. The diapers. The late-night feedings. Helping with homework. Building forts. Fixing bikes. Going to games. Going camping. Going everywhere together—my son and I.
Now I hadn’t been invited. This was it. This was the end of our relationship as I had always known it. This was “8)Adios, Old Man, thanks for the memories but I’m old enough to swing my own clubs now so go back to your rocking chair and crossword puzzles and—oh yeah—here’s a half-off 9)coupon for your next bottle of 10)Geritol.”
All these memories sped by in about two seconds, leaving me about three seconds to respond before Ryan would get suspicious and think I had actually expected to be playing golf with him and his friend.
I had to say something. I wanted to say this: “How could you do this to me? Throw me overboard like unused crab bait?” We had always been a team. But this was abandonment. Adult abuse. Why did it all have to change?
Enough of this mind-wandering. I needed to 11)level with him. I needed to express how hurt I was. Share my 12)gut-level feelings. Muster all the courage I could find, 13)bite the bullet, and spill my soul.
So I said, “Me? Play? 14)Naw. You know I’m 15)up to my ears in the remodel project.”
We drove on in silence for a few moments. Then, I dropped him and Jared off, wished them luck, and headed for home. My son was on his own now. Nobody there to tell him how to 16)fade a five-iron, how to hit the 17)sand shot. And what if there’s lightning? What about18)hypothermia? A 19)runaway golf cart? He’s so small. Who would take care of him?
There I was, alone, driving away from him. Not just for now. Forever. This was it. The bond was broken. Life would never be the same.
I walked in the door. “What are you doing home?” my wife asked.
I knew it would sound like some 13-year-old who was the only one in the gang not invited to the 20)slumber party, but maintaining my immature21)demeanor, I said it anyway “I wasn’t invited,” I replied, with a trace of snottiness.
Then my wife laughed. Out loud. At first I was hurt. Then I, too, laughed, the situation suddenly becoming much clearer.
I went back to the bathroom remodel and began realizing that this is what life is all about: change. This is what fathers and sons must ultimately do: change. This is what I’ve been preparing him for since he first looked at me and screamed in terror: not to play golf without me, but to take on the world without me. With his own set of clubs. His own game plan. His own faith.
God was remodeling my son. Adding some space here. Putting in a new feature there. In short, allowing him to become more than he could ever be if I continued to hover over him.
I remember how grown-up I felt, walking into that dark clubhouse, the smoke rising from the poker game off to the left, and proudly plunking down my two dollars for 22)nine holes. Would I have wanted my father there with me that day? Naw. A boy’s gotta do what a boy’s gotta do: grow up.
I went back to the bathroom remodel project. A few hours later, I heard Ryan walk in the front door. I heard him complain to his mother that his 23)putts wouldn’t drop, that his 24)drives were 25)slicing, and that the course was like a lake. He sounded like someone I knew. His tennis shoes squeaked with water as I heard him walk back to where I was working on the bathroom.
“Dad,” he said, dripping on the floor, “my game 26)stinks. Can you take me golfing sometime? I need some help.”
I wanted to hug him. 27)Rev my 28)radial-arm saw in celebration. Shout: “I’m still needed!” I wanted to tell God, “Thanks for letting me be part of this kid’s remodel job.”
Instead, I got one of those serious-dad looks on my face and 29)stoically said, “Sure, Ryan, anytime.”
当时我正坐在装满发霉的灰板的浴缸里,我那13岁大的儿子问了这样一个问题。“你能找个时间带我去打高尔夫球吗?”他说道。
我得装修浴室。那时候是秋天,天气预报预测下周绝对是俄勒冈州典型的雨天。我本想回绝儿子,却答道:“没问题。”
“你有什么主意吗?”
“噢,也许你可以,比如周五放学后来接我和贾莱德,然后带我们去奥克威高尔夫球场。”
“这主意听起来不错。”
周五到了。雨一直在下。但到了约定的时间,我换掉装修时穿的工装,换上防水衣裤,并把我和孩子们的高尔夫球棒放进车尾箱。
在学校门口,瑞恩和贾莱德挤进车里。瑞恩一脸困惑地看着我。
“爸爸,你怎么戴着高尔夫球帽?”他问道。
我觉得这问题好傻,好像在问一个戴着水下呼吸器到深海潜水的人干嘛穿着脚蹼。“噢,我们不是要去打打高尔夫球吗?”
“啊?你也去打吗?”他问。
突然,我像被一支高尔夫球3号铁杆击中腹部一般——原来我不在被邀请之列。为人父母13年来的情形在我眼前瞬间闪现。看着他出生,帮他洗尿布,在深夜里喂哺他,辅导他做作业,和他一块堆堡垒、修单车、玩游戏、去野营。我和儿子去哪都一起。
如今,我却不在被邀请之列。情况就是这样,我们的关系到此决裂,我早知道会这样的了。就等于他在说:“再见了,老爸。感谢那些回忆。但我已经长大,我会自己挥动球杆。现在,你自个儿回到你那张摇椅上,填你的纵横字谜去吧。噢,对了,这儿有张巨力多的五折优惠券,你拿去用吧。”
这所有的回忆在两秒间一闪而过。在瑞恩起疑心,想到我原以为要和他还有他的朋友一起打高尔夫球之前,我大概有三秒的时间思考该怎么回应。
我得说些什么。我本想这么对他说:“你怎么能这样对我?把我像那些没用过的螃蟹诱饵一般扔下船?” 我们过去一直都是上阵不离父子兵的。可这回你却抛弃了我,伤害了我这个大人。为什么一切都变了?
够了,别再这样胡思乱想了。我要对他坦白。我要表达自己受到的伤害有多大,告诉他我内心深处的感受,鼓起我所有的勇气,硬着头皮,尽诉心里话。
然而我却说:“我?去打高尔夫球?不是啦。你知道我要装修浴室,正忙得不可开交呢。”
我们在沉默中行驶了一会儿。接着,我放下他和贾莱德,祝他们好运,就把车开回家了。我儿子现在没有我在身边了。那儿没人会告诉他怎样挥动5号铁杆打出左/右曲球,如何打沙坑球。如果有闪电怎么办?如果他体温过低怎么办?如果高尔夫球车失控怎么办?他年纪这么小。谁来照看他?
我独自一人,驾车驶离了儿子。不仅是这刻,而是永远地驶离了他。就这样,我俩的关系破裂了。生活不再如往常。
我走进家门。“你回家干嘛?”我妻子问道。
我知道那将听起来像个在一群人中唯一没被邀请参加睡衣派对的13岁小孩,但不管了,我很幼稚地说了句:“他们没邀请我。”语气酸酸的。
接着,我妻子大笑起来。起先,我可受伤害了。接着,我也大笑起来。心情顿时平静多了。
我回到浴室继续装修工程,并且开始意识到人生就是不断“改变”。这是父子最终都要做的——改变。自他第一次看着我惊慌尖叫,我就一直在培养训练他要做到这点:不是自个儿打高尔夫那么简单,而是要自个儿应对世界的挑战。用他自己那副高尔夫球杆,按自己的比赛策略,以自己的信念来面对挑战。
上天在改造我儿子。在这儿加些成长的空间,在那儿加进些新特征。总而言之,比起我继续呆在他身边,这让他更有所成。
我记得自己成长的滋味——走进那间漆黑的俱乐部会所,缕缕烟尘从扑克牌游戏处升起,飘离左侧,我自豪地扔下两美元,玩场九洞高尔夫球游戏。我那天希望父亲和我一块呆在那儿吗?不。一个男孩得做他要做的事:成长。
我的思绪回到浴室的装修工程上来。几小时后,我听见瑞恩走进前门。我听见他向他妈妈抱怨自己没把球轻击进洞里,发球都偏一边去了,偏得很厉害,雨水把球场给淹成了湖。他听起来像我过去认识的某个人。我听见他走到我正忙着改造的浴室,他那进了水的网球鞋走起来吱吱作响。
“爸爸,”他说道,他身上的雨水滴落到地板上。“我的高尔夫球技糟透了。你能找个时间带我去打高尔夫球吗?我需要人教教我。”
我想拥抱他,想把我那旋臂锯调至高速以示庆祝,想大喊:“他还是需要我的!”我想告诉老天:“谢谢你让我参与到这孩子的成长改变当中。”
然而,我脸上只是装出了一副那些严肃的老爸脸上常有的表情,恬淡寡欲地说道:“行啊,瑞恩,没问题。”