I have one final cautionary tale that God brought to me awhile ago. Since committing to write this book my radar has been particularly tuned to father stuff. One weekend Elizabeth and I had the chance to visit our daughter at college. She worked part time at a steak house chain and, I have to say, she has wonderful people skills and lights up a room so she’s a natural when it comes to serving tables. Especially at a restaurant that has a playful atmosphere. Anyway, the place was packed and since I’d just dropped in unannounced after a long drive she found me a seat at the bar and went off to tend to her tables. A few minutes later a young man accompanied by an older couple took the seats immediately to my left.
At this point I confess that after catching a few snippets of his conversation I engaged in active eavesdropping. The couple I assumed were his parents were obviously not. Over the course of a few minutes he told them about his recent birthday celebration. He enjoyed it but was disappointed that he didn’t get to continue the tradition of the past few years. Apparently, in previous years his birthday treat was a visit to a local strip club with his buddies where he got the pleasure of a birthday picture with the strippers. It seemed a sad and inappropriate story to me, but he was telling it with great enthusiasm. He went on to mention his mother and the man she was currently living with. That’s when my “father influence” radar went off. He made some negative comments about the man his mother was with and I couldn’t tell if they were married or just living together. I could tell he didn’t care for the man and he made no comment about his father.
He was remarkably transparent about his struggle for identity. He bemoaned the fact that he wasn’t taller and more menacing in appearance because he didn’t feel people gave him the respect he deserved. He had decided to “remake his image”. He had my full and fascinated attention. He described the tattoos he intended to get all over his arms and back. Dragons and other threatening images to overcome the impression that he was young and “baby faced”. He even declared, “I’m almost thirty years old” and he determined he had to change his identity now before it was too late. I wish I could effectively share the pain and desperation I heard in his voice.
Here is an adult man finding his identity in strip clubs and willing to remake his physical appearance to rip away the labels that have been attached to him. I’m convinced that artful fathering would have saved this man from so much pain he’s suffered and so much more he has yet to endure. I fear there’s no way to fully communicate how urgently the world needs men to embrace the art of fathering except to say this man, sadly, represents the vast majority of men stumbling through life tearing away (sometimes literally) at the labels that have become their identity.
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