September 26: "The Journey," Son's Birthday, Right Path

Mary Oliver tells us about . . . 

The Journey

by:  Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations--

though their melancholy

was terrible,

it was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice,

which you slowly 

recognized as your own, 

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

Rarely do I feel like I know where my life is headed.  I'm old enough to have encountered a lot of voices shouting bad advice, stiff fingers of wind, fallen branches and stones in the road.  There haven't been any maps to follow, and Siri doesn't know what's coming around the bend.

Today, my son turned 15.  When I was young, the idea of being a father terrified me.  If you haven't noticed, I'm not really into a lot of the typical "guy" stuff.  When it comes to cars, I can fill up a gas tank and check oil.  That's about it.  I don't remember the last time I held a fishing rod.  I haven't fired any kind of gun since I was a teenager, and I could care less who the Green Bay Packers are playing next.  My focus, at the moment, is who's going to win the Nobel Prize in Literature next Thursday, which happens to be Saint Marty's Day.  Fingers crossed.

I've tried to be a good guide for my son, keeping him away from swamps and cliffs, potholes and culverts.  His journey has been much shorter than mine, but it has been a long and winding road, as the Beatles say.  Bullying.  Strife at home.  Suicide attempts.  Not to mention a global pandemic.  Helping him navigate all of these challenges has been like trying to climb Mount Everest or explore the Grand Canyon.

I've made mistakes for sure.  As I said, I'm sort of unconventional when it comes to fathering skills.  If my son wants to know how to bait a fish hook or shoot a deer, he will have to talk to one of his uncles or cousins.  If he wants to know how to write a sonnet or understand The Catcher in the Rye, I'm his man.  

The good news is that, despite my deficits as a father (or because of them, maybe), my son has grown into a funny, smart, and sensitive young man.  He makes me laugh on a daily basis and will still say "I love you" to me in public settings.  He treats everyone with respect and doesn't have a mean bone in his body.

In short, at the beginning of his 15th journey around the sun, my son is on the right path.  I don't know where he's headed, and he will certainly encounter more obstacles, but I couldn't be prouder of the person that he's becoming.

Even though he's directionally challenged, Saint Marty has managed to be his son's compass.