Some thoughts on being a son

When I was growing up, my dad occasionally expressed fear that he was failing as a father. To be truthful, I didn't know how to respond.

As I look back decades later, I think he had every reason to feel that way. For openers, he didn't grow up with his father, whom his mother threw out for infidelity when Dad was 5; had no adult male to show him the ropes; and was probably overwhelmed with the responsibilities. I get that today, as many men, especially in the African-American community, are going through the same thing.

Lately, however, I've caught a number of Charles Stanley's messages on the atmosphere that parents are obliged to create to rear healthy children, which is where my dad did fail. Children need to have a sense of belonging and competence; however, my thoughts, talents and tastes were never accepted, let alone valued, and I was merely expected to conform to the family dynamic. (Which I knew I never could and thus didn't even try.) Though all my gifts and interests were in the arts and communications, as a career I was steered toward math and science -- ostensibly to make a lot of money but ultimately, I suspect, to keep me cooped up at home.

Which leads me to another important point. Last year I ran into a woman that Dad had been involved with after my mother left him -- at the time of his death I was not on speaking terms with him, so I met her only at the first viewing -- and she noted that my mother, brother and I "were all he had."

That was a problem -- perhaps the problem. You see, Dad was using us to determine his identity and give him the security he always lacked. That, of course, was neither our role nor our responsibility because -- well, if he didn't give them to us, where were we supposed to get them?

OK, OK, I'll get out of the self-pity mode. Anyway, I now understand that the most important thing a father can give to his children is a sense of vision, hopefully to make this world just a little bit better than when they came into it. I think that's the problem with many families -- they try to buy a home in the nicest suburb available to raise their kids to go out and make money and start the whole process over again, with no rhyme or reason. Granted, these things aren't bad in themselves, but when that becomes the bottom line ... well, don't you feel a sense of emptiness, that you should be doing more with your life? Even "Christian" families get stuck in that same rut.

As a single man who probably will never have his own children (and thus not engaged in that battle), it's probably easy for me to make those kind of pronouncements. Still, I have an idea of what I would do were I a father -- and, more importantly, what I need to become an effective man. Number one on the list would be to cultivate friendships with older men who have been through the process. (Which I wish Dad would have done.)

Because I may never be a father -- but I will always be a son.

Moving toward -- ?

In an early chapter of his book The Way of the Wild Heart, John Eldredge describes several ways that men react to their fathers. One sample, which closely correlates to mine, was the following: "An evil man. May God deliver me from his legacy."

At a 12-Step recovery meeting I attended earlier tonight, I realized something: I've spent much of the past four decades running from my father. (Never mind that he's been dead for over 15 years.)

In retrospect, that started early. He derided Martin Luther King Jr. because of his commitment to the Christian faith; I became not only a Christian myself but also an admirer of King and supporter of his attitude of nonviolence. He resented the white race; meanwhile, most of my friends are -- and almost all of my dating partners have been -- white. He wanted me to study engineering; when that didn't work out I turned to writing, which displeased him.

But even my conversion, nearly 30 years ago, and subsequent discipleship were driven in large part by not wanting to be like him. I received Christ as Savior and LORD the day after he informed my brother and me that my mother had threatened to leave -- and I knew why. Just over four years later, when she made good on that threat and I moved out with her, I went into counseling and entered 12-step recovery because of a specific situation that showed me that, even though I was a believer, I had not changed sufficiently to be able to live effectively on life's terms. (The Program, based on Alcoholics Anonymous, has actually helped me to be a better Christian.)

Basically, I understood how not to live. But -- what's the alternative?

I think that illustrates one of the problems with the way Christianity is "sold" in this country -- primarily as a way to avoid eternal punishment. While that is certainly a fringe benefit of "salvation," I'm no longer convinced that doing so represents God's intent. He created ancient Israel to separate a people for Himself to live by His law in order to glorify Himself and bless the rest of the world; He sent his Son Jesus for the same ultimate purpose. In other words, His intention was always positive.

That's the challenge that I -- and every serious Christian -- face. When Paul instructs believers to "crucify the flesh," he was referring to the process of suffocation that eventually brought death to a physical body. That said, the "flesh" has to be replaced with something else rather than just killed. Which is why spiritual discipline is so important.

I'm not sure what that means exactly in my present state. I know only that a "negative" view won't help me personally, let alone help to establish the Kingdom of God as far as I have influence. May I -- and we -- live more positively.