Holding Hands

It may not come as too big of a surprise that I wasn’t exactly the toughest kid growing up. I mean, I was always athletic and into sports but I was much more likely to try and negotiate my way out of a fight than join in one.

It is probably also then, no surprise that I was also a momma’s boy. This was primarily because we spent so much time together.  We’d write stories together (I know…I know…) she’d make uniforms and clothes for my wrestling action figures (not DOLLS, thank you very much) and let me use whatever household ingredients I could find to mix and match to make my latest secret potions. I loved that time we spent together. My dad and I didn’t spend as much time together one-on-one primarily because he worked when I was young and my mother didn't. But in many ways, that made the times we did spend together, just the two of us, that much more special. They wouldn't be major events: a walk to the store, a ride in the company truck before he had to take it back. But they were special because it was just me and him. We always lived in pretty rough neighborhoods on the West side of the city but I always felt safer when he was home, which is ironic because my dad was 5’7 and maybe 150 pounds. Looking back on it, if danger did occur there probably wasn’t  much he could do about it. But just his presence made me sleep better at night.

We often hear of the maternal instinct: those instances when a mother reaches beyond any logical strength she may have to lift a car off of her injured child or protect her baby cub from the advances of a hungry lion. But I believe fathers (at least true/dedicated fathers) have a similar instinct. It is a primal need to protect. In most situations I’m still more likely to try and use my wit and smarts to negotiate the terrain but involve my wife or children and something primal engages within me. My safety, nor the consequences of my actions, are of concern any longer. My only thought is protecting my family.

            Today I got to spend some one on one time with my baby boy, Noah. He’s not much of a baby anymore: he turned 9 this summer. It’s eerie how much he reminds me of myself.  He’s pretty smart and a hard worker in school. He’s super polite and respectful. He loves his momma (and truth be told she loves him even more) as much as I loved my mom as a kid. I love the bond they share.  He’s always making those same weird concoctions I used to make. He even has my crooked smile (sorry for passing along those bad genes dude, braces soon I promise!) Just like me and my dad, Noah and I don’t spend as much one on one time together as I’d like primarily because I’m usually working on something: grading school work, grad school work, a paper, a lesson plan, a game plan, something.  But today, my wife took the girls and Kaleb was somewhere being too cool to hang with his family anymore (he’s 14, pray for me) so it was just me and my guy. We didn’t do much, just went to the mall and grabbed some dinner. But it was just us guys. We talked about school, Ipods, phones, minecraft, angry birds, why Ray Rice was playing in the pre-season  (he asked) and the little league world series. And it was just as special as the times when my dad would take me to watch Nascar with his roofing buddies or when we’d walk to the grocery store to get fatback for breakfast or go to the park to play catch. It was just us and I knew I was safe.

            I always wondered if my kids would feel that same protection around me. My wife says she has trouble sleeping when I’m not home, but I chalked that up  mostly to flattery and her not having anyone to throw her leg on in the middle of the night. I often asked myself, do I make my family feel safe the same way my dad did?

On Monday night, my best friend and I took my boys down to DC for an Orioles game (O's won! How 'bout dem birds hun?!). As we walked out of the stadium at about 10:30, literally thousands of people surrounded us as we trekked the couple of blocks back to the car. Kaleb (my oldest) and D (my best friend) walked to my left and on my right, as we crossed the street through a throng of people, I felt a hand grab hold of mine. It was Noah. He had a bit of a panicked look on his face, as if there was too much going on around him and he was afraid of getting lost in the shuffle. I grabbed his hand tight to mine, to let him know that I had him, everything would be fine and we walked back to the car. No words were exchanged but he had answered my question. I knew he felt safe with me.

            My father was far from perfect but what he was, was always there when I needed to feel safe. From a car accident when I was 16 to my first day of orientation at high school, he was there when I needed him most. I think that’s what I miss most about him. But in those special moments, when the world slows down and it’s just me and my boy, I can feel my dad there too, holding my hand on the other side.