Prodigal Magazine

Growing up is the battle of a lifetime. Often the one who should be our trainer is our first adversary. With or without intent, by abandonment or in person a Bad Dad is the first hurdle some face. Sadly, many never clear this obstacle. Still, I have learned a trick or two bouncing off the mats towards maturity and I am not afraid to share.

My tale begins with mom and dads break-up. Dad was a truck driver and rarely around. It seems he was a good time guy, guitars, honky-tonks and hillbilly music. He had taken my older brother on some of his adventures. Bonding time via pick-up technique training is bad parenting. Mom was intent to spare me the experience.

She re-married and I had a step-dad. He always had a 25-caliber pistol in the small of his pants. Under his watch, I learned how to load rocks and gravel on a wheelbarrow, concrete mixture techniques as well as the fine art of stonewall construction.

My older brother soon came to blows with step-dad. Ugly scene but the gun never came out. Step-dad was not a beater, he was just cruel and inside of your head. Hours of setting by a window as the rest of the kids played while being ridiculed does more damage than a good right hook I believe.

By middle school, it was accepted that I was a stupid, worthless oaf. Or so I was told daily. Anger grew into bitterness and whole hearted hatred. When a second round of parental infidelity and divorce erupted, I was well equipped to embrace the dysfunction.

From there life involved more hand guns, knives, large flying object, car chases and stalking. Yes, I know it sounds like an action movie but that was life during the 9th and 10th grades of school for me.

No surprise mom had a nervous breakdown. To cope she took pills, drank wine and cried. Sometimes at the kitchen table, sometimes in the den, other times alone in her room. I hated watching her suffer while not able to understand much beyond the hate or to help beyond refilling her glass.

By the 11th grade mom had the broken pieces together but some were missing. She was never really the same and neither was I. Suffice to say my life’s compass was if not broken, severely misaligned.

I share this story to point out that I have not recreated the chaos. In fact, I have been married for nearly 20 years to one wonderful woman. I have seven children who range from high school to toddlerdom. Four of which are currently six-year-old quadruplet and I have been their at-home dad for some seven years.

What happened I describe as a bit of spiritual jujitsu. Oh, I spent a wayward youth and young adulthood. However, one night, Valentines Evening 1987 to be exact, I found out that God cared. That was the crazy evening that He put a snowplow in my path. While I was going 60 miles an hour!

No this is not an allegory, metaphor or what ever. I hit a snowplow! I hit it good and hard. I should have died but I did not even bleed. I later saw pictures of my car. If you had been in the back or passenger seats you would have died. I only had a bruise over my heart. Now there is your metaphor.

You might assume after the Jaws of Life pulled me out that I had a come to Jesus party right there on I-581. Nope just went to jail but God had my attention. After much soul searching, I realized I did not have what it took to fix me but I was going to find it.

Now I am not a preacher. I am just your average at home dad of Quads plus three. My goal is simply to share the flat out truth that turns all the hateful hurt ever aimed at you across your hip, over your shoulders and flat on it’s evil rear-end. Learn this move and you can toss the weight of the world off your back. It is as simple as Forgiveness!

Yea I had a messed up dad and a more messed up step-dad. My mom stumbled and I was blowing it. Nevertheless, the anger, bitterness and wholehearted hatred I carried for them and my own shortcomings was nothing but a chokehold from hell itself.

Our culture is dying one poorly parented child at a time. The key to stopping it is in healing the hearts of guys like you and me. This is the battle of our lifetime. The reason to fight straddles between our own fears, failures and forgiveness to the hearts, wholeness and futures of the children we father.  

My dad, he was drafted at 18 into the first wave of the Korean War. By age 20, he had three Bronze Stars and accompanying Purple Hearts. That means he went through hell in a hat basket and he never got over it.

My step-dad was raised with an alcoholic father that beat him for sport. By 19, he was in the Navy and on a blind drunk liberty that ended in a killing. From there he grew up on a chain gang in the Georgia State Penal system. By age 33, he was parenting my brother and I.

I know all this now and can look back with compassion. I can let it go and leave the hate and the hurt behind. This is my reason to be a dad like none my families has ever seen. Forgiven, whole and aware of his place in the chain of fathers, sons, daughters and destiny.  

This is my tip in fighting the battle of your lifetime, forgiveness starting with yourself. It sounds too simple, yet I know it is easier to forgive when you know you have been forgiven. This is where Jesus makes all the difference but I don’t want to preach…