Monday, November 29, 2004
The ungentle lessons of life
By Russell King
My survival as an American dad has depended on my willingness and ability to learn from life. Most of the lessons are the slow, sneaky kind. You soak them up, a drop at a time, the way your shirt moistens on a hike in the woods. They change who you are and how you live long before you even realize they happened. Other lessons leap out of the forest with a roar and sink their teeth into your neck. Then, in case you hadn’t yet noticed them, they drag you through the dirt before dumping you in a heap.
So it was for me this past month. Rhonda and I were enjoying a wonderfully low-key vacation with the kids. We had driven more than 20 hours to get to sun and sand, and it was proving well worth the effort. Then the phone rang.
Without warning and without reason, blood clots formed in the arteries of my eldest brother’s legs, forcing the amputation of one (we’re still waiting to see about the other) and creating a crisis that was, among many other things, terrifying.
Rhonda saw the dilemma in my eyes: I had to get on a plane and fly to my brother’s side, but I could not abandon her so far from home. Not only was there a vacation’s worth of parenting yet to be done, but there was a long drive home. Even the best kids begin to show their naughty sides after a few hours trapped in the car, and it’s tough to be pilot, navigator and referee all at once.
“You go,” she said. “We’ll be fine.” About an hour later, I was flying home.
After the 5-hour flight, there was an 8-hour drive, and I divided the travel time between worry over my wife and kids and agonizing over what I would say to my brother, Gary. I wanted so much to find some words that would give him something—comfort, hope, cheer, anything. By the time I reached him, I hadn’t thought of thing.
As it turns out, that’s OK. As it turns out, there really aren’t any words that can offer anything at such a time. Being there is what counts. Whatever other flaws the King family may have (and we’ve got our share), when it counted, we all were there.
Dad’s presence, as always, was powerful. He causes calm and brings reassurance. He is, after all, Dad. We’ve always known that everything will be OK if Dad is with us. A weaker man would have hidden, even suppressed, his emotions, but Dad is strong enough to be a real man, offering real prayers and shedding real tears.
Gary looked up from his hospital bed and said “I’m going to be all right, Dad.”
“Of course you will,” Dad said. “You’re a King.”
Mother checked herself out of the hospital, where she was recovering from a post-operative staph infection, to comfort her son. My sister and second brother took time from their jobs and lives to gather at his bedside and express their love. We took turns sitting next to him and holding his hand through the worst tremors of pain.
After one gut-wrenching wave had passed, Gary turned to me and whispered, “Sorry for being such a wus.”
Finally, I could say something that would be of use (other than my occasional fits of tasteless humor). I laughed and said, “At moments such as this, all rules are off. You get to feel and say whatever you need to feel and say. Be angry. Be sad. Be depressed. It’s all OK. Besides, this doesn’t change a thing: You’re still the strongest man I know.”
Gary’s recurring theme, despite his pain and peril, was concern for all of us. He didn’t want us to worry, grieve or suffer. He made me promise to offer Rhonda his gratitude for making it possible for me to be with him.
This, I thought later while Gary slept, is how it should be. This is family at its core and at its best.
This was also an example I’m happy that my children witnessed. They saw that, in a moment of crisis, their Mom and Dad remained calm. Their world did not fall apart. They saw Mom make a huge and loving sacrifice. They saw Dad drop everything and rush to respond to his family’s need. As Gary’s odyssey continues, they witness our ongoing love and support.
The lesson may not be gentle, but the moral of the story will stay with us and serve us for the rest of our lives.
Note: If you've enjoyed reading American Dad, you can show your appreciation by sending a donation to one of the two places listed here. I have good friends who are doing exceptionally good things at both places. Thanks!
Good Shepherd Lutheran Church ELCA, 5701 Raymond Rd., Madison, WI 53711
St. John's Lutheran Church, N3882 County Highway KK, Weyauwega, WI 54983-9736
By Russell King
My survival as an American dad has depended on my willingness and ability to learn from life. Most of the lessons are the slow, sneaky kind. You soak them up, a drop at a time, the way your shirt moistens on a hike in the woods. They change who you are and how you live long before you even realize they happened. Other lessons leap out of the forest with a roar and sink their teeth into your neck. Then, in case you hadn’t yet noticed them, they drag you through the dirt before dumping you in a heap.
So it was for me this past month. Rhonda and I were enjoying a wonderfully low-key vacation with the kids. We had driven more than 20 hours to get to sun and sand, and it was proving well worth the effort. Then the phone rang.
Without warning and without reason, blood clots formed in the arteries of my eldest brother’s legs, forcing the amputation of one (we’re still waiting to see about the other) and creating a crisis that was, among many other things, terrifying.
Rhonda saw the dilemma in my eyes: I had to get on a plane and fly to my brother’s side, but I could not abandon her so far from home. Not only was there a vacation’s worth of parenting yet to be done, but there was a long drive home. Even the best kids begin to show their naughty sides after a few hours trapped in the car, and it’s tough to be pilot, navigator and referee all at once.
“You go,” she said. “We’ll be fine.” About an hour later, I was flying home.
After the 5-hour flight, there was an 8-hour drive, and I divided the travel time between worry over my wife and kids and agonizing over what I would say to my brother, Gary. I wanted so much to find some words that would give him something—comfort, hope, cheer, anything. By the time I reached him, I hadn’t thought of thing.
As it turns out, that’s OK. As it turns out, there really aren’t any words that can offer anything at such a time. Being there is what counts. Whatever other flaws the King family may have (and we’ve got our share), when it counted, we all were there.
Dad’s presence, as always, was powerful. He causes calm and brings reassurance. He is, after all, Dad. We’ve always known that everything will be OK if Dad is with us. A weaker man would have hidden, even suppressed, his emotions, but Dad is strong enough to be a real man, offering real prayers and shedding real tears.
Gary looked up from his hospital bed and said “I’m going to be all right, Dad.”
“Of course you will,” Dad said. “You’re a King.”
Mother checked herself out of the hospital, where she was recovering from a post-operative staph infection, to comfort her son. My sister and second brother took time from their jobs and lives to gather at his bedside and express their love. We took turns sitting next to him and holding his hand through the worst tremors of pain.
After one gut-wrenching wave had passed, Gary turned to me and whispered, “Sorry for being such a wus.”
Finally, I could say something that would be of use (other than my occasional fits of tasteless humor). I laughed and said, “At moments such as this, all rules are off. You get to feel and say whatever you need to feel and say. Be angry. Be sad. Be depressed. It’s all OK. Besides, this doesn’t change a thing: You’re still the strongest man I know.”
Gary’s recurring theme, despite his pain and peril, was concern for all of us. He didn’t want us to worry, grieve or suffer. He made me promise to offer Rhonda his gratitude for making it possible for me to be with him.
This, I thought later while Gary slept, is how it should be. This is family at its core and at its best.
This was also an example I’m happy that my children witnessed. They saw that, in a moment of crisis, their Mom and Dad remained calm. Their world did not fall apart. They saw Mom make a huge and loving sacrifice. They saw Dad drop everything and rush to respond to his family’s need. As Gary’s odyssey continues, they witness our ongoing love and support.
The lesson may not be gentle, but the moral of the story will stay with us and serve us for the rest of our lives.
Note: If you've enjoyed reading American Dad, you can show your appreciation by sending a donation to one of the two places listed here. I have good friends who are doing exceptionally good things at both places. Thanks!
Good Shepherd Lutheran Church ELCA, 5701 Raymond Rd., Madison, WI 53711
St. John's Lutheran Church, N3882 County Highway KK, Weyauwega, WI 54983-9736
