By Ronald N. Guy Jr.
I have officially become my parents. I laugh at my own futile arguments against
the obvious. I don’t know when the
transformation happened specifically, but it’s indisputable – fait
accompli.
I was warned that this unsettling change would happen. Unconvinced, I fought it -
passionately. But then my own kids
started navigating their world, one quite different from the one of my
childhood, became instant experts (apparently) on all things life presents and
emboldened to argue against the often inconvenient and mostly unsolicited
advice of their gray-bearded, clueless father.
Regardless of topic – homework, extracurricular activities,
Ebola, ISIS, unplugging from the electronics or the social dynamics of middle
school – our discussions don’t always go so well…for anyone involved (again,
similar to “debates” with my parents).
When I am challenged (or ignored completely), my temperature rises, my
words become more direct and I usually blurt something completely unproductive
like, “this is not a democracy.” I
doubt my kids even understand what a democracy is at this point. But it makes me feel better, so...
I try not to preach.
Honestly, I do. What I have is
wisdom; I don’t portend to have perfect answers for their unique
situations. I recognize that my
antiquated childhood experiences and Gen-X worldview don’t always produce sound
advice today. Of course how could I
forget my limitations when two pint-sized critics and their whopping two decades
of combined earthly experience are constantly questioning my theories? But here’s an odd twist. I’d be willing to bet a six-pack of fine
Maryland craft beer (high stakes for me) that if you wrapped either of my kids
in Wonder Woman’s truth lasso, they’d begrudgingly spill this fact: dad is
usually right.
Why am I usually on-point?
Is it because I’m some oracle of life experiences or all-seeing eye
affixed atop the parental mountaintop?
Hardly. I’m usually right, and
my parents were usually right (ouch that hurt), and their parents were usually
right for a very simple reason. And the
answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind; for those seeking less abstract,
anti-Dylan proof, grab a chair in the sports world’s classroom.
I’m betting even the most casual sports fans noticed that
the San Francisco Giants and Kansas City Royals made improbable runs to the
World Series and that (this is really going to hurt) the left-for-dead Dallas
Cowboys, their leaky defense, embattled quarterback and kooky owner are firmly
in the playoff conversation. How did
they all do it? The Giants rode the
golden left arm of pitching ace Madison Bumgarner and the Royals leaned on a
nasty bullpen full of guys throwing 100 MPH and capable of making a baseball
move like a wiffle ball. And the
Cowboys? The Cowboys, behind a young,
talented offensive line and RB DeMarco Murray, are running the football like
it’s 1975.
Pitching and running the ball: as much as sports have
changed, these fundamental tenets of success in baseball and football,
respectively, have not. The same
applies to the fundamentals of parenting and life. The basics are timeless: that’s why my parents were almost always
right and that’s why I’m usually right.
I am a father, validated by sports.
What are those enduring, trans-generational lessons, the
pitching and running game of parenthood?
Well, here are a few. Work
hard. Be reliable and trustworthy. Respect authority but don’t be afraid to
question it. Care – about yourself and
others. Brush your teeth. Bring a positive, can-do attitude to every
situation and challenge. Understand
that a broken heart is often an unfortunate part of ultimately finding lasting
love. Live below your means. Candy is not a food group (except on
Halloween night). Chores and adversity
build character. Video games are fine –
in moderation. Learn when to speak your
mind and when to bite your tongue. And
yes, you have to eat your vegetables.
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