Duck Billed Platypus and the Boy Named Sue….

Did you know that the plural for Platypus is Platypodes? For real, trust me, I have a BS in Zoology… of course my sisters know exactly how much BS comes out of that degree…

So why the heck would I even be talking about Platypodes? Well to explain why you have to come back with me about 41 years or so…. Hang on folks, another flashback!

At 5 I was already facing the struggles of being “the sensitive kid” I didn’t know what sensitive was, but I knew I just couldn’t let stuff go, and teasing set me into rages or crying fits or temper tantrums or on a really exciting day my family would see the synergistic effects of all three (I didn’t yet know what synergy was either, but I knew I was easy to melt down.)

My 5 sisters, also being sensitive, picked up on this quickly… depending on the sister or even the day I would be subject to teasing for entertainment (watching me implode, then explode, then re-implode may not have been worth getting bitten but we only had three channels back then so…) or sometimes I would be very nurtured or cared for by one or more of my sisters. A skinned knee never went unattended and I actually didn’t learn to tie my shoes until I was about seven….teen because someone always did it for me. I really had 6 mothers growing up and I know for sure that without that care I would not have survived some of the things I’ve faced in my life. (I gotta put in props to my sisters and not only because they follow my blog… but mostly because they follow my blog)

So 6 mothers…. one dad. I don’t know if there is any boy who didn’t grow up wanting more from his dad. Some boys grow up without any dad at all so I have to really say how grateful I am for the time that he gave me. As a toddler he had this game. Usually on Saturday mornings I’d be watching cartoons or playing with my Spider-Man and having him beat up Superman. (it actually happened in a huge cross-over comic in 1976, Spider-Man was radiated with energy from a red sun at the time rendering Superman vulnerable but still…)

Whether I was playing or watching tv or whatever my dad had this whistle, I still remember exactly the tune, when I would hear it my heart would just bubble with happiness that came out as a toddler giggle and I would race to his room. When I’d get there he had a saying, “Beware the Duck Billed Platypus!” and I’d dive on the bed to get tickled by the Platypus and laugh and giggle. This is the fondest memory I have of my dad. It made me feel wanted and loved and valued by him.

One day the whistles stopped.

I read a post on the facebooks the other day, (that actually wasn’t political) it read, “One day you will put your child down and never pick him up again.” Ouch.

I remember the exact year my dad put me down, never to pick me up again.

1976.

I guess he thought I grew too old for tickles and I get that but, it was never replaced with anything. I almost hate to keep writing because it sounds like I’m demonizing my dad, that’s not what this is about. I know he did thousands of things for us kids that we never even knew, I know he cared, and I know he sacrificed and worked hard to provide for us. So please, please understand I realize how lucky I was to have him.

This is just about that feeling of loss when something wonderful in your life is over. I’ll never forget that feeling of pure joy and happiness when I’d hear that whistle, and  there is still a little boy wandering around in my heart waiting to hear it again.

My dad had another little running joke with me, the Johnny Cash song, “The Boy Named Sue.” He would tease me and call me Sue and I don’t remember really knowing that song was about, and I liked the attention, but I didn’t miss the implication that his only boy might have been a little too sensitive and girly. I went along with the joke and he had other nicknames for me that were better. He did call me “Speed,” all the time and I thought that was awesome because I loved Speed Racer. But when the “Sue” came out after one  of my tantrums or when I’d be crying, I’d try to stop crying and try to stop feeling so that dad would go back to calling me Speed.

It wasn’t until I was an adult and my dad lost his 15 year battle with lung cancer that I figured out what, “The Boy Named Sue” was all about. On February 26th, the day after my birthday I was on my way to work and got a call from my sister, “Daddy died this morning.”

Numb….

Did not feel a thing, the businessman in my head took over and I mechanically did the things I had to do to get a Substitute at work and call my wife etc. etc. I felt nothing.

Not until a week later when a radio announcer told the airwaves that Johnny Cash had died and then he played his favorite Johnny Cash song. Y’all are smart so I’m sure you’ve guessed it…
“Boy Named Sue.” I got a little choked up, once again I was on my way to work, but I turned up the radio to listen to the song. Near the end, after an epic battle the father of the boy named Sue sings,

“Son, this world is rough
And if a man’s gonna make it, he’s gotta be tough
And I know I wouldn’t be there to help ya along
So I give ya that name and I said goodbye
I knew you’d have to get tough or die
And it’s the name that helped to make you strong”

A flood of emotion crushed in on my heart, my dad was gone, he had passed, and I finally realised what he was telling me when he called me Sue. I had to pull over and stop to let it all out. The prophecy of that song played out in my life.

There are men who had it worse, there are men who had it better. I’m just a man trying to figure out my dad so that I can be a better dad to my son and daughter. I don’t want them to have to show the world a tough face to make up for my absence or to end up with a little child in their heart listening for a whistle that will never come.

So I pray to Our Father, God grant me the wisdom to see opportunities to teach my kids about your unfailing love, and how you are here for us always, how we can rely on your strength and let me be an example of your love and grace.

A verse that helps me see the God is the Father to the fatherless and inspires me to better fatherhood.

Psalm 46: 1-3  “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.  Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and mountains quake and with their surging.”

p.s. I love you dad…

A response to “Teen Rebellion”

The very week I posted a story of my own folly for not listening to my mother (pretty much my entire blog is dedicated to what happens when I don’t listen to Our Father) my daughter (15 going on 35) was explaining why she should have more freedoms in the household and why we should trust her more.

I’m stepping away from my list of 25 bible verses that helped to pull me out of my personal pit and using this as an add on to last week, I hope you don’t mind.

Why I get to tell you what to do….

The age old question again, “Why do you get to tell me what to do!” usually delivered in a moderately high pitched yell, with fists clenched and probably a stomped foot.

At some point in child development, “Because I said so!” (also delivered in a moderately high pitched yell, with fists clenched and probably a stomped foot) no longer satisfies the child and you need a real answer. This is what I thought of when my daughter asked me, and the response is not only to her but also to my son, my nieces and nephews, and to the thousands of kids I’ve taught and coached over the years…..

I get to tell you what to do because I was there when you were born, I drove at speeds that pushed the limits not only of safety but of sanity in order to see you come into this world. Because I looked into your face and saw what love truly is.

I get to tell you what to do because I have stayed up all night while you cried, because I’ve rocked you to sleep countless times, because I’ve checked your closet, under your bed and then the closet again. I’ve listened to your descriptions that were so detailed and terrifying that I began to imagine I’d find the monster there… and with a lump in my throat, and goose bumps on my arms, I checked anyway and found nothing more than a child’s imagination running so wild that it ran right into my head. Because the first night you slept through I spent in a cold sweat staring at the ceiling because I was worried something was wrong.

I get to tell you what to do because I walked for hours in the rain in search of a dropped teddy bear, only to return empty handed to the sight of you playing with the exact bear  in question, giggling and warm in the living room while I dripped icy rain onto the floor. And because I felt relief rather than anger at this sight because you were so happy and content.

I get to tell you what to do because I’ve changed a mountain of diapers, the contents of which made me question whether to call a doctor or a priest… Because I’ve cleaned up your puke (usually after you said, “No dad, I’m not gonna puke…. blaoouerehggg…splatter.”) I’ve cleaned your puke off the floor, the wall, the dog, out of my car, off your sister or yourself and I’ve cleaned your puke off the toilet seat (almost made it that time!) I’ve cleaned your puke off a blanket at the park in front of a crowd of people staring at me and whispering, “Poor dad…” I’ve cleaned your puke off a restaurant table in front of a crowd of people trying to look away (still the whispers though.) I hate puke, puke makes me want to puke, warm and smelly, chunky and slimy. I hate puke, but I love you, so I clean up your puke.

I get to tell you what to do because while you were crying with your tiny body shaking in fear…

I got down on my knees and prayed in great sobs, “Please God, don’t let ever me yell at my boy like that again…”

 

I get to tell you what to do because I answered questions ranging from “Why is the sky blue?” to “Why do dogs have to die?” and “Why is this the way to the store?” I admit that one stumped me until you accepted “Because these are the points in space/time that exist between home and the store.” I was honestly pretty impressed that you could grasp such a deep concept of simple relativity at only 3 years old.

I get to tell you what to do because I’ve kissed boo boos, bandaged cuts, gone to or helped get you to emergency rooms, cooled fevers, soothed sunburns, and plugged bloody noses.

I get to tell you what to do because I’ve pushed a thousand swings, and slid countless slides. Because I’ve stood in ice cold water for 45 minutes so you could jump in “One more time Daddy,” about 100 more times.

I get to tell you what to do because I’ve held your little angel face against my cheek while you slept, Your warm contented sighs breathing new life into my lungs and inspiring me to be the dad you need.

I get to tell you what to do because one day, I’ll be brave enough to let you go and make mistakes, to get hurt, lost, bruised, and broken hearted. Because my hand will always be there after, to lift you up, my shoulder will always be there to soak up your tears.

I get to tell you what to do because I won’t always be here for you, and when you ask for advice you’ll hear only the stark silence of my passing, but hopefully you’ll hear my advice inside your heart and have some ideas and a plan. Because about the same time that you finally understand why I always got to tell you what to do, you will have your own kids, stomping their feet and asking, “Why do you get to tell me what to do!”

 

Proverbs 1:8

My child, listen when your father corrects you. Don’t neglect your mother’s instruction.

I pet my Fish!

Just yesterday I heard the tiny little voice of my baby girl burst out in hysterical and bubbly laughter, that laughter was coming from my little toddler daughter’s room, and soon she came bounding out of the room herself. Her giggles sounding like a thousand little silver bells as her bare feet slapped against our concrete floors. She beamed up at me as her golden curls formed a halo in the sunlight, “Dady, I pet my Fish!”

I shook myself and noticed that she was drenched (mostly her arms) and dripping on the floor. “Kiddo what?”

“Daaaaaddyyyyy,” she was already learning the overly patient tone she takes with me, “I pet my fish.” More giggles exploded out of her in such a rush that I was carried away in their current, and soon I was shaking with laughter also, “Well, ” I gasped between guffaws, “Did he like it?”

She squeezed her soaking arms together and stomped a foot, “Yes!” She had just gotten the fish as a reward for using the potty for the first time. Sure, the potty was on the back porch so that she could… well, go, “Outside,  just like Lion King Daddy!” Her mother was a little mortified (but not as mortified as she’ll be when she reads this, it’s a dad’s job to embarrass his daughter though) but we had made a promise so we went and got her a fish, and, when you’re 2 (ish) and you get a new pet, you hug it and pet it.

I swear that was just yesterday but somehow last night about 13 years flashed by (I must have hit snooze)  and today was her first day of high school. Whoa. Now, I’m an admittedly over protective dad (I get it from my mother, we didn’t have any corners or sharp objects in our house until I was about seven…teen and mom couldn’t watch my sister’s track meets because she was on the relay team and my mother couldn’t watch her run with sticks), and as overprotective as I am I was would obviously worry about her starting high school. Visions ran through my head of all the potential dangers of high school. What if someone is mean to her? What if she doesn’t meat a deadline? What if she gives her heart so someone who doesn’t deserve it? What if she gets a B? (I tell my kids that I never got a B all through high school, luckily they haven’t asked yet if I ever got an A)

Here’s the deal though, all of those things are going to happen. And in these times we have to trust our kids and trust that we’ve taught the right lessons and that our kids will be strong enough to take on bullies and broken hearts and even B’s. There is a greater trust though, one that is essential, and that is trust in God. As over protective as I am I offer my fear up to God and I trust that he will challenge us in ways where he needs us to be stronger, and in ways that will bring us together. My baby will go through things that I can’t fix or even understand, but she is tough and I trust God’s plan and love Him for being a protective Father that still knows we have to risk to live and grow.

So when my baby texted me this morning to say she was on her way, I prayed (well first I cried but then I prayed) that God would give her the strength and the wisdom to navigate her classes and classmates. I also said a little prayer that as she grows and matures, last week she told me that I have to learn to love myself before I can truly love someone else…. I’m workin’ on it kiddo, but I prayed that as she grows into a woman she keeps some of her whimsy and silliness and continues to be the kind of person who would still “pet the fish!”

When I’m feeling anxious and need to remind myself that God’s got it, I remember  John 14:27- Peace, I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.