A Parent’s Journey

“You have to find your balance.”

In retrospect teaching my son to ride a bike in a public place was a dumb idea. Every kid who has mastered a two-wheeler feels the urge to bear witness to a lesson while shouting advice authoritatively.

“I didn’t know I lost it,” Aidan noted.

Aidan was in kindergarten, old by today’s standard of achievement for bicycle riding. I thought the high school parking lot mid summer would be a suitable venue so I loaded his bike in along with a pocket full of Band-Aids, and we headed out. Aidan has always been a bit self conscious. He can play a complicated trumpet solo in front of a large audience, but dislikes running on a track if others are present. Knowing when to conform and when to buck the system is the real challenge of parenting.

"I don't think I can do it," he relayed.

“Just keep pedaling."

Aidan Crashing

He struggled, crashed, became exasperated all in front of a growing group of little twerps who spewed advice about locating one’s lost equilibrium. He wanted to quit, but I encouraged him to keep going. He didn’t master two-wheeled human propulsion that afternoon, but he tried. Eventually, he found the allusive stability.

When he was three years old, we took him to a swim class touted as the best place for toddlers. After a few lessons, we changed to a different pool. His swim instructor ejected him from the water for complaining about the temperature. After the lesson she said,

“He’s four going onto five. He should be able to swim in water that cold.”

The pool was pretty darn frigid, the temperature that competitive swimmers prefer. I informed her that he just turned three, and the pool was, in fact, cold. I pulled him from the swim lesson due to the insensitive nature of his instructor. I didn’t ask for a refund. Eventually, he learned to swim at the local YMCA.

The path of parenthood is blazed with revelations. Some things are hardwired like waking in the middle of the night when a newborn stirs. Prior to fatherhood I could’ve slept through a Saturn V launch. Now I'm up and primed if I hear the slightest peep. Before children if someone told you that you would have to hold a 20 pound sack of potatoes all day as you wandered through an amusement park, you wouldn't believe it was possible. Somehow when the weight is your baby, you carry it effortlessly without a care.

Being a parent involves making subtle decisions on what’s best when the path is overgrown. Whether it was going to be a tough love or a whirlybird approach, I was bent on being a father who always talked to his kids. My mother and father rarely spoke to us. They preferred to yell their parental advice into our deaf ears.

When Aidan was very young, I explained the proper use of the words "please" and "thank you." Satisfied that I was a new age role model parent with superior communication skills, I was eager to move onto other aspects of my son's development. Perhaps concern for others, respect for nature and maybe someday cranial topics like life after death. It wasn't long before I found myself repeating the common courtesy lesson once again. I thought that we sufficiently covered this topic already. What I didn't know as a new parent is that every lesson imparted on your children must be followed by the instruction,

"Repeat 1000 times."

I didn’t always give the best advice even though I had the best intentions. In middle school, I wanted Aidan to stand up to the bullies. Middle schoolers are a sordid bunch. Not yet adults, no longer children, their predicament brings out the worst behavior as they work out the pecking order. Each time Aidan reported bullying, he suffered a backlash. This alienated my son with many of the more aggressive kids. The amount of retaliatory torment Aidan endured made his quest for equity not worth the effort. I should’ve told him just to fly under the radar because in the end even the school administrators grew tired of his input. Now, in high school when he walks into the bathroom to find a kid being shaken down, he keeps to himself.

Today when I talk to my son it usually involves some kind of eletronics. I've grown accustomed to texting Aidan whenever I need to speak with him. We don't talk as much as we did when he was younger now that he is busy with all the things high school requires of him. It was the same for me and my father. When I was my son’s age, I didn't have time for my dad. I was too busy moving forward. Ten years would pass before our relationship as father and son rekindled mainly because I needed someone to talk to as I navigated a life of unrequited love. Later I realized that my relationship with my father was temporal, and I got in a few years to make amends. Today, I would give anything to have just five minutes in his presence once again.

Aidan in Boot Camp

In the summer of 2018, we dropped Aidan off at Fort Devens for two weeks of boot camp as part of his training for Sea Cadets, a junior military organization. There are no participation trophies in Sea Cadets. You roger up or roger out. What appeals to me as a parent is that in Sea Cadets they push you until you find your limit, then they build you up. They shave your head so you look like everyone else. You learn when to get up in the morning, what to wear, when to eat, what to say, and you run in formation to every evolution. It’s a far cry from his online gaming world which he resides in most days now.

When Aidan showed interest in the military, I checked out Sea Cadets to ensure that it was properly run. I found the officers in charge to be a thoughtful but tough group of mostly prior military members. The cadets themselves exhibited the very essence of inclusiveness. On Aidan's first drill, several cadets introduced themselves as they asked him his name then invited him to sit with them. A year later Aidan earned Sea Cadet ribbons in academics and volunteer service. Now in bootcamp, the only way we were allowed to communicate with him was via the US Postal Service.

Each day my wife, Christine, poured through the pictures on the Sea Cadet Facebook page to catch a glimpse of her son. His bald head from the close shave they gave him made him hard to identify. For years, I've always been able to talk to my son when I wanted. Most of the time at night he laid his head down in his bed in his room, save the few times he's stayed over a friend's house. But now, we've gone through a week with only a brief letter in which he indicated that the training was tough in humid weather. I found it hard to endure such little information. I was glad when he finally called, but I knew a call was bad news.

"I'm in the hospital wing," he said.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Dehydrated."

"What did the doctor say?"

"Go back to training, but I don't know."

"What's the matter?" I asked unhesitatingly.

"I don't think I can do it," he answered.

I didn't have long to talk with him. I had to say something to help him through uncertainty. I felt helpless. All I could come up with was,

“Just keep pedaling.”

"Okay," he responded.

As we said our goodbyes and the line went dead, I wished we had more time, but in life you always have less than you think. We weren't allowed to see him until after graduation when he marched in formation onto the parade ground. Never before have I wanted the days to pass so effortlessly that I went to bed early just to get on with it. Christine continued to scan Facebook daily. I kept telling myself that he'll be fine, that he'll see it through to the end. When the day came, I struggled to find him in formation with his shipmates as they marched onto the parade ground. Christine picked him out readily. As he passed before us I knew that he was marching forward into his future and away from mine.

And once again, he had found his balance.

Editor's Note: Aidan recently graduated from high school and will be attending Worcester Polytechnic Institute majoring in Computer Science in the fall. Originally published on July 10, 2018.