I have been debating for quite a while whether or not to tell this story.  My hang up has been that the story is rather personal and I've been pondering whether I really want to be this vulnerable with the rest of the world.   Over recent years I've shared it with a few close friends and they have strongly encouraged me to spread the word as it may be helpful to other fathers, so here we go...

As new parents the thoughts that fill our minds as to what it will take to be the perfect parent can be quite intimidating.  In religious circles in can be downright oppressive. We want more than anything for our children to have the best which means we need to be the best. My father was no different in that regard.  He was so excited when I arrived.  In fact, he already had my whole life planned out!  He knew exactly what it was going to take for me to grow up into manhood and his plan was laid out from day one.  Everything was on schedule and working fine until my personality began to emerge.  At that point things deteriorated quickly into crisis mode as unfortunately his son was not the conformist his father was.  My father was a part of, as Tom Brokaw put it, "The Greatest Generation."  This was a generation of men who returned from World War II and built the world's greatest economy with the same military precision and hard work ethic they had trained under.  They knew how to take orders and get the job done.  They were loyal company men who were trained to believe that conformity was the best policy and that you never challenged authority.

My father came into fatherhood with that same philosophy and set out to instruct me in those very same principles.  The problem was that God had given him a non-conformist for a son who asked "why" about everything.  Asking "why" in my father's world was the equivalent of treason.  One never challenged authority nor made ones superior look stupid by asking a question they couldn't answer.  Unfortunately for him, I just wasn't wired that way.  I was curious about everything and wanted to understand how and why things worked the way they did.  I wanted to understand people's behavior as at times I found it downright strange.  He wasn't the only one I frustrated.  I horrified teachers, priests and anyone else in authority with my politically incorrect questions.  Things escalated to the point that my adolescent years were spent living in the basement, trying to avoid too much contact with him so things wouldn't deteriorate into another verbal war.  It finally hit critical mass when at age 17 I ran away from home.  I just couldn't live in the same house with him anymore as it felt like I was suffocating.

A year later, I had a rather intense spiritual encounter with God late at night while alone in my rented apartment.  While this certainly helped take some of the edge off our tense relationship, it wasn't a cure-all.  I later moved out of state and our interactions were relegated to an occasional visit home where I tried to be on my best behavior.  Then one day I got a call from him asking if he could come visit me in St Louis where I was living at the time.  I was completely caught off guard as he rarely came into my world.  In fact, once while playing High School football I was running around with the ball when I looked up and saw him standing on the sidelines.  I was so stunned I fumbled the ball out of bounds!  It turned out the reason Dad called was that he had been battling cancer and was in the middle of revaluating his priorities.  At the time it looked like he had beaten it and so he drove down so we could spend a few days together. It was a wonderful time.

Sadly, a few years later the cancer returned and this time it was terminal.  I returned to Milwaukee to visit him and together we drove down to Chicago to visit some relatives.  What happened in that car over the next couple of hours forever changed my life. 

As we drove I was filled with so many conflicted and confused emotions.  I hurt for my father as he was facing death's door and it was scary.  I hurt for my mother who was at some point going to lose the love of her life.  I was frustrated because in the last few years he and I had finally found some harmony in our relationship.  Now he was going to be taken away and we would never know where our relationship may have gone.  As we chatted about a number of insignificant things he suddenly became quite serious and said "When I see God, I'm going to ask Him why it is that when you are finally wise enough to be a good parent it's too late!"  I was rather stunned by what he said.  First, my father was never the philosophical type so this was so unlike him.  Secondly, what he said was extremely enlightening.  I had never considered the fact that God has set up life in such a way that parenting is as much a learning process as being a developing child.  In other words, there is no such thing as the perfect parent.  Raising children is as much about our own personal growth as that of our children.  I didn't have children at the time but I treasured his words in my heart.

While I was pondering what he said, I turned to look at him to say something and noticed tears streaming down his face.  This was a bit unnerving as I didn't ever remember seeing my father cry.  He tried to compose himself but finally just blurted out "I'm so sorry!"  I had no idea what was about to come next but just hearing those words had me crying as well and I was the one driving.  Through blurry eyes, driving down Interstate 94, I tried to keep the car on the road.  He then said the most freeing words. "I was wrong about you. I told you all your life that you were a rebellious son when in fact you weren't.  You are exactly how God made you.  The problem was on my end as I never bothered to ask God who you were.  I thought being a good father meant having your whole life mapped out for you.  As you grew older and refused to conform to the mold I had built, I took it as a personal affront.  The truth was you were crying out "Dad, this is not me, I can't be this person.”  I couldn't hear you because I wasn't listening".  At that point I was crying so hard I couldn't drive anymore and pulled off to the side of the road.  We sat there for the next few minutes sobbing together. He was a father in need of forgiveness and I the son needed to know I wasn't a screw up. His words were so liberating.

As we hugged and fought back more tears, he made me promise then and there that when I have my own children I would ask God first who they are and raise them according to His plan and not my own. He died on May 4th, 1981 and a little over a year later his first grandson was born. His words got me through many a dark night of the soul as I was being tormented by my own failures as a parent. I hope that with all I have learned along the journey, I will be a better grandparent than I was as a parent. After all, the whole process is a learning experience and for you young parents, remember failure is a part of the process. Give yourselves a break and smile at your mistakes!