Posted in Fatherhood
My son loves to fish. If you've been reading here for any amount of time, you may have picked that up. When he was 3 years old, I took him across a marshy meadow to scout out some beaver dams and wet a line. He kept asking later if we could go back to the beaver dams. I couldn't understand why until I realized he was talking about fishing. We have taken him fishing in the years since then and this summer we've already been fishing about eight or ten times. When bankers are setting up shop in gas stations so people can take out loans to fuel their cars, why am I spending money on taking him fishing so many times?
The answer came to me this weekend.
First, I do need to explain that it's not my money. I am currently without a full-time job. I am working on several projects, any one of which could be wildly successful, but thusfar have yet to yield a livable income. This impacts my ability to take my family to the grocery store, let alone an extravagant, day-long fishing trip on a river. Into this bleak picture steps my father, who relishes being a grandfather to my son. He taught me to fish, and today, with his help, I'm teaching my son to fish. Grandpa picks up the gas, the food, and the licenses. He makes it happen.
Now, why this investment in time and money? Didn't we do the same thing last weekend? Why are we going again? Because...my son opened up more to me this trip than he did on the last trip. Last trip, we might have talked about the military memorials we passed, and even explored them, but this trip, we talked about the locations of Afghanistan and Iraq and North Korea. He believed, in his 7 year-old mind, that Afghanistan was a lot closer. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to connect the dots here. In his mind, he might have been thinking:
But we also passed a coal train, and we talked about coal, how we get electricity from coal-fired power plants, how the power grid works, and why when you don't have power at home, you can still start your car with batteries and alternators. When we stopped for lunch, we got out, lifted the hood and pointed to the alternator along with the fan belt and talked about how the alternator worked inside. We didn't spend too long doing it, however. There are few things as uncomfortable as lifting the hood of a hot engine on a 100-degree day.
More importantly, we got to spend time with each other, and my son got to see healthy, masculine relationships in action. We were able to talk about what was on our minds and hearts. It wasn't chest-thumping or Alda-esque banter. It was just meaningful conversation. Yet, the return on investment is that my son is progressing from an observer to a participant in these conversations. He is moving from the outside to the inside of the group of men in our family in a progressive and very instinctual manner. He wants to belong, and we're giving him his place by taking him fishing.
This is how we raise leaders. This is how we raise sons.
The answer came to me this weekend.
First, I do need to explain that it's not my money. I am currently without a full-time job. I am working on several projects, any one of which could be wildly successful, but thusfar have yet to yield a livable income. This impacts my ability to take my family to the grocery store, let alone an extravagant, day-long fishing trip on a river. Into this bleak picture steps my father, who relishes being a grandfather to my son. He taught me to fish, and today, with his help, I'm teaching my son to fish. Grandpa picks up the gas, the food, and the licenses. He makes it happen.
Now, why this investment in time and money? Didn't we do the same thing last weekend? Why are we going again? Because...my son opened up more to me this trip than he did on the last trip. Last trip, we might have talked about the military memorials we passed, and even explored them, but this trip, we talked about the locations of Afghanistan and Iraq and North Korea. He believed, in his 7 year-old mind, that Afghanistan was a lot closer. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to connect the dots here. In his mind, he might have been thinking:
- War is bad
- Afghanistan is where we're fighting a war
- Afghanistan must be nearby
- War must be nearby
------------------------ - Could war come here?
But we also passed a coal train, and we talked about coal, how we get electricity from coal-fired power plants, how the power grid works, and why when you don't have power at home, you can still start your car with batteries and alternators. When we stopped for lunch, we got out, lifted the hood and pointed to the alternator along with the fan belt and talked about how the alternator worked inside. We didn't spend too long doing it, however. There are few things as uncomfortable as lifting the hood of a hot engine on a 100-degree day.
More importantly, we got to spend time with each other, and my son got to see healthy, masculine relationships in action. We were able to talk about what was on our minds and hearts. It wasn't chest-thumping or Alda-esque banter. It was just meaningful conversation. Yet, the return on investment is that my son is progressing from an observer to a participant in these conversations. He is moving from the outside to the inside of the group of men in our family in a progressive and very instinctual manner. He wants to belong, and we're giving him his place by taking him fishing.
This is how we raise leaders. This is how we raise sons.
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