Steely Dad

I just returned from an orientation for parents whose kids are signed up for summer camp. Yup, that’s right, my son is going off to summer camp. OK, it’s not like a camping camp; it’s a day camp. Nevertheless, whereas many of the parents look forward to summer camp with greater anticipation than the kids, I’m counting down the minutes like a Dead Man Walking.

Yes, I know he will only be away for four hours a day. Yes, I am aware that the camp is only three days a week. Um, yes, I can do the math (with the help of a calculator): that’s only 12 hours a week.

But I’m REALLY sad.

I mean, REALLY melancholic.

My son, my little buckaroo, is taking his first real giant step toward independence. I seriously can’t believe it. Even as a stay-at-home dad (SAHD), a role which provides me the opportunity to enjoy a majority of my son’s time, I’m still bummed. Of course I’m happy for him and I know he’s going to have a blast but a selfish part of me still wants to spend the entire day with him. There’s a part of me that now feels guilty for all the times I brushed him aside so I could do really important things like write blogs, Twitter, Facebook and the lame list goes on. I took for granted that I had all the time in the world with my son. Even though I became a SAHD for the sole purpose of spending the most amount of time possible with my kids, I still fell into the trap I so adroitly tried to avoid.

And it’s a total cliché: the time goes by so fast.

And it’s so very true.

He can’t be ready for summer camp. I just brought him home from the hospital yesterday.

I’m aware it’s not cool for dads to feel like moms but what can I say? I’m just one of the girls.

I worry about my son. I don’t know. Maybe it’s me I worry about. As parents, we’ve already experienced the agony and the ecstasy of growing up. The break ups, the heartaches, the rejection. We thought most of the volatility that goes along with the maturing process was well in the past but guess what? Once kids enter the picture, you have the distinct privilege to relive these special memories all over again only this time in a vicarious manner. It’s difficult and even more frustrating because you know your power to soften the blows will be futile.

My son is very sensitive. He really cares about other people. Whenever there is a new kid who joins his class at the drop-in center, he is the first to befriend the child. Parents have come up to me saying, “Your son was so nice to my boy. Thanks!” Comments like these are not unusual and each time I hear them I feel awesome. Just yesterday, for participating in a reading program, my son earned the privilege to choose a toy out of a treasure chest at the library. There were all sorts of cool little figurines that I thought for sure he’d snatch up. He ended up choosing a dinosaur straw. Later that evening I asked him why he had chosen the straw instead of the astronaut figurine or the little pirate dude. He looked at me with his big brown eyes and said, “Daddy, I thought those little figurines were too small for Ivie (his sister) and she could choke on them.” My eyes welled up with tears. You’ll recall the recent trauma we experienced when my daughter choked on a piece of food and had surgery to remove the obstruction. In any case, how does a boy this small have such a big heart? It’s a biological anomaly, especially if one considers his parents. I don’t know the kid’s IQ but I can tell you his EQ (emotional quotient) is off the charts and to me I’ll take that over “brains” any day of the week. Think of all the serial killers out there. Most of them have/had above-average intelligence. Let’s face it. Our basic job as parents is to make sure our kids don’t turn into sadistic criminals. If you see a story about your kids on America’s Most Wanted, you’ve probably goofed it somewhere along the way.

Most kids are cool but there are some mean little fuckers out there. My son has shared with me that some kids are not nice to him. They say mean things, exclude him and sometimes even hit or kick him. I’m not sure why that is; perhaps they mistake his kindness for weakness. Nevertheless, it breaks my heart when I hear these stories from him. I know he’s not making them up because I’ve personally witnessed several instances of this behavior. I don’t usually intervene unless the behavior is egregious. I think it’s important for kids to learn how to work things out on their own. I’ve tried to teach him how to handle tough situations, including how to defend and protect himself should things get physical. Although the kid loves to play rough and wrestle, he doesn’t have an aggressive bone in his body. Teaching him to fight back is like teaching the Dalai Lama to become a shit kicker. I don’t want kids to take advantage of my son’s peaceful nature but I also want to respect and encourage his unique personality. And therein lies the dilemma. The world is not always kind and is not always just and sometimes it swallows the innocent.

Summer camp will really be the first test, as much for him as for me. For the first time ever, we’ll be apart. His personality and genteel temperament will be challenged without Daddy’s occasional intervention. For the first time, the principles I’ve tried to teach him will undergo the stress and rigors of real-life application. Will they stand up to the test? Gulp. I just took my first huge swig of blind faith.

Hey, don’t forget we only have two more days for our fundraiser to help fight childhood cancer. Please consider making a contribution. Just click on the Alex’s Lemonade Stand button above. Thanks!

May 8, 2009

Dave Magruder

c/o God

1  Huge Surf Dr.

Heaven, Universe 00001

Dear Dave,

It’s been a long time man and for that I am truly sorry.  It makes me sad to think that something as tragic as your last goodbye was the motivation for writing you.   Why life plays out like this I’ll never know.  I’m sure where you’re hanging you have access to all of life’s mysteries.

As you know, we met in college at the University of San Diego after I transferred there from UCLA.  We were the same age but I was a semester or so behind you in credits due to taking some time off between schools.  When one of my high school buds, Bumper, suggested that I affiliate with the USD Sigma Chi chapter, I thought to myself (or maybe I even said it out loud to him), “Why the hell would I want to do that?  What am I going to have in common with these dudes from USD?”  After meeting guys like you I felt like I belonged.  You helped make me feel accepted.

I realize we were never “best buds” per se as you certainly had many friends with whom you shared a majority of your time.  Ours was a relationship of hanging at parties or playing guitars on occasion.  Nevertheless, there are a few very poignant encounters we shared that will forever hold a special place in my overdrawn memory bank.  Perhaps you remember them as well but I doubt, until now, you understood the deep significance that each of these stories holds for me.  Mea culpa.

During my senior year, I had to take an algebra class in order to graduate. Though I took calculus in high school, I had forgotten basically everything except basic arithmetic.  I’m sure you had far better things to do with your time but you came over to my pad and helped me prepare for the final.  You solved every equation with great alacrity and I remember looking at you with genuine admiration.  I thought you were the Nureyev of mathematics.  What stands out in my mind was your unbending patience that was no doubt challenged by my constant barrage of stupid questions. You also displayed a unique ability to break it all down to a level that even I could understand.  Suffice to say, I passed the class and received my degree.  Please know that a small, but significant, portion of my degree belongs to you.

You know how people can tell you where they were when JFK was shot or when the events of 9/11 unfolded?  Well I know exactly where I was when I heard that Kurt Cobain had shot himself and I recall with perfect clarity the person who delivered the news.  I was walking across Marian Way from the library and you stopped me on the island that divides the street.  You told me what happened and I couldn’t believe what you were saying.  I remember thinking you must’ve heard wrong and that I’d need to get more information before I’d accept this as fact.  I had a similar experience when I learned of your passing.  I was cruising Facebook (where we had recently reconnected) when I read perhaps the saddest news my eyes have ever had to endure.  I went directly to your FB profile as well as a page another friend started for you. As I read all the beautiful messages left by your friends, I simply couldn’t believe what I was reading. I know for certain that I didn’t want to accept it. Have you ever noticed how when people experience shock they often cover their mouths with a hand?  I’ve always thought that was such a curious thing to do.  However, after reading the initial message, I realized that I had my hand over my mouth.  I never consciously put it there.  I was in total shock.

Here’s the last, and perhaps most seminal, experience I ever shared with you.  My senior year in college was a true challenge for me, not from an academic perspective but from an emotional one.  I was in a seriously deep funk when my girlfriend and I broke it off after five years.  I was very close to her and her family and it was like going through a divorce all over again (my parents divorced when I was eight).  It sucked.  I couldn’t eat, I came down with shingles and I had several other health issues.  I was a complete mess. I’ve never shared this with anyone but I’m going to do so with you now.  You see, the friends upon whom I thought I could rely for support, those who’d been in my life for years, since I was a kid, couldn’t be bothered with me.  For example, when all the bros went down to San Felipe, no one invited me to join them.  It seemed as though no one wanted to be my friend.  I was hurt and it only served to compound the pain I so desperately was trying to numb.  I don’t know why but you called and asked if I wanted to hop on board your VW bus and take a trip south.  I declined because at that point I felt rejected and I really wasn’t much in the mood for partying.  I only wished to retreat to my loneliness.  Perhaps sensing my sadness, you didn’t take “no” for an answer. In fact, you basically came over and kidnapped my sorry ass.  I left with only the clothes on my back.

I’ll always remember driving at night, charging to Felipe in your bus.  A couple of girls were also passengers in the bus (which I believe was a Westfalia, right?).  Who they were I don’t recall.  I wasn’t there to hang with them; I was there because one of the coolest dudes I’ve ever known kidnapped me to Mexico.  I seriously felt like a king when I was around you.

I remember how we got turned around, an error that added two hours to our trip.  It wasn’t your fault.  The sign we were supposed to see, made of the finest Mexican cardboard, was invisible in the pitch black darkness.  No one was even remotely upset.  We were having a great time just driving, just being, just licking our lips at the prospect of what unknown adventure lie ahead.  I laugh aloud thinking how, at one point, you had the genius idea to drive with the headlights turned off.  It wasn’t long before the cops, suspecting us for coyotes or drug runners, pulled us over.  After that, you decided it best to drive with the headlights turned on.  Smart decision.

What made you call me?  How did you know I was hurting so badly?  Why did you want to be my friend when no one else entertained such motivations? You were Mr. Popular and I wasn’t.  There really wasn’t anything in it for you. But like a brother I never had, you picked me up when I was at my lowest and your perma-grin actually made me smile as well.  I knew I had at least one good friend and that was more than I felt I deserved.

And so when I think of you in your darkest moment, just as you swallowed your final breath, I wonder if you felt lonely or if you felt loved?  Did you think of your wife, your kids, your family and friends?  What does a man think about before he accepts a meeting with his maker?  I wonder what word I was typing on my blog just as your eye lids made their final decent.  It rips at my heart to know that you may have needed a friend and I was never able to reciprocate your genuine and unconditional kindness.

Since I can’t pay you back my only option is to  pay you forward by letting the world know Dave Magruder, at least the one I knew.  I realize my fledgling dad blog is not the most effective vehicle in which to reach a mass audience but it’s the best I can do, for now. You being the consummate teacher, I’ve learned many lessons from your untimely passing, lessons I hope to pass along to my kids and anyone else who cares to listen.  I’ve learned to make amends with those whom I may have quarreled over petty issues.  I’ve learned never to squander an opportunity to kiss and hug my kids, wife and loved ones.  I’ve learned that some of the best friends can come in and out of your life like a comet but they are no less deserving of the title, “friend.”  I’ve learned that life is simply too short not to make the most of it and I’ve learned that friendship, no matter in what form, is eternal.  Friendship, unlike family, is a choice and the fact that you chose to be my friend is a precious gift I will forever cherish.  Rest well, my friend, for yours is a legacy of love.

In hoc,

Todd (AKA Steely Dad)