Fathers and sons...

"It's not just flesh and blood, 

but the heart that make fathers and sons."

- Johann Schiller

It was late when I got home…purposely late. I was still burning with anger and didn’t want to see his face or hear his voice. It was Friday night, I knew he would be in bed, and if I played it right he would be gone Saturday working to finish his Sunday morning sermon…I could avoid him for at least the next day.

When I quietly slipped into my bedroom, it was waiting…pinned to my pillowcase…an envelope with my name, penned in his hand – containing a letter. My heart began to pound, my breath short…I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would he chastise me? Would he say I was an ungrateful son? Would he say he was ashamed of my behavior? I just stared in silence for what seemed a very long time.

The precipitating event….
I had come home from school after a team practice. For some reason, we got into an argument, the particular reason for which escapes me. While not terribly common, it was not unheard of for us to occasionally disagree – I was a teenager after all!

By now I was a 6’5” (1.9m) high school junior in fairly good physical shape. I had, however, committed an offence of disrespect for which he would inflict corporeal punishment. Physical punishment from my father was not frequent in my growing years, but when it happened, it was memorable. It worked like this…I would generate the offence; he would set the punishment (generally something to do with a belt and me in a bent over position); I would accept; he would administrate, and that would be the end of it.

This day, unbelievably, I refused. The expression on his face was, “I’m sorry – WHAT???” That refusal escalated, and for the first and only time in my life, I found myself – mindlessly - in a full-fledged fight with my father. This was inconceivable to me…completely new, unknown and dangerous territory. What did it mean? I had no idea, but in the heat of the moment – I didn’t care.

It went on for sometime, until we found ourselves both exhausted, holding on to one and another, and locked in a stalemate, where neither one of us could inflict any hurt on the other. I said, “Truce?” He hesitated and then agreed. As we released one another, he threw a well-connected punch, something he had never done…something he would regret the rest of his life. As I stormed out the door, my pride injured more than anything else, I looked back and said, “I want a father, not a god!!”

The letter…
I took a deep breath, opened and started to read, “My Dear Son Ted…” it began. I was already disarmed. He said how deeply he loved me, how profoundly sorry he was for having allowed the situation between us to have gotten out of hand. As an adult, it was ‘his’ responsibility to control this; as an adult, it was his place to protect not hurt his family; it was he who would be accountable for this before his Creator. He said the very idea that I could have been hurt – physically or mentally, was almost more than he could bear. He said I was..flesh of his flesh…bone of his bone, and words could never convey the depth of regret he had over this event nor his love for me.

My father was apologizing to me!!

My head was reeling! He said other things, but the words were blurred by tears that had begun to flow as though some invisible switch had been flipped, releasing pressure behind a dam prepared to burst. It was as though an invisible door had opened in the floor and all of the anger and resentment slipped away at the speed of light…I was naked…I was exposed!

I didn’t see him Saturday; he was buried in preparation. Sunday morning, his sermon was slightly more subdued than usual…more circumspect in word and delivery…more personal. I was used to his style…I had heard and seen it many times before…today was different.

His calling
My father was a great minister and really good preacher...one who could hold the congregation. He had ‘it’ when he had tirelessly prepared, opened his mind to the spirit and entered the arena of the pulpit. His words could soar, he could whisper, he could laugh and nearly weep, glancing from person to person – lightly touching, then hesitating…bringing his well crafted point with professional elegance.

He had fought the poverty of his early life for an education and coveted the discipline and access it had given him. He had a scholarly education, but in moments…the fire of a Pentecostal preacher – the youthful background from which he had come. He clothed his zeal, in the pulpit with words of theologians, philosophers, and social commentators, but always reminded the congregation that all of it…all of it…lay at the feet of Jesus Christ. He was a true believer….

The connection
This morning, he had been weaving the timeless story of the man with two sons. One had been faithful, honoring his father through hard work and obedience. The other, known often as the ‘Prodigal Son,’ had wasted his inheritance, and in shame returned home hoping for nothing more than the role of a servant in his father’s house. In the narrative of the sermon, he looked directly at me…held my eyes…paused thoughtfully, and then spoke these words – he could have read them, as he often did when quoting the scripture, but not today:

“But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had

compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.”

He paused again, still holding my eyes, in a timeless moment of intimacy and then he moved on. The words stung, and the tears began to quietly flow, staining my khaki sports jacket…for this was not about the biblical father and son…it was about he and I – a father’s love for his son…no matter what! What was spoken in a public forum to a large congregation, was for us an intimate acknowledgment, an understanding, a closure only he and I understood. Not only had he been by far the bigger man, driven by a larger love, but gave me a life lesson I would never forget.


The result
It is said that change doesn’t occur without tension. The event that occurred between my father and I was surely tense. The change? A deepened respect for the man who had brought me into this world...for from that time forward we remained father and son, but more importantly friends. We had found a place of love and respect that deepened through the remaining years of our lives together.

While I carry him firmly in my heart - I surely miss that man…

- ted