The Young Man I Once Was, Still Lives Inside of Me
I’ve always been a rather sentimental person. Nostalgia has sucked me into a melancholy mood more times than any country-western soung could even begin to express. However, as I’ve gotten older, and embraced my impending adulthood, it has been easier to have a vision for the future, rather than a mind for the past.
Sometimes the past just sneaks up and bites you though. Today was one of those days. I was blindsided by the past in a way that just left me feeling a need to express myself.
In 1981, I was one of 14 new firefighters entering the training academy at Washington County Fire District #1 (now Tualatin Valley Fire & Rescue). If I had not left the fire service in 1995, this is the year I would be eligible to retire. For this is the year I turn 50.
During the early 80s, one of the men I was hired with, Al Selberg, and I became good friends. We worked together, we played together, we partied together, we vacationed together, and we just had a good time together. To sum up our friendship, I would have to say beer and Frisbee. We were two young men, kids really, living the high life as firefighters.
As the 80s progressed, Al got married and after one of my serial relationships, I realized that I was an alcoholic and an addict. I didn’t know how to be Al’s friend, and not drink. So, I just disappeared. We saw each other at work occasionally, but our lives continued to drift apart. I got involved in management and leadership and Al remained on the line.
Tonight was Al’s retirement party. I heard about it through the grapevine, but there was no way I was going to miss this event. 27 years is a long time to fight fires, plus, I knew that I’d be able to see some old friends there too! Plus, this would have been the year I would have retired.
I did see a lot of former co-workers. There were some I recognized, but couldn’t remember their names; others I knew, but really didn’t know (If you know what I mean?). There were some who were really curious about me and my life – primarily because people don’t do what I did, which is quit. Given the success I was enjoying, and the competition to get hired (our group of 14 competed against 2000 others), it was pretty shocking when I resigned.
A couple of people recognized the risk I took in quitting and affirmed me for the success I’ve gone on to enjoy. One told me that he was impressed with the accomplishments I’ve made. Most don’t do well after leaving the fire service, but life is good for me and my family.
What left me feeling melancholy though was one blast from the past. I looked across the bar and sitting there was one of my former girlfriends. I probably haven’t seen her since the early 80s – over 25 years ago. Like me, she had been an Explorer Scout at WCFD#1. But unlike me, she was a woman when women were not hired to be firefighters.
I never thought she’d be a firefighter, and I told her so. I tried to talk her into doing the paramedic route, but she would have nothing of that. Then here she is tonight, with her husband, one of my former co-workers, and I find out she’s a battalion chief at a local fire department. Tonight, I praised and affirmed her for sticking with her dream. It is fun to see friends succeed!
“I’ve taken the roads I wanted. I have no desire to go back; nor to retrace my steps.”
As I leave the Firehouse Pub in Lake Oswego, a flood of nostalgia begins to wash over me. Firefighters are like family. It was good to see my old family. There was Al, Greg, Ed, Doug, Paul, Jack, Terry, Bill, Alan, and dozens more. Looking the same, but older. The same, but less innocent.
I think that what amazed me the most, and also was the saddest part of the evening, was the lack of growth I saw in some. In fact, some were wallowing in their dysfunction. Divorces, broken families, wayward kids, an illusive persuit of material possessions (boats, cars, motorcycles, vacation homes, and Mexican Timeshares). And looking into the yes of men who I used to trust with my life, left me fearing for theirs. I just saw hurt and confusion.
However, this wasn’t true for everyone there. My former girlfriend looked happy, she was successful, and she made it – she accomp
lished her dream! That made me feel good. We hugged a last time and said goodbye. But I passed her on the sidewalk out front, I turned and told her how good it was to see her. And it was.
My nostalgia isn’t caught up in a woulda-coulda-shoulda sort of way. I have no regrets about my years as a firefighter/paramedic. I have no regrets about my friendship with this woman, and I have no burning, unfulfilled fantasies for her. In fact, our relationship was a good friendship. We trusted and respected one another. I knew her when I was still young and innocent. Just 22 years old and pretty moist in the eyes. It wasn’t until later that I fell off the sanity wagon.
I believe, as I write this, that my nostalgia is a longing for who I used to be; A grief for the mistakes I made; and a realization that life has come full-circle and everything turned out all right. So, as I reflect, I realize that it isn’t Al, or the other people who I saw tonight that have brought this melencholy upon me. Rather it is a glimpse into my past and a reflection of who I really am.
In part, I still am that same moist-eyed young man. Unafraid of anything, crashing through doors without a care of what might be on the other side. Full of a desire for adventure and a longing for exploration. Part of that young man still lives inside of this nearly 50 year old body, but much of that has been stifled by the scars of broken relationships and wounded hearts.
Seeing Al, reminded me of the partier I became. Seeing Peggy reminded me of the innocent young man I once was. Telling others about my wife, my kids, my great life in the country – well, that just showed me how there can be “beauty from ashes.”
Fathers and their Sons
A couple of weeks ago an older friend of mine saw my interactions with my three year-old daughter and heard me talking about our terrific Father’s Day. At this, he didn’t revel in my joy, rather he lamented his regrets. Now, I know that despite our best intentions, most of us have some regrets. However, this wasn’t the first time I’ve listened to this friend talk about his “issues.” I reflected on this conversation over the next week and surprisingly, I was given the opportunity to discuss this with him last Sunday morning.
As my friend began to talk about his three divorces, how his son was taken from him while still a baby, and the financial battles he and his now ex-wives underwent; I realized that someone needed to wake him up. Indeed, this friend kept talking about how his now adult son wants nothing to do with him et cetera.
I asked my friend if I could tell him some of my insights. I told him, that I didn’t have much compassion and that I don’t really have much patience listening to another’s problems, issues, and stories. I’m not much of one to
let people cry on my shoulder. I care about him, but not the stories behind the regret. He gave me permission to proceed.
I simply told my friend that he needs to move on, get over it, and reinvent himself. Until he is able to reinvent himself and be the father – the strong, confident father – his son would continue to avoid him. His son doesn’t want a dad who needs him. He wants a father who can give unconditional love and isn’t using his son to mop up his own loneliness, pain, and regret. He needs to quit 
living in the past and focus on being made new. At 63 years old, it’s not too late for him to become the man he needs to be.
Just then, my other friend spoke up about being tricked into seeing his own father on the Fourth of July; How the last few days had been hell. This other friend talked about how he thought he’d forgiven his father for the childhood abandonment and moved on. Then an event like this happens and he plummets back into his resentments and anger.
Seeing a golden opportunity, I shared some of the things I learned when I wrote about my Dad last week. Then I asked my other friend, “What would you like to tell your dad, if he would listen?” As he haltingly shared, through watery eyes and choked voice, my first friend, who is old enough to be the younger man’s father, listened in rapt attention.
What started as an intervention for my older friend’s addiction to regret and resentment, now turned into real-life role playing between two men with similar issues. One misses a closer relationship with his son and blames his ex-wives for his problems. The other is angry that his father abandoned the family when he was a child and wants nothing to do with his father.
It was a powerful conversation – one in which we all experienced some healing.
It was a powerful conversation – one in which we all experienced some healing. Yesterday I received a text message from my younger friend. He was so grateful for the conversation and was so glad we were able to talk through those things. (I wonder if I’ll hear from the older friend again?)
- Some studies have shown that over 90% of men do not have a best friend – or someone they can share their intimate thoughts with.
- Without a friend to share life with, men tend to internalize, escape, and move toward a state of denial.
- The lack of quality, emotional intimacy is one of the biggest complaints about men – from their kids, from their wives, and even about themselves.
- Children who grow up in homes lacking a connection with their fathers, experience their own abandonment and intimacy issues. Adult men and women act this out in different ways, but each struggles with a void in their heart.
- and the cycle continues…
It isn’t easy for men to let down their guard and share their heart, but it is essential. Nothing is going to fill the void like an emotional connection with another human. I was glad my two friends and I were able to talk the other morning. I know I’m a better person because of the carthasis, healing, and support I received and gave on Sunday morning.
Truth, or Consequences?
Both my wife and I were raised in fairly permissive homes. I remember getting up and heaping a couple of tablespoons of sugar onto my Cherios and plopping down in front of the TV for a Saturday morning cartoon marathon. Discipline wasn’t something we understood in our home. No budgets, no longterm plans, and no routine. And my wife’s home is similar.
However, because we are both first-borns, somehow we saw it as our repsonsibility to be bossy and make sure our younger siblings did what they were “supposed to” do.
Our poor daughter. She is the first-born of two first-borns. Even before she was a year old, we saw a headstrong approach to life. She began butting heads with us long before she had the words and even now, at three years old, she pushes the boundaries.
We live a pretty healthy lifestyle. Nearly vegan, buying organic produce from the local co-op, and doing our best to incorporate good lifestyle habits into our routine. I wouldn’t say that we are a strict household, but we do try to be consistent.
We do our best to avoid sugar. From everything we’ve read, white, processed sugar and it’s evil twin, high fructose corn syrup, serve no useful prupose in our diets. In adidtion, we’ve noticed in our children (and others‘) that sugar reeks havoc on their behavior.
Tonight we went to our friend’s wedding reception. It was a lot of fun and our darling daughter looked adorable. Of course there is cake, juice, “mints,” and a lot of other enticements for a fun girl of three and a half. It had been a good day. We had done a lot of hiking and playing and dancing.”
Sure,” Daddy says, you can have some more cake. “Ok, you can have two more “mints.” By the end of the evening this little 27 pound girl had consumed three times the amount of sugar I had – and I weigh in at more than seven times her body weight.
We are careful to dose our kids with the right amount of pain reliever and other medications, why don’t we better titrate their sugar intake? Why would we give the same size milkshake (or soda?) to a five year old, as we consume? It doesn’t make sense when you think about it.
Well, after an hour of wrestling with her behavioral issues: hurting her 10 month old brother, not obeying, screaming tantrums, etc – all of which are abnormal for her (usually). I told my wife, “No more. I’d rather disappoint her at the time by denying her all that sugar, then deal with these after effects.”
Of course we’re not going to lock her in a closet, but Daddy won’t be so permissive next time. I can’t let a three year old wrap me around her finger – imagine what she’ll be like at 15?
What do you think?
Confessing my Dad Attitude 