How Might Cultivating / Observing Your (Grand)Son(s)' Ongoing Maturation Impact Your Own Maturation?

There are so many questions I have regarding this topic.  As such, I've attempted to provide an overarching summation of them all within the title (question) of this post. 

But firstly, I need to qualify my use of the word maturation.  That word implies merited positivity, but I'm not necessarily making that assumption.  I'm citing this word more from the standpoint of unmitigated growth or narrative.  Growth / narrative that moves forward but not necessarily within a righteous / healthy capacity.  The emphasis here is on the concept of forward.

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I'm a father to three daughters, therefore I've no firsthand experience with fathering a son whilst observing / taking note of how it might affect / impact me.  That's my disclaimer before you read any further.

Here's an interesting question (to me at least):

Obviously, adolescence brought on by the onset of puberty brings the penchant for lustful fantasy within boys.  If during that development, you as the boy's dad experience a reduction / newfound resolve not to (continue to?) nurture the same, is this somehow the result of your identity as the dad (older, more mature man) being amplified / distinguished - by association - in kind?  

I do believe there are a lot of opportunities for fathers to find their footing / make better sense of their identities as grown ass men in contrast, but also in relation to, their sons, and this occurrence surely plays out via an offset, progressive narrative as both males take on their associative roles within the family.

And I'm really interested in knowing more about this phenomenon, yet everything I do know is speculative based on observation.  Nonetheless, I feel so moved to imply some theories / relay some thoughts here.

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At my uncle's funeral earlier this week, I was pleased to see a younger cousin of mine (he's in his mid-40s) who has resided in Austin, TX throughout his adulthood.  Benji is a richly successful businessman within the tech field.  He gained a foothold within that industry (after finishing at Delta State University) thanks to a familial connection (his wife's family) to Michael Dell.  In line with that, Benji is an extremely handsome guy with a megawatt smile (& charisma to match).  He's also a family man with an adopted son and two biological daughters.  Smart + good looking + ambitious + opportunistic has equated to worldly success for him.

Not surprisingly, even at the graveside service, Benji was nonchalantly gloating about his hectic professional life, peppering the formalities with talk of him needing to jet over to Europe for work before the Thanksgiving holiday.  I asked a handful of questions during the few moments I had (having not seen him since 2010), some of which were clearly confusing.  But that was only because they were tied to details he'd shared with me years ago (via a handful of email exchanges) that were no longer presently relevant (my remembered reality versus his present reality).  And that's what got me thinking about his drive forward and what possibly has fueled that for he himself.  It's important to note that Benji is the middle child of three sons, yet he's by far the only hyper-successful standout.

Similarly important to note is that Benji's (became deceased back in 2010) dad (an older brother of my father) was the antithesis of Benji relative to ambition.  So where might have Benji's drive culminated from exactly?

Let's take a closer look at my cousin's relationship with his adopted son.  For I believe therein may lie one of many distinct keys to understanding his distinctiveness.

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Within Year One of Benji's marriage (he married a lovely young woman from the Mississippi Delta soon after completing his undergrad work at DSU), he and his new wife hastily proceeded with an international adoption of a Russian boy (the child's exact age unknown).  At that time, Benji's obligations at Dell Computer had him dutifully traveling worldwide for the majority of the year.  For his meteoric rise up the corporate ladder, in spite of his youth, demanded this.  Hence, the adopted son saw much less of his driven dad, as part of his newfound Texas upbringing, than he'd expected to.

Once the boy entered into middle / high school, he began experimenting with illegal drugs and fornicating.  In time, three girls became pregnant prior to the young man being incarcerated within the Pacific Northwest.  

Now, I know I've blazed through that boy's life with those few sentences, but my point is this:  He became an unbridled rebel that in no way synchronized with his upstanding, materially wealthy, highly successful / established Texas family.

What few times I've dialogued with Benji about his relationship with his son, there's been nothing but bitterness and outrage towards the boy's "ungrateful moral assault" on Benji and his wife.  To me, that particular attitude is simply posturing.  For I know my cousin.  He's a smart dude with a heart of gold.  As such, I believe he both bit off far more than he could chew on one hand whilst refusing to do the necessary intensive parenting work (rooted in being present for the adopted boy) on the other.  In other words, he chose his career over his very unique parental obligation.

Could the moral failings of his adopted son be serving to sink one side of an associative identity pendulum between these two men?  A pendulum that, in opposition, elevates / propels my cousin, Benji, to perform / succeed at a ridiculously demanding pace?  Is that even possible?

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Along the same lines (but by no means the same), I often wonder how the patriarchal shame my father experienced relative to impregnating my mother (his girlfriend), as an 18-year-old country boy, impacted his moral outlook going forward into adulthood.  As far as I'm concerned, my father's entire identity is anchored in the notion of the prosperity gospel (well before anyone dubbed it as such).  Hence, after making that big time sexual mistake (& seeing it come forth even, into this world, as Rob, Jr.), there would be no more slip ups in that regard or otherwise.  

And I can vouch for that.

My dad has never made any time for lust.  He's never made any time for cheating.  He's never made any time for lying, and always, always attends church (& served as a deacon) on Sundays / Wednesdays.  The man doesn't drink or smoke or hang with those who do.  Now, he's by no means a saint, yet his appearance is consistently saintly, with no mention EVER of his teenage moral failings.  Whitewashed veneer is he.

And then there was me, his son.  Who eventually became an effeminate outcast as a young man who was quietly rejected (by him).  An outcast who, without the very stable home life he was given, his overactive imagination, and the gospel of Jesus Christ, would have been at great risk for losing every bit of his emotional / spiritual footing in this world of woe.   

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Now, let's change this up a bit before we close all this speculative thinking and hearsay out.

There's only been one occasion (that I distinctly remember) where I've heard a dad acknowledge his son's athletically built body in a way that felt sanctimonious.  And not surprisingly, considering the context, this occurred in reference to the son's past decisions relative to (not) playing college sports (as if his athletic build had been put to waste).  Decisions which the father regretted witnessing (likely because he'd have chosen differently had it been his choice to make).

I do recall being within the presence of family friends (both father & son present) who had sons who were respectfully acknowledged for their physical builds / athleticism, but these were super rare occasions that I simply stumbled upon.   One in particular occurred after a varsity football game when I was a young teen.  My grandfather and I had stopped by one of his fellow parishioners' homes, and during that short visit, I witnessed what I just described.  The only reason I was there was due to me visiting my grandparents within the Mississippi Delta as a teenager, and man, witnessing this affirmative event became the highlight of my stay with them that weekend.

Here's how it played out:  The unspoken yet respectful acknowledgement consisted of the athletically built teenage son presenting his semi-nude self post shower, in response to our visit (simply to say hello).  From what I recall, my grandfather and I were dialoguing with the boy's parents in their small living room when he came in to speak.  He was wearing shorts with no shirt, and his hair was still damp from his shower.  If I remember correctly, he did have a towel flung over one shoulder.  And all of these particulars made his greeting that much more dynamic as everyone, in turn, congratulated him on the "big win" (he was a player on the hometown varsity team) earlier in the evening.  

And that episode, my friend, is what I'd like to segue from since it points directly to the beginning of this post.  It may get a little weird from here on out, but I'm certain you'll not be surprised at that, considering the author of this post.

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Mr. Don Waller brought his college-age son along to the 2021 National Samson Society retreat a few weekends back.  I didn't spend too much time with either of them, but one thing I did take note of was Don's associative role (as father) versus what I'm used to seeing of him within those settings.

And I've tried to think through that in reverse.  Wondering how different an associative role truly is - as a dad - when your child is female.  Of course, there wouldn't have been any appropriateness to Don bringing his daughter to the retreat, but for comparison's sake, what if he had?  How might his associative role play been different - internally and otherwise?

The primary need that men have is respect, whereas the primary need women have is security.  And I believe that manly need has a great deal of cross pollination capability / opportunity between father / son.  And this is the key difference in rearing sons versus rearing daughters.

Sons are a male version of your DNA.  There's no denying they're a next male generation of a portion of you.  As such, I would argue, the efficiency / efficacy therein relative to this potential cross pollination (healthy or unhealthy) is noteworthy, if not undeniable.  And that's pretty exciting stuff to acknowledge.

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In closing, I spent close to an hour listening to a (new to me) Samson guy's story on Saturday night during the 2021 National Samson Society retreat.  He'd been referred to me, therefore in spite of my fatigue, I lent my ear.  This man was extremely articulate, highlighting his story episodically with a multitude of remembered dates.  Nonetheless, I simply wasn't all that absorbed in what he was disclosing, even with the calendared milestones that were there for reference.  And it wasn't as if it wasn't an interesting, relatable tale.  I just had other things on my mind.

Yet, he said something to me that took me aback.  And that was this disclosure:  he was grateful that he didn't end up (this man was a widower in his early 60s) with a son to rear due to his fear of sexualizing the boy. 

And him sharing that reminded me of something someone said to Rob when my first two daughters (the third was yet to be born) were small.  A colleague of mine (serving within a volunteer organization) relayed to me, off the cuff, that she was convinced that I was "better equipped" to father girls than boys.  Hence, she was glad to see me given that opportunity.

What the fuck?!?  (This was my internal reaction then.)

What the fuck?!?

Maybe someone had said something similar to this Samson dude.

Living Out The Remainder Of Life Sans Bio Brothers / Ushering In Loneliness

My dad's one of four Turner boys, born and reared in the Mississippi Delta.  This morning, around 4:30 AM, he became an only child due to his youngest brother, Ted, dying.  His older two brothers died in years past, and as such, neither of those two were close to him.  It's important to note that my father is in his late 60s, and in perfect health, therefore he's physically well positioned to live decades longer.

I can tell you now that the loneliness he's about to be faced with has the potential to shorten his life span tremendously.  And this is due to the fact that the loneliness will more than likely seed depression. 

A massive portion of my father's identity has always been tied to his "rank" (as boy #3) within that troupe of Turner men.  And that "rank" had the most relevancy in relation to his youngest brother, Ted.  I've actually never witnessed anything like it.  He served as Ted's "big brother".  And he had done so throughout his life.  This was a tenured position that no one could touch.  Except death, of course.

My father's penchant for nostalgia is unparalleled.  This may also play into his despair.  Especially whilst traveling through the Mississippi Delta town of Belzoni where he (& my mom) grew up (& adjacent to where my uncle Ted resided). 

Today marks the beginning of the remainder of my father's life.  My heart aches for him relative to facing his future as an only child.

What Might Serve To (Figuratively) Prompt A Wife To Consider Divorcing Her Husband? Loss Of Her Personal Datum

An architect friend, whose first husband died a number of years ago, willingly endured the instability he brought to their marriage 'till his untimely death.  Her husband was the opposite of a fixed point in her life.  Instead, he was reliably unstable in most everything he did / committed himself to.  And it wasn't that she was expecting perfection, material success, etc.  Not this lady.  Her love for him ran far more deep than that.  

I vividly remember traveling with both of them (decades ago) early on within my career as an architect.  I'd been invited to attend an architectural lighting expo on the west coast, and therein provided the opportunity to get to know them as a couple (for she'd been also invited).  These type events were always exciting (in part because us designers were the guests of honor), yet this particular trek quickly opened my eyes to some bizarre marital dynamics between my two new friends (her and her husband).  I came away feeling sad for this beautiful and intelligent woman who'd been saddled with such a loser.

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Earlier this year, I was delighted to be contacted by a female business owner client of mine out of the blue.  She was interested in learning more about her options relative to Defined Contribution Plans for her quite successful / quickly growing business.  Specifically, she wanted an "upgrade" from her company's existing plan for 2022, and she'd chosen me to obtain the facts well in advance.  

This particular business owner client is both highly intelligent and tough as nails.  Her persona is progressively masculine overlaid with a temperament that's aloof to the nth degree.  Therefore, were it not for my middle-agedness, she'd simply be too intimidating for Rob to work with.

As such, I love working with her.  It's such a cool privilege.  I always attempt to get at least 8-hours of sleep the night before any meeting I have with her in order to improve my chances of being as sharp as I possibly can be.

Therefore, by mid-May (soon after her contacting me for assistance) we were off and running, and to my delight, we met repeatedly with my "A Team" of experts via Zoom / teleconference in order to answer her and her partner's many questions.  

Interestingly enough though, sometime in July, whilst beginning to conclude our ongoing "educational sessions", she relayed to me her desire to loop in her personal financial advisor (who she's been close friends with since high school) relative to some of what my "A Team" was proposing.  Initially, I found this request to be a little strange, but I took it in stride.  

But then her personal financial advisor left me a voicemail message, from which I returned his call the following afternoon.

And this is when I came to realize that I was not nearly the professional fixed point I had assumed I was to her.  

In the end, losing that business opportunity resulted in me solidifying a deep respect for something that's often so very difficult to describe.

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I've written in previous posts about wives needing security from their husbands.  But, if I were to expound on that here, I'd add the following:  wives need an anchor / fixed point moreso than anything else - from their husbands - within their marriage.

Back when I was in architecture school, I used to hear our professors use the word datum quite often.  This is a great word.  A datum is a reliable known point in space that you can utilize to site / build all manner of things from.  Datums do not change nor do they move.  They are fixed.  Immovable.  Solid.  Think of a rusted iron rod (pin) that's referenced on a survey.  One that's utilized as a starting point to identify boundary lines.  That is a datum.  It's an object that's been anchored deep within the Earth in decades pasts that everything around it is referenced from.

I suppose our culture woos us with the notion that wives long for romance or material wealth, and I'm sure there are a sizable number of wives who enjoy anticipating / imagining (& perhaps receiving) those perks, but most, if not all, insist on reliability and fortitude which promulgates deep seated trust between her and her man.  Otherwise, many will hit the road.

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In closing, I work hard to be as consistent as possible for my wife / daughters and even my parents (who employ me).  Therefore, as such, I keep an awful lot of my feelings close to my vest day after day after day.  Why?  It gives all of them plenty of safe space to emote between themselves and also to me.  And I like this setup.  It makes me feel correct as a husband.  Plus, it gives me opportunity to yield to their needs in this regard.

There is an individual though who's privy to Rob's feelings.  My Silas.  Especially if I'm really struggling with some heady negative feelings (for whatever reason).  

Whether it's via text message or a phone call (or both), he's going to know what's in my heart.  Otherwise, I'll eventually turn back to false community via Internet porn consumption.  

For me, he's my datum.  Reliable.  Fixed.  Solid.  And I love him for those attributes.  

Lagniappe

 

Theology Of The Turners' Bodies (With Particular Attention Paid to My Own)

I described Rob's body politics within my last post as such:   complete unrecognition / avoidness / blindness.  To sum that up, I like to use the word void.  This is absolutely the best word I've come up with to describe what happens when I attempt to see my physical self.

Therefore, it begs the question:  How can you love something you simply cannot see nor have ever seen?

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When I was a teen, and please know that what I'm about to say simply didn't grow out of teenage angst, I did not feel as if my dad was truly my biological father.  Now, as a result of this, I also didn't believe my mother had become impregnated with little me via another suitor, therefore overall, I sort of made the assumption that I couldn't possibly be a "natural born citizen" within our fam.  Now, I'm not going to go into all of the why behind my feeling this way, as it pertained to Robert, Sr.  But trust me, in many ways, he reciprocally felt the same about me.  It made for a childhood where I would find myself enviously looking at my friends' relationships with their dad's (& more than likely the same was occurring with my father enviously looking at his peers - & especially his brothers' - sons).

Therefore, with no siblings to parade around with (or seek counsel from) whilst growing up, I was left to wonder why I felt like such the oddball - particularly as a teenager.  

And to expound further regarding this, I also naturally looked hard at my uncles (my dad's three brothers) / cousins (each & every one of them male children) and was unsuccessful in locating a reprieve.  Though I loved these men / boys and enjoyed spending time with them (& of course, still do) as my known family, I just didn't BELIEVE that I fit into the group.  At all.  BUT IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH HOW THEY TREATED ME.  They truly were (& still are) really wonderful family members to have.

(I feel obligated to interject THAT.)

My hunch today, whilst looking back, is that the similarities / pedigree were / was absolutely there; its just that I couldn't see them in me myself.  And I still today don't know why that was / is.

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It is so pagan-feeling going to Wal-Mart on a Sunday morning.  I know that firsthand, having shopped there this AM.  

We've been having Sunday morning church at our abode - over the past month or so - due to the uptick in COVID-19 cases throughout our state, therefore this lends itself to even (at times) executing our family church service on Saturday evenings - if need be (which we did last night).

As I was hurriedly shopping at Wal-Mart (surgically masked), I walked past an unmasked guy whose eyes locked with my own.  A few seconds later, I wondered aloud if I actually knew that guy.  By this point, I was much closer to my big box store destination zone (hardware), yet I couldn't help but continue to ruminate on his face / build, trying to put my recollective thinking into gear.

"Where do I know that guy from?"

After placing my needed items into my shopping basket, I eventually made my way to the self checkout section, and fortunately, I spotted him again.  

Then I remembered where he and I used to interact!

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Throughout my life, I've had a love-hate relationship with my imagination.  For on the one hand, it's what - in may ways - consistently springboarded me from my adolescent identity vacuum, but on the other hand, wrought so much regret and anger relative to fueling my propensity to willfully sin.

At the center of that chronic routine was what I've dubbed my archetype.  An amalgamation of masculine physical attributes - that embodied for me - a sexualized ideal of what it meant to be a man.  This archetype was, more often than not, (within my sexual fantasies) an imagined big brother, uncle, next door neighbor, teacher, coach, and on and on.  Any of which would eventually work towards seducing me into engaging in homosexual relations.

It was through the "pursuit and subsequent validation" of this archetype that I attempted to endure the void.  For he (singular) was as affirming as any group of ideal athletic teammates might very well be whilst all the while being more comfortable with me (& accessible to me) than I was with my own self.

The aforementioned fellow Wal-Mart patron (whom I eventually recalled was a former friend from over a decade prior) happened to - past & presently - embody my archetype both physically and emotionally.  He was / is the ideal, and this is a significant truth.

And as a side note, the fact that this former friend continues to be so (at our close-to ages), is rare indeed.  For most middle-aged Mississippi guys aren't anywhere near the physical parameters of my archetypical, masculine male (which is a godsent reality for me).

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In the past, encountering my archetype as I did this AM at my local big box retailer would have elicited quite the elicit response.  Particularly taking into account a long since forgotten friendship with the individual.

And as such, days and days, if not weeks and weeks would likely have gone by where me being privately consumed with that encounter were the absolute norm.  

And as a side note to that, when I began consuming gay porn online (back in late '90s), the impetus for that was me realizing how expeditiously / efficiently I could locate (search engines) and therefore harness those salacious facsimiles similarly (sexual fantasy).  All in reaction to the void / vacuum / blindness or whatever you want to call it.

To be clear, it wasn't that I wanted to be these archetypical men.  All I was looking for (through sexual fantasy) was a means to manage the pain of acknowledging the reality of the void itself.  But it was those specific archetypical men who were the key.  And I'm not sure why that was either.

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In closing, it is incredibly difficult to face the truths that I've written about here.  Not only emotionally but intellectually (particularly from the standpoint of there being so many unanswered questions).  As such, I don't believe I even began to truly wrestle with my own body politics 'till I was well into my 30s.    

I do remember, as a much younger man, wishing I had a body that I felt at peace with (self-affirmation), but even as I took action to change my build (age 36+), it had no impact on clarifying my visibility. 

So here's that question again:  How can you love something you simply cannot see nor have ever seen?

The only thing that has even a remote impact today is holding fast to what I believe of God's take on me (as well as all of his children).  His promises.  His narrative.  His approach.  

Otherwise, I'd simply be blind all around.

Sometimes only having a peripheral view of yourself does in fact prescribe an outlook that drives more truth / more faith and less comfortableness with a holy God.

"Everyone Needs A Dream." / "Successful People Can Help You Be Successful." / "It Only Takes One Misstep To Derail Your Entire Life."

The most confusing / appalling aspect to me of this world of woe is parental neglect.  And that encompasses both the physical and emotional.  For I cannot fathom why any parent would behave this way towards their children except under the circumstances of being either mentally ill or of a dramatically low intelligence quotient.   

Children are a gift from God.  They represent our future.  They are our legacy in so many ways.  These facts are what keep me befuddled as to why any sane, of average (or better) intelligence parent wouldn't make their children's well being of top priority.

For this is what God does for his children.  The Bible is clear about that.  

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Therefore, as our Heavenly Father, does he teach us to be

-  Independent thinkers?

-  Brown nosers?

-  Fatalistic?

No.  No.  And no.

Christianity is rooted in the notion of being reborn, and the catalyst for that rebirth is faith.  Faith gifted to us from God.  

What's the significance of rebirth within Christiandom?

Procedurally, it symbolizes moving from orphan to adopted sons / daughters of our Heavenly Father by being clothed in righteousness.  Righteousness that was purchased for us through the death and resurrection of Jesus, God's son.  

Righteousness is the sovereign, perfected will of our Heavenly Father.  In other words, think of it as the most perfect diamond on planet Earth.  Flawless.  

Therefore, our Heavenly Father is the perfect parent.  Perfectly nurturing.  Perfectly loving.  Perfect.  

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As a biological parent (dad), I'm fortunate to have three daughters.  One of which is lasering towards young adulthood as she (here recently) entered into her collegiate career.  It is my hope that she'll eventually become independent of me and her mother, and go on to do work that's in line with God's will for her.  Perhaps she'll stay single or marry.  Nonetheless, as she continues to mature forward, her mother and I are expecting her to lean in less and less towards us as her parents.

This is the complete opposite of what our Heavenly Father wants of us as his children.

He has no interest in us becoming independent of him or to rely on anything other than him for every good thing.  Nor does he want us to focus on anything other than the present day (& all of its worries).

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In closing, what about everyone around us?  Whether it's other Christians or pagan, what is our responsibility towards them?  

To serve.  To go the extra mile.  And pray for their salvation as well.  And we do this out of love that was first shown to us by our Heavenly Father.

Lagniappe

More lagniappe

How The Ease Of Access (www) To Gay Porn Changed The Course Of My Life (Sans A Buzz From Booze)

My first Silas had / has an addiction to alcohol (& porn) that resulted (2015) in him receiving his first (& only) DUI whilst traveling for work within beautiful Louisiana.  Interestingly enough, it was his son who'd originally attended a Samson Society meeting, and as such, this fortunate juncture (between his son and the First Baptist Church Jackson Samson Society group) resulted in the perfectly timed referral. 

Years ago, a client of mine from north Mississippi admitted too to receiving a DUI (also his first & only).  I couldn't help but ask him for permission to tell my story in response to his quagmire (he'd just applied for some individual insurance coverage via my family business), and thankfully, he was open to that.  From there, I asked about his porn use, and this question took him aback.  I asked specifically if it was chronic - to any degree - whatsoever.  He stated that he only used porn whilst drinking alcohol, and this piqued my interest as to the deeply effective means alcohol has of lowering one's inhibitions.

Me being a teetotaler - in contrast to my first Silas' lifelong relationship with alcohol (& subsequently porn) - forced me to do a lot of soul searching relative to what exactly was behind my chronic use of online smut.  For I wasn't under the influence of any drug whilst consuming, yet I had no inherent revulsion to it.  Instead, it was almost as if I'd literally struck gold.

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Gay porn is photos / videos of men having sex with either themselves or each other, and having lived within Mississippi all of my life, I'd never witnessed this 'till the Internet came on the scene in the late '90s.  It's heady stuff that's repulsive to many men, but not all.  Before I encountered it online, I'd only imagined sexual activity between men, but I'd never witnessed any version of it - live or Memorex.  Therefore, the Internet opened a doorway for me that should never have been opened, yet because of that exposure, many good outcomes were the result as I'll describe in short order.

Two powerfully evocative emotional responses happened at once when this door was opened for Rob.

1.  I no longer felt alone as a man with my particular sexuality.

2.  I was mesmerized by the infinite amount of pornographic imagery available online combined with the unbelievable beauty and captivating nature of those images.

What number 1 primarily did for me was invoke deep seated sadness and confusion that was rooted in how obviously vulnerable men like myself were to sexual sin and exploitation.  All the while, number 2 spurred me on to consume, consume, consume.  As if I was making up for lost time / opportunity.  Combining these two was heart wrenching for me to take.  For I consistently realized that I was neither helping myself nor these gay porn models in the process.

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I was working at an architecture firm back in the late '90s when all of this Internet porn exposure came to fruition within my life.  And the work was interesting and rewarding, but when Angie and I had our first daughter, I needed an additional job to make our budget work each month (she chose to become a stay-at-home mom).  That side job came in the form of janitorial work (at the same architecture firm I was employed at full-time).  This, combined with a horribly demonic newborn baby girl (who didn't sleep completely through the night 'till she was well over one-year-old), did nothing to stave off my thirst for Internet gay porn.  

These were back during the days of dial-up Internet access, therefore we're talking here about very constricted consumption compared to today.  Nonetheless, even this slow-as-molasses access was enough to wrangle me into a seriously emotionally drained mess - day after day - as it harkened back to what I described above.

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The first sizable course correction for me - which came as a result of the ease of access to Internet gay porn - was my desire to find a job that would relinquish me from sitting in front of a computer all day doing nothing more than repetitive grunt / layman's work.  It wasn't that I minded grunt work nor looked down on it.  In actuality, grunt work was peaceful and low, low stress.  But, I couldn't give it the focus I needed to with an Internet browser icon staring back at me seductively.  

Therefore, this resulted in me taking the necessary risks involved in moving jobs, and for Rob, this just happened to result in a move from the private to the public sector.  And this move enabled me to embrace a much more administrative role that was anything but repetitive.  And I really loved and felt proud to be doing this work (for my home state, no doubt) as a 34-year-old Mississippi architect.

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The second sizable course correction for me had to do with courage.  Seeing the scores of naked men participating in all manner of sexually charged poses / activities inspired me to cease hiding what my true needs were.  I believe that the majority of gay sex - whether it's photographed or not - is an outgrowth of men needing / longing for community at its most basic, animalistic, instinctual level.  Men emote most efficiently in and through sexual activity of any ilk.  This is how God made us.

I've heard stories from young Samson guys who've experienced difficult heterosexual romantic breakups, and as a result, driven to NOLA in order to frequent gay bars in pursuit of hookups.  Hookups to placate their implied "now & forever" loneliness funk.  This may sound extreme, but it points back to men's "special connection" between their brain's emotional core and their genitals.

Too, during this time, I was happily married, yet not known - truly known - by any other men.  

Therefore, I began looking online for a friend.  Someone that God might bring my way who could relate to Rob's situation / identity.  And that person came in the form of an Aussie name Scott who blessed me tremendously with his loyalty and encouragement as a Christian friend for +/-18 exuberantly joy-filled months.  From there, I began to talk about my story with more and more Christian (and eventually pagan) men.  Thankfully, the reactions I received were supportive and helpful if not completely demonstrative of genuine respectfulness towards my situation.  This, in turn, convinced me to expand my horizons that much further.

Eventually, I did find that just having one, two or three men - in the know - regarding my story, wasn't enough.  The circle needed to be ever widened.  Hence, I began blogging, and that's when The Architect's Garage blogspot was born.  By the time that blog (5-year lifespan) gained traction online, I was having close to +/-75 visitors (hits) a day from readers all over the globe.  It was a phenomenally effective and super convenient mouthpiece for Rob and his unique story.

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The third sizable course correction for me had to do with my physical health.  Gay porn blatantly reminded me that men were image bearers of God, therefore there was a responsibility there to take care of one's physical self.  At age 36, I began strength training regularly, and at age 37 or 38, I segued  into combining that with distance running.  As a result, my physical body changed for the better alongside my health.  Plus, it gave me credence to work towards overcoming my anxiety relative to the gym / locker rooms.  And over time, I did overcome that anxiety by God's grace, but it was not at all easy.  

On the flip side of this, I absolutely DID NOT go overboard here.  I knew by overdoing it, (more than twice a week in the gym) I would torpedo my goal of lifelong longevity.  And though I'm likely not the sexiest, swolest guy as a result, that's okay.  Consistency / longevity should be every man's end goal when it comes to physical fitness.  Not specific results or gains.  I believe this wholeheartedly.

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The fourth sizable course correction for me had to do with constraints.  Gay porn opened my eyes to just how certain situations weren't workable - on any level - for Rob, no matter how hard I tried to make them work.  And this pointed back to my vocation.  In particular, the setting therein.  

I experience a sort of emotional nirvana whilst surrounded by men (very similar to a much greater degree to the short circuit available via the consumption of gay porn), and this state of mind allows me, at times, to clearly see myself.  And this is AWESOME.  Yet, though these experiences are fantastic, they take their toll if they're prolonged.  Why?  This state of emotional connection with men allows me to see / feel what they're seeing / feeling, therefore these experiences must be rationed.  Otherwise, I get overwhelmed to the point that I can't process much of anything except what these other individuals have given me the opportunity to "upload".  Because of this, I've been dubbed "highly sensitive".  Perhaps that's a true descriptor.  Whatever it is, I cannot handle certain situations but for very controlled lengths of time before I need to return to my sarcophagus.  Alone.

In summary, too much of this masculine groupthink results in me experiencing emotional overload, and when I reach that state of mind, I'm unable to find my center under just about any circumstance.

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Do I thank God for Internet gay porn?  No, of course not.  But I do believe he's used something meant for so much evil to my advantage.  At least relative to my refinement as a man.

Many years ago, I had an online Christian friend who explained to me how his participating in a handful of gay sex trysts had firsthand opened his eyes to the abnormalcy of homosexual practices.  Now, I realized then as well as now that hearing this wasn't / shouldn't give license for me (or other Christian men) to sin.  Instead, it was speaking to the sovereignty of God - even over evil itself.  And it encouraged me to recognize that shame must not become so consuming that it blinds us to God's goodness and faithfulness even within the hardest of places to discuss / admit to / ruminate over.  

God is no prude.  He's not the church lady.  Plus, he's knows how terribly vulnerable we are here within this fallen world of ours, and I believe we forget how sensitive he is to that truth.  Therefore, never underestimate how holistically clever he truly can be within his pursuit of your heart / faithfulness to him.  It is mind boggling to chronicle, if you'll just take the time to do so.

Bridges, Part Three – “The Dangerous Bridge” Feat. Lauren Daigle’s “Rescue””

Bridges Part Three - "The Dangerous Bridge" Feat. "Rescue"

Happy Sunday, everyone! Stephen here. It has, quite regretfully, been a minute or so since I have posted anything on this blog. In my last post, I kind of semi-shared the seismic shift that my career has taken over the past few years. Although I remain loyal to and quite rooted in the field of academia, I found myself changing gears and heading towards a career as an academic librarian of some kind. Now, I want to assure you that this was not even a career choice that was ever on my radar; however, it is something that I sort of unassumingly fell into. After about four years, I was told that I would have to go back to school to obtain a second master’s degree to stay at my current job and subsequently become eligible for advancement in my career. So back to school, I went; I started the second master’s program in January of 2019. ­­­­Going back to obtain the MLIS was quite the undertaking; raising a family, being a dad, and working full time is a tall order on its own, never mind adding in the additional stress of attending graduate school for 7 semesters straight in a row (Spring, Summer, Fall in 2019 / 2020, and Spring 2021) without a break. But I pushed myself, finished with my 4.0 intact, and graduated this May 2021. It was definitely a very ambitious undertaking and one that required a lot of faith, time, and money. For privacy reasons, I cannot even get into what we went all went through in my job situation, but 2019 and 20 were very tumultuous times for my work family. At the same time that I was competing in my second graduate school rodeo, I was adapting to and feeling the effects of some seismic changes at work. I did not even know if my efforts would pay off in the form of a promotion within my current workplace. There were no guarantees about anything. There was many a day when I would go home at night after work feeling so frustrated and down and angry at the world. I started to go back into a state of depression, and I began to take out my anger on everyone and everything in my path. I was angry at everyone at work and angry at the world in general. Looking back, I’m ashamed at how bad off I let myself get.

My friend Roddy and I go way back – to our high school days even. In my next blog posting, I will formally introduce him, as well as share some of his story and some of the history and back story of our friendship. Our friendship has taken many twists and turns over the years, and it has also had its fair share of ups and downs. Today, Roddy holds the distinct honor of being one of my oldest friends that I keep in touch with as well as one of my best friends. In this season of life, he and I are sharing a camaraderie born of fatherhood; a sort of camaraderie that can only be discovered by hanging out in the trenches of raising children that are similar in ages. Our friendship has gone through many phases; together, we have experienced the mountaintops and have forded the valleys…we have drifted apart at times and grown closer at other times. Over the past few years, we have made more of an intentional effort to cultivate our friendship, and I love the big lug fiercely with a love that can only be shared by the closest of brothers. Our wives and our children are very close to each other, and we just enjoy each other’s company.

 

During a recent visit with his family to Mississippi, Roddy and I had the opportunity to hang out together for several days. Since I was taking some time off from work, he and I decided that we would have an “adventure day” of sorts. He mentioned that he had visited Natchez one time in his early childhood, but always had the desire to go back. So, I said okay, “Why don’t we plan a day trip to Natchez to eat some catfish and look at the river, but make several interesting stops along the way?” My wife and I visited the “Ruins of Windsor” many years ago during the early years of our marriage, but I have always wanted to return for another visit. I suggested that we first make that stop, and then visit another Mississippi landmark that I had never seen before: “the ghost town of Rodney, Mississippi.” Early that morning, we departed from my home in Clinton and set off down the Natchez Trace where we enjoyed a leisurely drive as we headed towards the ruins. We found the ruins easily enough using the navigation system in Elliott, my trusty sidekick of seven years. We enjoyed great conversation as the country music radio station quietly played on the satellite radio in the background, the music only occasionally interspersed with Elliott’s voice as he expertly guided us to the ruins.

Happy 7th Anniversary "Elliot" - The places we've been!

Happy 7th Anniversary, "Elliot" You didn't look this good after Old Rodney Road got ya...

With ole Roddy, shortly before heading down Old Rodney Road

We didn’t stay at the ruins all that long on that day, but we did enjoy looking around as we took a few pictures. Years ago, when my beloved and I first visited the ruins, there was only a small little chain around the ruins serving as a barricade. Now, in 2021, there is a large chain-link fence that encompasses the entire perimeter of the ruins. I heard that it was installed due to idiots vying for the Darwin Award of the year; apparently these idiots had been caught trying to climb the ruins. Now, I am not the world’s smartest person, but I believe that even the village idiot would recognize that these ruins are not stable. Nonetheless, the ruins are still spectacular even surrounded by the ugly black chain-link fence. As we left the ruins, I plugged in the address for the old town of Rodney, Mississippi into Elliott’s navigation system. With George Strait ruminating in the background and Elliott’s authoritative voice occasionally directing us, we left the ruins and set off down the road towards the desolate destination of Rodney, Mississippi.

I must admit that after seven years of driving around in Elliott, I have discovered that he quite often possesses a penchant for routing me to my destination via the most roundabout route possible. In seven years, he has never failed to get me to my destination but has often taken me along the scenic route. These days, I am more inclined to use the Google maps app on my phone since Elliott’s map is the same one he left the factory within 2014. Being the tightwad that I am, I have never felt the need to spend the $200 + dollars that Hyundai demands in order to update the map on his Sat-Nav system. For the most part, this is not a problem unless you happen to be driving around in an area that has been constructed since 2014. As we all know, the area surrounding Rodney, Mississippi has been around since pre-Civil War days, so I felt that it was sufficiently safe to let Elliott guide to Rodney, Mississippi. I must admit that I had been absently driving, following directions as they were given, but not really paying attention to where I was going. Roddy and I were having a good conversation and listening to some Garth Brooks on the radio when suddenly Alcorn State University appeared before us. In shock, I looked at Roddy and said “Dude, this ain’t no ghost town! This is an HBCU!” I had never visited the campus of Alcorn State University, and though being the academian that I am made me very curious to tour the campus, I was far more interested in arriving at my intended destination of Rodney, Mississippi.

As I pulled up to the guardhouse, a very nice employee came out and peered at us curiously. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” I said. “We’re trying to find the town of Rodney Mississippi with the old Presbyterian Church and this crazy car has done brought us to your university instead!” “No, honey,” she said, “this car has brought you to the exact place you need to be.” “If you follow the directions, your car is going to take you to the very back of our university where you will find old Rodney Road which starts on the backside of our campus.” “Oh, okay,” I said. “Thank you very much for your help.” “If I was you, I’d be really careful, honey” she said. “I’m not sure that a little old thing like that will make it down old Rodney Road!” she said, giving my car a dubious glance. “Women!” I said, glancing at Roddy. “They sure do have a flair for the dramatic sometimes!” Slowly, we navigated through the lovely campus of Alcorn State University when Elliott suddenly said, “turn right and proceed straight.” Suddenly, I put on the brakes and stared in utter shock.

The relative safety of the blacktop suddenly ended as we left the university behind us. Before us, stretched a one-lane, dirt logging road that looked to have not seen any traffic since the heyday of Rodney in the 1800s. “Oh, hell no, we’re not going down this road in Elliott,” I told Roddy in a horrified voice while patting Elliot’s dashboard reassuringly. We will never make it. In absolute frustration, I turned off Elliot’s Sat-Nav system and got my phone out and pulled up Google maps. After surveying the map, I determined that the only other alternative we had would be to leave the University going back the way we had come and take another roundabout way that would eventually get us to Rodney. Or, I could grit my teeth and say my prayers while driving the 6 miles down old Rodney Road. I look at Roddy, and he said “I think we will be fine, man.” “I’m sorry, buddy!” I mentally whispered to Elliott as we set off down one of the worst roads I have been down in recent years. Now, if I had been in old Henry, my 1988 F150, I would have gone all out pretending that I was Uncle Jesse Duke in the Dukes of Hazard. But as it was, we were stuck in Elliott with his approximately 2 inches of ground clearance going down some of the roughest terrain he has ever been down. Slowly, I moved back and forth all over the road, weaving in a manner that would have made the drunkest of drivers proud. I wish so badly that I had thought to stop and take a picture of that forsaken country, but as it was, my white-knuckled hands were so busy gripping the steering wheel in a death grip that they did not have much time to do anything else such as taking pictures. Suddenly, I came to an abrupt stop; before me lay an obstacle that I simply could not circumnavigate no matter how much I tried.

I don’t know how many of you have ever had the absolute pleasure of navigating old Rodney Road, but if you have by any chance been down that road, you will know that it is barely wide enough for even a small sedan like Elliott. With its steep embankments on either side, there is simply nowhere to turn around and nowhere to go except forward or backward. All I could think about was Lord help us if we meet anyone coming down this forsaken road. One of us would have surely had to drive in reverse all the way back to the place where we had started. We have had an enormous amount of rain this summer. I, for one, have never seen my grass stay such a beautiful shade of emerald green in the midst of July! Normally, my grass is half-dead by this point because I simply do not water it as I should when there is insufficient rain. This year, it is an absolute half an acre of lush emerald carpet that must be cut every week. Apparently, old Rodney Road has seen the same amount of rainfall! Before me was this enormous mud puddle/mudhole that spanned the entire width of the road. No, there was certainly no circumnavigating that one! I looked at my map and determined that we had gone approximately 3 miles at that point; we had approximately three more miles to continue to Rodney. I looked up at Roddy and said “I don’t know about this, man!” He looked back at me and said “What are you going to do? Go backwards all the way to the University? I decided at that point that it would be way too difficult to navigate all the potholes in reverse; certainly, it had been hard enough work navigating them going forward! With no choice, I hit the gas, closed my eyes, and said my prayers.

I had absolutely no idea how deep the mudhole was; indeed, deciding to proceed forward was an act requiring equal parts of blind faith and stupidity. I felt the car dip down and start to slide all over the road. Now, you should know that Elliott came from the factory with low-profile 17 inch, extra wide, high-performance tires. They were never intended to tackle anything like old Rodney Road threw at them. As I continued to press down on the gas pedal, I felt the wheels spinning and the car sliding and I looked at Roddy and said “Oh, snap! I don’t think AAA will ever find us out here, much less be able to tow us back!” About the same time that I said that the tires once again caught traction on the dry land on the other side of the mud hole and off we continued. We made it to Rodney without any further incident, and I lifted a prayer of thanksgiving once we had safely parked and exited Elliott. Our time in Rodney was rather uneventful; we could not actually go up to the old Presbyterian Church to see it as it is currently undergoing renovations and structural repairs. We did get a lot of pictures and never saw another soul from the time that we left the university until we arrived in Natchez except for one old man plowing a field on a tractor right outside of Rodney.

As we prepared to leave Rodney, I once again consulted my Google maps. I noticed that there was a bridge up ahead on Muddy Bayou Road listed on the map as the “Wooden Bridge of Death.” “Roddy!” I exclaimed. “We have to go see this bridge.”

As Roddy scanned the horizon ahead and looked down the ominous dirt road which seemed to disappear in the bushes, he said “Haven’t we tortured your poor car enough for one day?” “Yeah, probably so” I replied. Since it only looked to be a quarter of a mile down the road, we set down the road on foot. Suddenly, we came to the Wooden Bridge of Death which did look kind of spooky as there were no guardrails at all to be seen on either side of the bridge.

Hmm...doesn't look too dangerous....

Scary???? Or not????

We Survived! Didn't die.

The "Wooden Bridge of Death"....say what?????

After taking the obligatory selfie to offer up as proof to our wives that we had indeed survived walking across the Wooden Bridge of Death, we headed back to Elliott where we proceeded to set off in Natchez under the expert direction of his Sat-Nav system.

            The month of May and part of June were spent in an absolute state of fog. For some reason, I started slipping into a sort of state of depression during the time immediately following my graduation in early May. For so long, I had fought, I had pushed, and I had been through so much at work, all while trying to be a husband, a father, a friend, a son, a brother, and a devoted follower of Christ. I am ashamed to say that much of 2019 and part of 2020 were spent living within the angst that comes from telling God “Hey, thanks, but I got this, I can do this by myself.” Feelings of doubt, anger, uncertainty, and sadness plagued my life for the first part of the time that I was in graduate school. In the middle of 2020, after everyone at my university, had returned to work in person, I recall hearing Lauren Daigle sing “Rescue” on the radio. I remember just breaking down and telling God that “I don’t got this after all. I need you, and I need you to guide me and deliver me through this rough season of life.” From that moment on, I felt like God was telling me “I have you, son. I got your back, and I will never leave you. Just wait on me and I will rescue you, and I will show you what the path that I have laid out for you looks like in due time.” From that moment on, I felt like God was just telling me to wait and be patient. In early 2021, I applied for a different job at a much larger university, but nothing ever came of it. My co-workers really did not want me to leave anyway. Again, I heard God clearly say “sit tight, be patient. I got your back.” In April, God made it clear to me that his plan for this season in my life is just to stay and grow where I have been planted. A brand-new professional position was created for and given to me upon my graduation. All the months that I doubted God, questioned him and was very impatient with him turned out to be all for naught. Whether or not we know it, whether or not we understand it, or whether we choose to accept it, his plan for our lives is unfolding in his own time as he intends for it to, and we are simply powerless to stop it. All we can do is sit back and go with the flow and watch all of the puzzle pieces begin to connect as God puts them into place.

            Just as that trip down old Rodney Road proved to be quite the test of faith, the past couple of years of my life have also been a test of faith. I learned something going down old Rodney Road – sometimes when you have a big ole mud hole sort of obstacle in your life, you can’t stop and give up. You can’t blindly back up for 3 miles. No, the only option that you have in life is to simply put the pedal to the floor and proceed full strength ahead with wheels spinning and tires slinging mud! God will rescue you and see you through. Just like I never gave up halfway through graduate school and continued to move ahead, blindly, not knowing where that path was going to lead me, I had no choice but to move forward down old Rodney Road and trust that God was going to pull me through. Either God or a tow truck driver that he would hopefully send from AAA. In life, it is sometimes far more dangerous to quit mid attempt and to try to backpedal. Even though the road ahead seems dangerous (and full of “pseudo” dangerous bridges), we have no choice but to continue forward and trust that God will pull us through and “rescue” us.

            Roddy and I survived both the trip down old Rodney Road and the “Wooden Bridge of Death” that day! God has been gracious to both of us and individually, has brought us through so much in our respective lives. In part four of the “Bridges” series, I will formally introduce Roddy to you and share some of his amazing story as well as give some back story into our deep and storied friendship. Until next time, Godspeed!
 
Stephen

Don't Allow Others' Harsh, Critical Words To Steal Your Joy

At "opportune" times, my father channels my late grandmother (his mother) with aplomb relative to his harsh, critical words / tone.  And because he's my dad, his words carry far more weight than those from anyone else (besides my wife).  

Our Independence Day holiday was spent with my folks, and it was a delightful, fun-filled day, but Robert, Sr., in turn, thanks to that time spent, was given the opportunity to silently critique that which was available to him (me and my family) therein.

And silently critique he did.

Therefore, yesterday, he chose to relay his criticism to me off the cuff while we were going about our business there at the family business (I work for my parents).

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Harsh, critical words from loved ones, especially older loved ones, hurt like hell.  So much so, that I can see clearly how people who endure this abuse chronically often turn to drugs / alcohol / porn to cope with the emotional scars.  It's only through God's grace that I've never chosen to do this, though I've certainly consumed countless hours of gay porn of my own accord. 

As Christians, we are compelled and commanded to be honorable to our parents.  This is a Biblical mandate.  But, heavens to Betsy, this is tough to follow through with when your 'rents behave like assholes on occasion.

So what can be done?

Two things.

One, protect you yourself from the asshole.  And I believe the best approach to this is respectful avoidance.

Two, pray for the asshole.  Pray that he sees himself clearly and is convicted to repent.

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At times, we all say things that we regret.  We all choose to behave at times - through our speech - harshly and with little to no care.  This is a fact.  

Put your focus on Christ today.  His encouragement.  His grace.  His love for you.  And let go of everything else.  But especially harsh, critical words that have cut into your heart.  Refuse to allow harsh, critical words from the assholes within your life to make any more of an impact than they already have.

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As a sidenote, I perused through the tome, Hope Heals by Katherine & Jay Wolf early this AM.  It's a book that Angie was recommended, the story of which resonates (with both of us) relative to her 2020 stroke.

The book is written alternatively between both Jay and Katherine's perspective as they endure the trauma of Katherine's medical ordeal, therefore it's a very compelling (& easy) read.  Highly recommended.

A section that stood out to me this AM was the patriarchal support Jay received from his pastor dad immediately following his wife's medical diagnosis and the subsequent daylong neurosurgery she needed to survive her specific stroke.  Though Angie's situation last year was far less serious, I felt a bit hollow inside as I read about Jay's time with his dad praying, embracing, and weeping together.  

My experience last year regarding Angie's stroke as it pertains to my dad was altogether different.  Though no one could visit her in the hospital (COVID-19 restrictions), I was blessed to be geographically close by (our office is one mile from St. D.) during the day.  Experientially though, for me, other than my mother asking a handful of questions each day, my dad never prayed with me, spoke any words of specific fatherly encouragement regarding Angie's situation, or even embraced me.  In essence, there was no shoulder offered to cry on whatsoever. 

It was as if what had happened to us was best chalked up to simply bad luck (or perhaps judgement), and as a result, he was now better positioned overall (since it hadn't happened to him).  Or at least that's what it sort of felt like.

People have asked me through the years why I work for my dad once they realize just how pervasive his posturing really is.  And it's hard for me to answer that question.  For you see, it's all I've ever known.  To me, it's Rob's version of normal.

In closing, I know many of you can relate to some degree to this travesty.  You are not alone.  All that being said, hold your head up as Christian men, and remember your Heavenly Father's love, affirmation, and specifically catered care.

Happy Father's Day Jackson, Mississippi Samson Men!

On Father's Day, free your sons from the bonds of an outdated masculinity (msn.com)

Op-Ed: There were some things even my dad, the fixer, couldn't fix (msn.com)

I thought I knew my dad. The pandemic taught me I was wrong. (msn.com)

Perspective: I grew up with an absent father. Now I’m especially grateful for Father’s Day (msn.com)

What Greek epics taught me about the special relationship between fathers and sons (msn.com)

‘May You Worship Your Father’s God’: The Spiritual Legacy of Faithful Men | Desiring God

The Gift of a Distracted Dad (thegospelcoalition.org)

How To React When A Tenured Spouse (Who Happens To Also Be A Co-Parent) Either Over Or Understeps (Relative To Their God-Given Role Within The Family)

Circumstances within a married household (w/ or w/o children) bring about consistent change.  For instance, there are changes in daily / weekly schedules and subsequently expectations and demands change.  These circumstances / demands are often tied to milestones, such as summer break / school starting or simply the maturation of various offspring.

Therefore, what tends to happen amidst all this fluidity is mom and dad sometimes overstep / understep within their individual, God-given roles.  Why?  Because they're imperfect, therefore we easily forget - at times - our various roles / responsibilities.

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My second position within an architecture firm here in Jackson (back in 1997) freed me from telephone answering duty (answering the office landline telephone whenever it would ring).  Unlike my first position - right out of college (within a tiny firm of just 5 individuals), I was now working alongside (at least three) administrative personnel who took care of mundane (but extremely important) tasks like this one.  

What was unusual though about this new-to-Rob setup was how demanding one of these three administrative people was regarding her colleagues taking a telephone call - right then and there.

I vividly remember being in the men's room taking a dump whilst having this admin lady loudly announce (through a sizable crack in the men's room door) that I "had a telephone call!".

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Husband / Wife / Father / Mother - besides the biological, each has a distinct role to play within a family.  And sure there can be some overlap, but overall, the Husband / Father is the head and the Wife / Mother is the helpmeet.  Now, does that mean the female is a doormat?  Of course not.  For the male loves his female as Christ loved the church (his bride) and gave himself up for her.  And, of course, this is the Biblical model. 

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My wife grew up in a household where her dad was in no way the head.  Instead, it was her mother who called the shots - on everything.  And when her mother didn't get her way, she'd behave like a spoiled child 'till she either broke her husband's will or lost interest in rebelling any longer.  Fueling much of this approach was her parents ongoing abuse of alcohol to placate any and all relational stress (of which there was a lot).  

I grew up within a similar household sans the alcohol usage.  Yet, my parents were extremely young when I was a boy, whereas Angie's parents are 20+ years their senior.  Therefore, of my two parents, whilst in their mid-twenties (& I was around 8 or 9), it was my mother who was markedly more mature and therefore more "qualified" to lead our troupe.  And that's what she did.  Quite well, I must say.

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One of the attributes that I aspire (as their father) to instill within all three of my children is discipline.  Discipline is tough for children to appreciate, especially if they're not involved in team activities (where discipline is promoted via positive peer pressure / a coach).  My oldest daughter has had the good fortune of being a school team member (middle / high school dance team), but the other two, not so much (other than middle daughter's experience within a theatrical production class).

My primary methodology for instilling discipline within my children is by not "babying" them.  In other words, as salient members of our clan, I expect them to do their fair share of household chores, etc. on top of keeping up their grades, executing volunteer work and putting some sort of weekly emphasis on physical fitness (as opposed to the ubiquitous screen time).

Now, we're officially within the summer months, therefore my daughters are out of school, and like I alluded to earlier within this post, change of schedule / routine can bring about an upending of specific roles (as well as an implied loosening of guidelines).

So, here's a description of the situation.

It's Monday morning, and I was the first up (yesterday).  And this isn't atypical for our household (me getting out of bed firstly).  Now, when it comes to each child's schedule, I simply cannot keep up with it.  Especially during the summer because the schedules are in no way routine.  But, Angie does this with aplomb.  She uses both her sharp mind as well as some sort of family calendar app to keep everything straight.  

But I digress.

What I did, upon getting up, was awaken all three of our little sinners around 8 AM.  I knew they'd turned in the night before around 10:30 PM (the oldest two with the youngest an hour earlier), therefore I felt it was time for them to get their weeks started.

Angie disagreed.  And she respectfully made that known as she shushed me whilst standing there within our living room.

And this made me angry for I considered it an overstep on her part.  

Therefore, about 30 minutes later, she asked me to sit down with her and the girls in the living room to discuss her / their point of view (for they had no interest in getting up at 8 AM either).  And after listening to their rationale, I asked them to confer amongst themselves over the course of the day in preparation to report back to me regarding when to wake them up exactly on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday mornings over the remainder of the summer months (this was me being a smartass).

I did this whilst admitting that I know squat about their independent schedules, and don't want to (this was me being a dick).

And as I thought more about this situation throughout the day, I realized that Angie had every right to overstep here, despite it making me feel impeded upon as the dad.  

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In closing, what would I have done differently yesterday morning whilst being approached by my sweet wife regarding this seemingly unimportant detail (wake time)?

Been more respectful.  For Angie understands CLEARLY both her role as well as mine.  Hence, the way she approached me when she did (with respect) demonstrated what I should have immediately reciprocated with (respect).  

I also would have apologized - to all the girls - last night for overreacting yesterday morning.

Why?

It's important to me that my daughters understand - through their father - how men should act / react within the home - in a godly manner.  And I want them to learn this via example.  

Why is this important to me?

We men are dumbasses.  Therefore, I want my daughters to choose a future husband who's somewhat less of a dumbass than the majority (which I'm a part of).  My daughters' collective knowledge regarding a specific "model husband" is me - their father.  That being, what's important to me, how I react, and so forth.  Yikes.

If I don't demonstrate grace to my wife / girls, there's a risk my future son-in-laws won't either.  And that scares the hell out of me.