Category: A Family Man

We have a cat.

That’s a line I never thought I’d write. I’m not fond of cats, but I’m no hater either. In high school, I had a friend who had a sadist streak toward cats. One day without any provocation, he snagged a stray by the tail and spun her round-and-round over his head, the cat’s shrieks piercing new decibels with each whirl. Finally, my friend released the screeching cat, on the high arc of a spin, sending the poor creature rocketing through the air and landing on a roof. The cat dug her claws into the shingles, stunned and motionless. I felt bad for the traumatized feline, and I’ve never forgotten that cruelty.

I carry no ill toward cats; they simply aren’t my thing. More than this, though, we’ve been in a season of life when I can’t imagine taking on responsibility for one more creature. I’m maxed out on emotional energy, financial resources and mental capacity. Kids will do that to you.

So a couple weeks ago when Miska raised (again) the fact that Wyatt was begging for a cat for his ninth birthday, the only words I could muster were, Are you kidding me??? She was not in fact kidding me.

Neither was Wyatt. He begged. He pleaded. He gerrymandered. He teamed with Seth, and they staged a coup. He worked his Wyatt-ly manipulation. He concocted plans to save up $150 for the adoption fee, littler box and supplies. When Wyatt said he would gladly take responsibility to clean the litter daily, I knew I was finished. This coming from the boy who has been known to gag over the sight of a carrot (a carrot, I say), the boy who acts as though the Apocalypse has arrived when asked to clean his room.

But something good was emerging in the heart of this son of mine. He wanted a creature to care for, a creature to love. This was no passing whim. A piece of who Wyatt truly is was finding expression in his desire. This was one of those moments where a mom and a dad know we’ve been offered the opportunity to love a boy, to see him and to love him and to encourage him toward his best and truest self. I would have been a fool to say no.

I’ll have many opportunities, with both Wyatt and Seth, for these yeses. I hope I recognize them.

For Christmas, Wyatt received a A Field Guide to Dragons.

He has now added his new-found proficiency to his business card.

Publish Post

My earliest years were spent in Middle Tennessee. Murfreesboro, to be exact. We lived a few miles out Franklin Road, with vast stretches of farmland between us and town. Our small community centered around a youth camp and working ranch. It was a magical place for a young boy to actually be a young boy. Horses in our backyard. Six thousand acres to roam. A mountain to climb and camp. Rodeos every Friday afternoon during the summer. But the fireflies – those haunting, hovering flashes of greenish-neon light flickering just within reach – are one of the enchantments I remember most. The long, sticky summer days surrendered to the Tennessee evening air; and, just around dusk, the sky began to dance.

My friend Wil and I would chase a couple fireflies down and gently release them into our Mason jars, with a bit of grass stuffed in the bottom and tin foil (with air holes pencil-punched in) wrapped over the top. Even now, remembering, I feel a twinge of that boyhood mystery, when I was caught up in friendship and stories and twilight evenings chasing flashes of light across the backyard.

A few nights ago, we were in Tennessee visiting friends. As the sun began to settle, the fireflies appeared. And our boys, Mason jars in hand, entered the ritual. We were probably only thirty miles from the spot where my firefly memories are rooted, but I am aware that the years and experiences, the disillusionment and the knocks, the questions – and the joys too, have taken me a long way from those simple summers. Laughter comes a little harder, and cynicism a little easier. Friendship is harder work, love more fraught with danger and uncertain outcomes. The world can be scarier. I’m less naive, less trusting. I haven’t run barefoot at dusk for quite a while.

But. A lot has stayed the same. I’m still drawn to twilight space. Our front porch, the sun setting over Carter’s Mountain, tea in hand, is one of my favorite moments. Miska and I will talk or read or just sit together quietly and bid farewell to a good (or bad) day. Mystery is a friend of mine; whenever someone acts as though they’ve got life figured out, I find myself thinking they are full of the brown, smelly stuff. Thanks to Miska, I even like to dance (it isn’t pretty but it’s passionate). And friendship and love – those are high words in my book. I’m not sure I understand all that much about what they mean, but I’ve tasted enough to know I’ll fight for them – and spend my days chasing their glimmer and life.

I’m also drawn to twilight spaces in the soul. I find myself pulled to people and to stories where light and dark are vying for attention. I just had coffee with a friend who shared his three-year journey of brokenness and heartache – and his turn toward hope. That’s twilight, as I see it. And, amid our conversation, I almost swear I saw a few flashes of light dancing just within reach.