Reflections on My 39th Birthday

When my dad turned 39 years old I was 13. I remember it mostly because I recall thinking that he was 3 times older than me. Coincidentally, my boys turn 3 in March and I'll be 13 times older than them. I don't remember anything specific about my dad at that age but he was (and still is) almost a mythic figure to me. Tall and dark, with a glare that could freeze water, let alone a teenager's spine. At least one of my friends was genuinely afraid of my dad. But I did my best to avoid becoming the target of his glare and, what's more, I knew that underneath was a funny guy. His glare is an expression I have attempted to replicate, to lesser effect, with my boys. Maybe I don't have a dark enough complexion or maybe the boys just aren't old enough yet to appreciate it. I've still got a few years to work on it.

What strikes me most as I think back, is that my dad always seemed to know the answers. I feel like I'm just fumbling in the dark with respect to how to raise children. Occasionally the boys react in a way that makes me think I'm doing something right and in the next instant they prove me wrong. I find in my dad's implacable wisdom a source of comfort. My parents had children at a much younger age than I. I'm sure the extra years of parenting gave them some knowledge that I can only attain after similar years. On the other hand, the simple process of life itself grants wisdom that my parents lacked when they started. The point is that I don't think that my parents were any wiser than I feel. Perhaps that realization is is another step on the path to real wisdom, whatever that is. And I think my parents did a pretty good job. I hope my children will be able to say the same once they're in my position.