It's just that some stick out a little bit more than others, and this was one of those.
When my son was a baby, and I was a new father, I often times laid with him thinking about what he would be like. Would he be tall? Would he be athletically gifted? Would he be brilliant? What would his favorite color be? What would he like to do?
Like most new father's I think I unintentionally (or maybe subconsciously?) began to superimpose my hopes and dreams for my life onto him. Would I someday see him rounding third at Fenway after hitting the winning homerun in Game 7? Would he be a fighter pilot? Would he be a famous scientist?
I was bound and determined to make sure that he experienced a wide variety of things. Swimming, karate, basketball, baseball, tennis, and even skateboarding were all made available to him to little or no avail. I was getting nervous that I somehow wasn't doing my job as his Dad. Was I showing him the right things? Was he going to become some type of recluse?
Then as the year's went by I began to see him take his own form and show me who "he" was, and I've loved every minute of it.
He wasn't any of the things that I had superimposed on him, instead he was a young boy that was incredibly smart and well read. He was shy and liked the color green. He loved to write and draw fantasy comics and he even fancied himself as a bit of a politician (even going as John McCain for Halloween). He has little interest in team sports, but he would often ask me about flying.
And then the lightbulb went off.
So for Christmas last year I bought him an introductory flight lesson and thought I had hit the mother lode. I thought for sure he would be excited.
That is until he opened the gift and looked at it with just a slight bit of interest and excitement. I thought it was a dud.
The winter turned to spring and the spring to early summer with barely any mention of the flight lesson until one day in late May he said: "You know Dad, I still have that flight lesson that I'm really excited to take. When do you think we could go?".
He didn't have to ask twice.
And "go" we did.
This was a day that I will remember for a very long time. It was a mixture of pride and nervousness. Hope and anticipation.
He flew on his own without me with him, and it was a day that taught me so very much about life. About kids. About being a good parent.
I never set foot in that aircraft, but I flew right along with him.
To see him take that step, to conquer his fear and his nerves was a wonderful journey for us both. He may never fly again, and that is just fine by me because no matter what the outcome it taught us both that trying something -even if it's something you never thought you'd do- is one of the biggest steps you can take in life.
Good on ya' dude. I'm proud of you and who you are. I love you.
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