I don’t have that kind of discipline. I work out after work. Get up at 5:30 in the morning? Maybe. If you paid me. A lot. Get up in time to work out at 5:30 a.m.? Forget about it.
Fast-forward to 9:30 p.m. I get home from work later than usual. The wife and I are talking. I’m browsing Facebook, and I see my teenager’s post. He rode the five mile route to the Y on his longboard. A longboard, for those who do not know, is a long skateboard. It’s used for cruising, not tricks.
We thought his buddy had come to pick him up. Now, in his defense, he never exactly said how he was getting to the Y. My wife assumed, and he let us assume. He knew we’d disapprove, and when we called him out on it…
So, we read him the riot act, told him there would be consequences. He didn’t understand. We’re being overprotective. We don’t understand.
I did my best to keep my voice down…I have a problem with that, as I explained that his failure to understand was the proof I needed that he needed tighter reins. I know this felt like punishment to him, it’s really not. The reins are needed because, at 15, he doesn’t see that riding a longboard on a dark street in the wee hours, wearing dark clothes with no light and no reflectivity, is not wise.
My fear is his lack of it.
That’s a hard pill for me to swallow. I’ve lived in the shadow of fear most of my life. I’ve let it keep me from making changes, doing things I should have done. I’ve taken great pains to make sure my kids aren’t paralyzed by fear. Evidently, I’ve done a fantastic job. The boy has no fear.
So, we’re at the champion moment: when the lesson was learned too well. I know it’s about balance. I know he’ll learn. I know he has no idea how dangerous and ill-considered his decision to ride the longboard across town is. I know that’s kind of OK.
I know that my reaction, my gut instinct, my feelings, give me a glimpse of God. You see son, I tighten the reins because I know the plans I have for you, plans to give you a hope and a future. Sounds mighty familiar.
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