There was a time when I wanted nothing more than to have a bunch of kids bouncing around a good home filled with good love to share life with. Well, I got my wish, only a funny thing happened along the way: The kids didn't want to share their lives with me. Or at least that's how it has seemed in recent days, weeks, months, etc.It was bound to happen, and it's not like I'm terribly perplexed by the chain of events. Nonetheless, I'm saddened at how things have transpired, and if I could, I'd change the state of those relationships in a second.
My oldest child will venture out on his own in the coming weeks, and I can't help but feel a sense of fear, excitement, regret, and guilt. So much he doesn't know, and so much I could have taught him. So much I wanted to share, and so much I wasn't able to. So much he needed to hear but didn't want to. So much I needed to say but wasn't prepared to. It's never too late I know, but in a sense, there's little I can do now except hope for the best and put my faith elsewhere that everything will work out for the best.
That leaves three children still in the home. Coincidentally, they're all girls, which leaves me obviously vastly unqualified to come to their aid in many areas. However, being of the opposite sex does qualify me to offer them a bounty of advice they hopefully can use to ward off the knuckleheads sure to come knocking in the foreseeable future. Hell, the knuckleheads are already beating at the door.
Two of my daughters are teen-aged. Admittedly, I'm at a loss to know the right or wrong thing to say in seemingly every situation these days. Stumble, apologize, pick myself up, and proceed to move forward without clue one until the next pitiful encounter occurs. That's my standard MO currently, I'm afraid. I wish I could offer up more, because they deserve it.
Maybe it's the dawning of 2010 that has me lamenting lost time and future moments, but I'm feeling desperately out of sorts where my children are concerned, lately. Desperately unproductive. Desperately lacking wisdom and maybe even motivation to change the situation. Complacency is a formidable foe and it's always been my worst enemy. The fact that I've allowed it to creep into my responsibilities as a father, guider, protector, etc., haunts me. Look, I'm no flake, and I've never shucked my duties to provide for my family in the most strictest definition, but there's no doubt that I haven't fulfilled the expectations that I placed on myself many, many years ago. There's no doubt that the hopes I conjured up years ago concerning the prospect of having children failed to materialize, and much of the blame falls on me.
In the end, I think what I truly wasn't prepared for when I became a father was the changes that would take place not only in my children but in myself. I never counted on becoming more conservative, more guarded, more paranoid, more fearful as I grew older. I never counted on my children constantly moving forward while I stood idle, unsure in which direction I should take my next step, or even why I should bother. I'm no fat cat, but I'm not exactly hungry any longer, either. And as someone who's scrapped for pretty much everything that's come my way, that truly bothers me. I've not only failed my children in many regards, I've failed myself. That's disheartening.
A new year always seems to spark new hope and new possibilities, as it should. Still, hope and possibilities will never morph into anything substantial without actual action. Am I up to the task? Am I even capable of mustering up the fight? Have I accepted my lot and deemed my current plight as good as it's going to get? I honestly don't know. I do know it seems as much. For the sake of my children, and my own, I hope I'm wrong.
