The Cape Doesn't Fit Yet

The last time I was up like this, I was writing to you all about my friend who had to say goodbye to his father. It turned out, I was managing the feelings I had about that, through the time my daddie said goodbye to me. It wasn’t a forever goodbye. It was, you’re in college now, and daddie can’t do this part with you goodbye. Different goodbyes, yet his father and my daddie were saying the same thing. We can’t do this part with you.

I’m up late right now thinking about another man and his father. This is a pretty special man to me. I can’t tell you all about him though, not for a lack of time or words – it’s just not the time yet, and those aren’t the words I have. I have been thinking about him and his father for a while now. But I know, while it’s genuine, it’s also a projection.

He and I just happen to be in the same place in our lives. Where something happens and your father, your pops, your dear old dad, and he has to become something else. And after they worked so hard their whole lives to give you all those wonderful experiences growing up, send you off to the best schools, and work day in and out paying for what all of that costs, you don’t have enough education or sense to figure out how to get through this.

His father needs him, more than he needs his father. It’s the not so fun side to raising your parents that we never status update about on social media. You know, the time when they like legit NEED you. Like, if you don’t figure out a way to come through for them, some bad stuff might really happen. And you might not be equipped for this, but you definitely ain’t prepared for the bad stuff that might happen. So you figure it out. And that wears you out. #ThisWomanIsGettingWeary #PretendingImMadeOfStone #projecting

You are oscillating back and forth between gratitude and grief. He’s thankful that his father is still here. I am certain of that. But the grief of this changing relationship, Lord? Having to be there in this new capacity? But it’s not new at all because it’s what his father has been doing for him his whole life. Growing up though, you never think the tables are going to be turned. You assume that your parents are always going to have this power, this authority, this control. They are always going to be able to veto that holiday plan you have, because ain’t nobody going to no damn Las Vegas Bowl the day after Christmas? Is you crazy? You can Las Vegas Bowl your butt on that couch! Child went off to school and came back crazy as I don’t know what!

#MyMotherDoesntBelieveInMe #DreamKiller #PopsIsATraitor #PopsDidntEvenHelpMeOutWithThatOne  

Grateful that you have the means to be able to do this. To fix the world up for them - even though it looks different every time you "fix" it. Grief because remaining patient and humble through that process takes an expert level of Jesus and you haven’t been to church in a few Sundays so… #Level:BasicJesus. And something tells me, even if you were on the front pew taking notes, it would still be a bit challenging. Like you actually need Jesus to be there with you through this kind of patience and humility – next to you, zapping you with patience and humble blessings as you care for your father. Because, #YouBasic.

And who, like WHO can you actually say this to and not sound like a jerk? I mean, I started this off with, my friend who had to say goodbye to his father – I mean, talk about your first world problems, right? For all the people who wish they had a father still here to worry over, there’s an equal opposite amount of those who wish they had the means to do what you’re doing right now. And you’re over there worrying over a mug of pomegranate tea sweetened with organic honey. Complain much?

You say nothing. It’s easier that way. You suck it up, and do it in silence. My friend isn’t looking for a handshake, hug, or help even. He is just trying to find his way. Just like I was some time ago. #StillLookingForThePath #TakeUsToTheKing

So I told him about it. In the black church, they call that a testimony. It was over a text message though. I told him what was actually happening to me all those times he was sitting right next to me. In the car. In the bar. At the tailgate. On the way to the game. All that time, he had no idea. I knew exactly what he was feeling, although a different father, it was the same emotion. More like emotions. It’s all of them bruh. Any given moment, you can be feeling anything on the inside, but that outside is like a rock. We become the rocks, like Tristan, that our fathers beat themselves (read: their pride) against. Unshaken. Steadfast. Unmovable. Strong  (read: humble-ish) enough to endure. Everlasting. Because we must. We have inherited this task.

You can’t give that kind of grief away. Save that for yourself. Gratitude is good. Use that for Dad.

His father is changing. His father is doing the most courageous thing a father can do for his son. He’s not being his son’s superhero anymore. He’s not moving the mountains, capturing criminals, or saving any more days. He is stepping down, so his son can learn to use his super powers.

My friend is going to have to figure this part out all on his own. Something like his father did the instant he knew he was passing his genetic material on to create the remarkable man I know today. The great man (my friend) who lets me order things we both know I won’t finish, but allows me to be great in that moment of ordering a beer I can’t pronounce because I want to be down. And never says a mumbling word about it. Okay, he says a few, but he lets me be great. Then drinks the rest of the beer. Because we don't waste alcohol. 

Things have to be this way. See, unlike Matthew McConaughey, my friend’s father won’t be able to leapfrog through time. The natural order, probability wise, will likely be preserved in this instance. This is what is left for us. A desperate, restless, search for all the horcruxes father has left you. So you can figure out how to make the cape fit. Lord knows it doesn’t fit yet – not even close. It too long. It's not the color you imagined your cape would be. Whoa - you actually never even imagined you would actually have a cape because you always thought your father would be here. I mean, you understood passing on the the figurative sense, but not in the "It's definitely going to impact my life" kind of way. An overwhelming panic is setting in. It's real. You have to do this. All on your own.

It’s then you realize just how all powerful your father was. And how ill-equipped you are for this task.

I have never doubted what it takes to be a mother. And I never will. But fathers have an incredible task to match.

Passing the cape on.

Knowing that it does not fit yet.

Unsure if they will ever see it fly.

I suppose that’s the real lesson fathers teach us. Faith. Believing in something they may never get to see. Believing in something they might not ever see. The great courage, the immeasurable love, it takes to have that kind of faith.

…and the burden to carry it. Like my friend said, it’s hard on the both of them.

It’s hard on us too homey.