We just started summer over this last
weekend, but I felt that it was important to let you know when summer is over.
So, I put the countdown to Labor Day in the Grabber section.
When the Shepkids were toddlers and they would fall down,
their mom and I would look at them and tell them to pop up. We would ask them,
“What is the next thing we do when you fall down?” and they would answer us
with tears on their red faces, “You get right back up!”
Now one is an adult, another is nearly an adult, and their
baby sister is about to become a teenager. I’m not sure they are prepared to
get back up when they fall.
I worry more and more that they
won’t be able to rebound when I’m not around.
We teach our kids how to read and tie their shoes, but we
don’t spend nearly enough time teaching them how to handle it when they lose a
job. How to survive a broken heart or recover when life doesn’t go according to
plan.
I was sitting in Ceres at the Board of Trade with a dear
friend the week we found out George was on the autistic spectrum. At the same
time, he had just learned that his college-age son was having some problems at
school.
He looked at me and said, “Jumbo,
small kids, small problems. Big kids, big problems.”
Years later, those words proved to be wisdom.
The other day I chalked about being a good father and a
horrible husband. The truth is that fatherhood came easier to me. I
knew how to hold a baby. I knew how to show up for soccer games. I knew how to
make pancakes, change diapers, help with homework, and sit in an emergency rooms
when life got scary.
What I
never figured out was how to guarantee that my kids wouldn’t get hurt.
Because eventually every child gets introduced to the same
things the rest of us did.
Heartbreak.
Disappointment.
Failure.
Rejection.
The phone call you never wanted to receive.
The person you thought would stay forever who leaves
anyway.
The job that disappears.
The friend who turns out not to be a friend.
Nobody
hands out an instruction manual for those days and that is what
worries me as a father. Not whether my kids can read. Not whether they can drive. Not whether they
can make a living.
I worry whether they know how to get back
up. Because sooner or later life knocks everybody on their ass. Every
single one of us.
It
knocked me down when George was diagnosed. It knocked me down when my marriage
ended. It knocked me down when my parents died. It knocks me down every time my
daughter misses another day of being healthy. If I have learned
anything in nearly sixty years, it’s that getting knocked down isn’t the test. The
test is whether you decide to stay there.
My friend in
Ceres was right.
Small kids, small problems.
Big kids,
big problems.
… But the answer remains the
same no matter how old you are.
When you fall down, you pop back up. Maybe
not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but eventually you wipe your face,
catch your breath, and stand back up.
Because life isn’t asking whether you fell. Life
is asking what you did after you hit the ground.
If
you fell down yesterday, stand up today.
Summer is already slipping away. We have
only 76 days until Labor Day. Don’t waste a single one of them
lying on the mat while gusto and astonishment is out there waiting.
