Being a Grown Boy

A couple of things coincided last week to get me thinking about being a grown boy. Yes, I know that a "grown boy" is a man, but I wanted to emphasize the "boy" part of that. I have the feeling that in each of us as adults is still the child. The child is the part of us that likes to have fun and do things reckless - or at least a little so. The child is the one who can wonder at the world found in so many little things- and also be overwhelmed by the big.

First, last week, a friend found out that his father had cancer. It was a time of reflection. He said he was doing a lot of thinking and remembering of his father. Since he knew that my father had died when I was 16 (and he was only 59), he said that he was sorry to bring these up.

I eased his concern, naturally. Since it has been 44 years (next week) the sharpness of the pain has long ago eased. But his comments reminded me that even after all these years it is still important to remember Dad. It is not a coincidence that I recently uploaded to Flickr some pictures of my brother and me with our dad in a number of different places. That is part of who we are- our memories. We hold within us the lives that we have lived- not just our own but of our family.

The other discussion was about "finding the boy" in us that we may have lost or hidden behind pain or addiction. It took me back about 15 years when I was at a meeting away from home and I stayed with a family in the local church. Since their son was away for the weekend they put me in his room. It was the first time since I was a child that I had been in a boy's room. The pictures on the wall, the sports cards and memorabilia, the whole atmosphere took me back to a boy I once was.

It was quite an evening just allowing that atmosphere to surround me as it had not done in years. Yes, I had lost contact with that boy through addiction and loss and fear. But it was that night in that teenager's room that I remembered somewhere in the center of my soul who I was. It was an important step in my own recovery- and maturity- even in my early 40s.

We are the results of who we were. The adult is the offspring of the child that they once were. In that is a sense of rootedness, at least for me. That may have been part of why I had to do my 60 miles on the Pine Creek Rail Trail and not just on any old trail. That was where I grew up. That was where the boy could connect with the man.

Sure, this may all be just some psycho-babble. But I doubt it. It may be far more important than any of us is able to verbalize. That little boy in that picture a few paragraphs back. He is still around. He is still informing who I am today.

For me that is exciting. It allows the mature me to play. It opens the adult me to the wonder that could otherwise get jaded by six decades of life. It gives the 60 year old a chance to be 10 again standing with a sense of support and safety with Dad's arm holding on to me.

It also may permit me to be open to the wonder of a loving God who also is willing to put his arm around me in love and support. That is not stretch of the imagination either. It may be the greatest gift a child can ever receive.