He taught me two things about fatherhood

He arrived two weeks after his due date, by induction, and he was not impressed, yelling his way out into the world. He was a big baby – at birth he looked like he was three months old, pushing toward 10 pounds. The nurse cleaned him up, wrapped him in a little blanket, and put him in my arms. Eyes in a little round face squinted at me.

I fell in love.

At seven months, sitting between us in his car seat, he tried to take control of the steering wheel. We were on the interstate.

He walked at nine months. He walked for exactly one day. Then he ran and didn’t stop.

At two, he climbed into the car in the garage, keys in hand. He considered himself an adult, so why shouldn’t he drive the car?

He was four, perhaps five, when I noticed something odd about the training wheels on his bike. He wasn’t using them. I took them off, and off he went. When his mother saw him, she burst into tears.

For the elderly neighbor across the street, he was her Jeopardy partner. They’d watch the television show together, and she’d give him snacks.

Early one Saturday morning, we heard the television set on. I stumbled into the den to see what was up, and there he was, watching a golf game on television. Golf. He was five.

And then time begins to run together. I’m not sure what happened, but a lot of time passed between the little boy singing at the top of his lungs for a church Christmas program and a white stretch limousine pulling into the driveway for the senior prom. In between were hundreds if not thousands of soccer games, basketball games, baseball games, and any other kind of game with a ball.

Like that 1987 World Series game, Cardinals and the Twins playing game 5 in Old Busch Stadium. We were there. He explained the game to me.

College, and then his first job, working for a minor league baseball team. And then the jump to Arizona. Watching him load the U-Haul truck. Watching him drive away.

Even good things for your children can be hard.

And then he finds Stephanie in Phoenix. We fly out one Christmas to meet her and her family. She was scared to death. Turns out he had told her all kinds of stories about his mother.

Almost two years later, we flew out again to Phoenix. For their wedding.

And then my St. Louis boy figured out a way to get back to St. Louis. With a pregnant wife in tow.

And then the night they go to the hospital for Cameron’s induction (there must be something in the genes). He falls, hits his head, and I rush to the hospital at one in the morning. He’s not delirious, but he’s disoriented. The x-rays come in. Blood on the skull. The next day, Stephanie’s in labor, and he’s having brain surgery.

It all ends well. Cameron’s born. Two years later, Caden’s born. For Caden’s birth, he wears a bicycle helmet.

He, and his brother Andrew, have taught me two things about fatherhood.

The first thing: Once you become a father, you never stop being a father. How you’re a father changes, but you never stop being a father.

And the second this is, you don’t want to stop.

Happy birthday, Travis Young.

Photograph: Stephanie and Travis Young, with Caden obviously enjoying himself and Cameron standing quietly, with a friend's new baby.

A Belated Birthday Party

Since Grandpa’s birthday occurred while we were in London, we went over to our son and daughter-in-law’s house yesterday for a belated celebration. And Grandpa got the two best presents of all – Caden on my right and Cameron on my left. Cameron and Grandpa also got to play about 30 minutes of “how many times can we fill the watering jug with water” and almost an hour of watching the Disney Junior Channel – something about Never Never Land with kid pirates and Captain Hook and a show called “The Octonauts.”

While I was feeding Caden mashed squash, my daughter-in-law pointed out the difference between a parent and a grandparent: “He spits it out and it drives me crazy, but you just laugh.” I told it it’s because parents always have things to do, while grandparents just have to be.

Photograph by Stephanie Young.

A Working Lunch

Today I had guests for lunch at work -- daughter-in-law Stephanie, grandson Cameron and grandson Caden. Cameron polished off most of a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and a pile of fruit. Caden had already had lunch, or it might have been second breakfast. Stephanie had a salad. I had a ham sandwich.

Caden Young, age 9 weeks; Glynn Young, slightly older than that

With Cameron, one has to take pictures fast, because he thinks every phone is either an iPhone or Andriod phone with his apps.

Cameron Young, age 2, reaching for the phone

After lunch, Stephanie was planning to go to the grocery store, boys in tow. If anyone could manage it, it's her.

Happy Birthday to Attila the Honey

He was our firstborn, the son of two parents who were rather bookish, studious and quiet.

He wasn’t.

We nicknamed him Attila the Honey, the original strong-willed child with a tender heart. He walked at nine months, for exactly one day, and then he discovered he could run. At about two, he decided he was an adult, and should be able to do everything his parents did. Like climb in the car and turn on the ignition. He liked to go to restaurants – and climb into strangers’ laps like they were old friends.

When he was not quite five, he no longer needed training wheels on his bicycle.

I can’t remember a time he wasn’t into baseball, but there must have been one. His father wasn’t. Everything Travis learned about baseball, and he learned a lot, he didn’t learn from his father.

When he was 15, he went on a mission trip to Haiti. This was when President Clinton had sent U.S. troops in to restore civil order, and not all order had been restored. But he went, got sunburned, heard voodoo drums in the hills at night, fell off the back of a truck, fell in love with a bunch of children, helped with a water project and had one of the most important experiences of his life.

After college, he worked a few years (with a local baseball team, the River City Rascals) and then he went off to Phoenix to take an operations job with an expansion league. The league shut down after a year but he found a job with Marriott and started learning the hotel business. He met this girl named Stephanie at church. They got married in 2008. Since nothing would keep Travis away from the home of Cardinal Nation for long, they moved to St. Louis when she was pregnant with their firstborn, named Cameron, who was born in 2010. Cameron is going to have a little brother come May.

It is my prayer that Cameron will be gentler with his little brother more – a lot more – than his father was with his little brother, Andrew. Travis believed he was fully capable of taking care of Andrew, regardless of what his parents said. Fortunately, Andrew turned out to be made of tough stuff.

Happy birthday, my son. You taught us much – about ourselves, about faith and about love. You still are.

Top photo: Dad holding seven-month-old Travis

Middle photo: Dad holding one-year-old Cameron

Bottom photo: Attila the Honey in his favorite shirt at the 2011 World Series.

The Gentleness of Attila the Honey

Eight years span the births of our first and second children.

There is a reason for that.

Our firstborn is the one people say you should have second, because if you have him (or her, but it’s usually a him in these situations) first, you may end up with an only child.

He was four-on-the-floor from the get-go. A salesman, the life of the party, Mr. Totally Gregarious born to two quiet, relatively introverted writers and readers.

He walked at nine months old, and he walked for one day. Then he ran. He never stopped. And he was quick.

He loved (loves) sports. During the 1984 Olympics, we must have depleted two rolls of masking tape so he could “burst through the ribbon” and win the race. About the same time, we found him awake one Saturday morning at 6 a.m., watching golf on TV. Golf!

Mr. Rough-and-Tumble played soccer, and basketball, and baseball (his true sports love). The way he played, basketball was a contact sport; he always looked so surprised when the refs called a foul on him. And baseball was the most intense experience anyone could ever have.

Gentleness was about the last word one would use to describe him. Except we, his parents, knew better. We knew his tender side.

That’s why we called him Attila the Honey. (I’ll take credit for the nickname.)

The University of Missouri survived Attila, and he went on to gainful employment. He eventually landed in Phoenix, helping to manage a semi-pro baseball team in a new league. His ability to network was amazing. His ability to talk to anyone was even more amazing.

Then at his church, in a young adults group, he met Stephanie. We met her when we spent Christmas in Phoenix in 2006. And the “honey” side of Attila the Honey began to become plainly evident. She brought out the tenderness and gentleness in him.

Not quite two years later, they married. And about a year and a half after that, they came up with Cameron.

To watch Attila the Honey with his infant son is one of the sweetest joys I’ve had as a parent.

It defines gentleness.



If you’d like to read other posts on gentleness, stop by the One Word Blog Carnival over at Bridget’s Chumbley’s place, One Word at a Time.