'Country Roads' & Exploding Christmas TreesLead to Final Lesson in Fatherhood

EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the final part of a three-part series about me walking into the “wilderness” with my 7-year-old niece and walking out with a completely different perspective on being a father. (Read intro post here)

– – –

I don’t think there is anything more powerful than presence. It’s a gift that is often taken for granted and/or overshadowed by the distractions of living life.

Sharing a moment with someone – no matter how big or how small – is what makes life really worth living.

I’ve quoted Chris McCandless before and here I go again...he said it best before he died alone in the Alaskan wilderness: “HAPPINESS IS ONLY REAL WHEN SHARED.”

I saw the power of presence over and over again at my niece’s father-and-daughter campout. These dads were spending unforgettable moments with their children – creating memories that had the potential to last a lifetime.

The program, which is a part of the YMCA, is branded beautifully:

Adventure Guides encourages fathers and their children to spend uninterrupted time together as members of a larger group, building lifelong memories and bonds. Through activities such as weekend camping trips, games, ceremonies and family adventures, dad and child will create memories that neither will ever forget.

I asked one dad during the weekend if they had anything like this for moms. He said, “They get plenty of mom time.”

A sad, but very true response.

This was a “Daddies Only” weekend and these little girls (and a handful of boys) were eating it up.

This power of presence hit me full force on Saturday night. After a full day of adventures, we all bundled up and painted our faces for the culminating campfire “ceremony.” I think they called it “Tribal Fire” or “Great Way to Get Rid of Our Christmas Tree.”

The camp leaders put together an impressive stack of wood – AND Christmas trees. It was a welcomed blaze because it was the coldest night of the winter – 28 degrees.

(NOTE: Have you ever seen a Christmas tree burn? It's an impressive explosion of sparks and flames. They could have filmed a public service announcement during this ceremony.)

When the fire quickly burned down – and was not threatening to singe our body hair anymore – we all huddled close to the fire pit and sang songs.

I’m not sure if it was the group’s rendition of “Country Roads” or the campfire illuminating everyone’s chapped cheeks, but that was a profound moment for me.

In a society where we are bombarded by stories of dead-beat and/or workaholic and/or absent fathers, I was surrounded by approximately 50 dads with their arms tightly wrapped around their child.

Were they just keeping each other warm? That was part of it.

Were they literally embracing the moment? Absolutely.

You could get a sense that everyone had loving, heart-felt thoughts dancing through their head as they stared into the flames:

• “We don’t do this enough.”

• “I will never forget this moment.”

• “Love. This.”

Not a single dad was talking on his cell phone.

Not a single dad was banging away on his laptop.

Not a single dad was staring through the television.

Not a single dad was checking his stocks, updating his Facebook status or glancing at the Mavericks score.

(Actually...I was the only jerk with his cell phone out. In my defense, I was trying to capture the moment for my sister and brother-in-law – photo above.)

For a brief moment, the daily grind – and all the trivial bullsh associated with the grind – was getting its butts kicked by the power of presence.

We closed the evening with the tribal theme song, “Pals Forever.” (I’m glad they had a song sheet or I would have been the guy mouthing “juicy watermelon” over and over again.)

It was perfect ending to a wonderfully great day (exhausting, but wonderfully great).

PALS FOREVER

Pals Forever, Pals Forever,
That’s our slogan, that’s our song.
Kids are stronger, dads feel younger
When they take the boys/girls along.

Through the days and through the years
We will wander side by side.
Pals forever, Pals Forever,
The Great Spirit is our guide.

Moms adore it, dads are for it,
And the kids all think it’s fine.
Pals Forever, Pals Forever,
As Adventure Guides we’ll have good times.

It was no “Country Roads,” but it spoke volumes about the mission and vision of the program AND what every dad should strive to focus on every single day: Presence.

With ALL of that said – three blog posts in three days about this fantastic experience – I have to wrap this up and finally close my laptop.

My son is crawling on me like I’m a human jungle gym, sneaking in an occasional face-squeezing kiss and continuously asking me: “Where’s Dus?” (a.k.a. our dog who is actually named Gus)

Reminder: I loved spending the weekend in the "wilderness" with Mary Grace, but more importantly I received a two-day, hands-on tutorial in fatherhood.

It's time to be present.

"Hey, Crash! Where IS Dus?!?!?!?"

There is Tremendous Perspective From the Top of a 40-foot Climbing Wall

EDITOR’S NOTE: This is Part II of a three-part series about me walking into the “wilderness” with my 7-year-old niece and walking out with a completely different perspective on being a father. (Read intro post here)

– – –

Saturday morning was the “official” start of my niece’s father-daughter campout, which was a little confusing to me. After being there 12 hours and experiencing a miserable night of sleep, I was baffled by the term “official” on our itinerary. (Trying to sleep in the before-mentioned prison beds made things pretty “official” in my book.)

I guess Friday night wasn’t “official,” because we ate dinner at a local restaurant – complete with prime rib and an adult beverage.
I can understand that.

But I would have thought smores by the campfire and letting the kids run around like someone accidently left their cages open would definitely constitute “official.” I was wrong.

It didn’t matter...I was ready to “officially” get things started and tackle any adventure that came our way.

But before we jump into canoeing and candle making, my “wake-up call” on Saturday morning is worth mentioning. It definitely helped lay the foundation for the day ahead. (Reminder: Herding cats.)

The eight girls in our cabin were specifically instructed to stay asleep – or at least confined to their bunks – until 7 o’clock on Saturday morning. I guess that’s like telling a kid to NOT push that big red button, because the whispers and giggles started at 6:15. (They just couldn’t hold out for 45 more minutes.)

“Is anyone awake?” one of my 7-year-old roommates whispered
into the darkness.

“I am,” came a tiny voice from across the room.

Then there was the not-so-quite: “I’m still trying to sleep!”

I think a couple of the dads wanted to scream: “Me too!”

After a couple more back-and-forth whispers, little footsteps were added to the morning mix of noises – some were headed to the bathroom, while others were off to another bunk.

At 6:45 the “Glow Stick Incident” occurred, and there was NO WAY we were going to make it our 7 a.m. goal.

One of my 7-year-old roommates accidently busted open the glow stick that she received the night before. (Rumor has it that she chewed off the end of the glow stick, but I cannot confirm and/or deny that.) Regardless of how the plastic rod was penetrated, she felt inclined to draw on the cabin floor with the illuminated liquid.

It was a glowing mess – one that quickly became a hot topic of conversation in the cabin.

I was still lying in my bunk, aware of the glowing art project, but not that concerned. My niece was still in her bunk – being the model Wildflower – so I didn’t feel inclined to get involved.

Then I got my “wake-up call.”

With a hint of pride in her voice, my niece exclaimed: “My glow stick busted, too.” Then her pride was quickly replaced with confused concern: “Oh, no....it’s on my sleeping bag....AND my arm.”

“GIVE ME THE GLOW STICK,” I firmly said from the bunk below. (No one was asleep after my dad/coach voice rattled the walls.) Her little hand reached over the edge of the bunk bed and handed me the plastic stick.

As I demanded that she get down and wash off “the glow,” possible headlines filled my head: “Camper poisoned by toxic glow stick” and “DFW 7-year-old stained for life with glow stick goop.”

Everyone laughed at the glowing slime on her arm, hands, and PJs as she climbed down the ladder. She wore it like a badge of honor.

They begged her not to wash it off, and she probably wouldn’t have without another firm directive from me.

The cats were officially on the loose and the herding had begun.

– – –

When we finally got dressed and attacked the brisk morning, we didn’t stop until we laid back down on our prison beds that night.

• We played miniature golf

• We paddled a canoe

• We went on a treasure hunt

• We shot BB guns

• We went to the archery range

• We made candles

• We memorized scripture

• We participated in relay races.

Just trying to recall all the activities for this blog post made me tired – imagine actually doing this over the course of one day. WOW!

The really tiring part was all the walking between activities. (My niece asked how far I thought we walked on Saturday. I guessed 6 miles.) Do you have any idea how difficult it is to keep a “tribe” of 7-year-olds focused on a specific destination and moving in the same direction? Trying doing it for 6 miles.

Walking...walking...walking....“Squirrel!” (And now we’re running in a totally different direction.)

And then there was the barrage of rhetorical questions throughout the day:

“Are we almost there?” – I thought this phrase was only applicable in the car on long road trips. I was wrong.

“Can we go?” – If they were giving out a badge for patience this weekend, our girls would have missed out.

“Can I have another glow stick?” – No response, just tired glares.

– – –

My niece’s favorite part of the day was climbing the 40-foot rock wall. I was convinced that she would give a valiant effort, but I was skeptical that she’d make it to the top. I guess you could say that I had guarded realism.

She surprised the heck out of me AND provided me a welcomed slap across the face.

It was at the base of that rock wall – watching all the kids try to conquer the 40-foot climb – when my life started flashing before my eyes. (Specifically my life as a father.) While I started making excuses for Mary Grace before she even put on the harness, other parents refused to let their child quit before they reached the top.

"DO. NOT. STOP!"

“Settle down, Dad – it’s just a rock wall,” I thought to myself with a judgmental smirk. I made a silent promise to myself that I would never be that guy.

But when Mary Grace started to throw in the towel – about 25 feet up the wall – success was the only option. It’s like I knew there was a boost of confidence that waited for her at the top.

I didn’t scream: “Keep going!” or “You will NOT quit!”

I just encouraged. (Thanks to the before-mentioned dad.)

As she got closer to the top, I started to feel guilty for not giving her a chance out of the gate. She was going to make it and I was going to have roasted crow with a side of eggs for my afternoon snack.

“Almost there...a little more...YEAH, MARY GRACE!”

After she rappelled down the wall – and her feet were safely on the ground – I hugged her neck and told her how proud I was of her. But I was also subconsciously making a promise to my son.

“I will always encourage him to go a little farther,” I thought. “I will never protect him with excuses – especially before he even tries.”

Probably the two biggest parenting lessons I learned from my 7-year-old niece that day:

• If you want something bad enough – you WILL succeed

• A little bit of confidence can go a long way

That’s what I loved most about Mary Grace’s accomplishment –the intense shot of confidence it provided. I’m convinced that climbing that wall was her favorite part of the weekend because she tasted success.

It was my favorite part of the weekend because it started to open my eyes.

Butt Trumpets & Prison Beds Provide Perspective, Help Create Experience of a Lifetime

When you take your 7-year-old niece camping – with grand visions of writing about the experience – it’s a little overwhelming.

My sister asked if I would accompany Mary Grace (right) on her inaugural father-daughter outing. It was part of the Oak Cliff Y-Guides program, which “encourages fathers and their children to spend uninterrupted time together as members of a larger group, building lifelong memories and bonds.”

“Her dad doesn’t camp,” my sister explained.

“Sure...sounds fun,” I responded with visions of blog posts
dancing in my head.

Confession: After spending 36 hours in the “wilderness” – I’m stuck. I have no idea where this story should start, and I’m even less clueless where it should go. There was just WAY too much fodder.

I HAVE decided that this adventure is worthy of two or three blog posts. Heck, I made that decision when I received the information packet and it said: “You are a Wildflower!!! Congratulations!!” (When I found out that I’d be sporting a leather vest (right) all weekend, too...there was instantly fodder for another post!)

But what’s my angle? My point? What’s the essence of these blog posts?

One potential theme: The fact that the entire weekend was like herding cats.

Then there were the prison beds we slept on.

I could get profound and explain what it was like to be around an engaged group of loving and caring dads for a weekend.

But I think the most logical premises would be:

• The fact that my life continuously flashed before my eyes, and

• The importance of selling the experience to my brother-in-law so I can hand him the baton for future camp outs.

This is the first part of a three-part series about me walking into the wilderness with a 7-year-old and walking out with a completely different perspective of being a father.

While some of this blog post will come across as bitching and moaning – that is simply for dramatic effect and humor. This was a remarkable experience with my niece that I will NEVER forget.

I didn’t realize how much I would enjoy herding cats.

– – –

It’s important to set the scene for the weekend, because the term “camping” is a little bit of a stretch.

It was more like summer camp. The fact we were at Collin County Adventure Camp, which is spitting distance from the 'burbs, helped remove the tag of "roughing it."

There were heated cabins – no tents. We had indoor plumbing – no wiping with foliage. And we ate in a cafeteria – no hot dogs and beans over an open flame. We even had two showers in our cabin – no stale smell of nature for a long period of time.

There was a campfire, but that was nothing more than a safe haven for the dads. The kids only paid attention to it when it was time to make smores.

Needless to say, I sent my sister a text letting her know that my brother-in-law could probably handle this “camping” experience. I intentionally didn’t go into detail about the cabin, though. I thought that would be counter-productive to my recruiting efforts.

If he glanced at the instructions and checklist for the campout, he would have been tipped off. It read:

“Mark your clothes...It can get crazy in the cabins!”

I giggled when I read the warning. After being there 5 minutes, I totally understood. (No giggling)

There were eight kids and six adults in a 14-bunk room, which meant there were little socks, coats, PJs, undies and shoes EVERYWHERE. Obviously, the dads did a good job keeping their stuff corralled, but those little girls were like walking tornadoes. I almost came home with a pair of tights and a Hello Kitty nightgown. (I’m just glad I took the advice on the checklist and I put my initials in my boxers.)

When describing the accommodations via text to my sister and brother-in-law, I didn’t mention the chaos. I definitely didn’t bring up the concert of sounds that filled the cabin.

When you have 14 people sleeping in one room (some of my roommates pictured on the right) – the noises define the experience as soon as the lights are turned off. It starts with 7-year-old whispers and giggles and ends with intense snoring and flatulence from grown men.

You knew it wasn't ideal when some of the dads were threatening to sleep in their cars, despite the 29-degree temperatures. No one made good on his threat, though. I’m convinced it was because they weren’t 100 percent sure if they were part of the symphony or not. (I definitely wasn’t sure...campfires do a number on my sinuses and we had a chili cook-off one night.)

In all honesty, I think the prison beds would have caused someone to snap before the ensemble of sleep apnea and butt trumpets.

While I laid awake at 3:30 in the morning – begging my brain to block out the sounds, the radiant glow of the TWO exit signs and the aches in my lower back – I worked-up a description for these beds:

Imagine sleeping on a very large cookie sheet lined with a partially inflated pool raft.

One of the dads compared it to a combination of a park bench and an airplane seat. Another dad said the inmates at Texas State Penitentiary in Huntsville would NOT be jealous. (That’s when I jumped on the term “prison beds” and didn’t look back.)

The mattress was definitely “memory foam” – the only problem it was remembering the person who outweighed me by 150 pounds and went immediately flat. (Reminder: An unforgiving cookie sheet was underneath the mattress.)

We all survived, though, and a plethora of adventures followed. There is nothing like a full-day of get-it-on after a horrible night of sleep.

Archery, BB gun range, candle making, rock wall climbing, treasure hunt, bonfire....

I’m just tired trying to remember everything.

That’s why I’ll save that for Part II.