Towel Snapping - Ouch!

We had a bit of fun tonight; my son and I. Wife and daughter headed off to jewelry making class, so my son (age, 12) and I were cleaning up the kitchen and talking about Luke 14:25-34. The discussion carried into evaluating the skill and toughness of soldiers versus opposing soldiers. We spoke of kill ratios and other guy stuff.

Then one thing led to another and we ended up grabbing at dish towels. A snap here and a miss there. No big deal. We were laughing and dodging around the kitchen table. Nothing got broken. But, after a few hits and many misses, we kept trying to get the better of the other one. You know how it is.

Finally I got him to stand his ground and face off with me. I've got him on reach, but he is much quicker, so it wasn't too much in my favor. Except... I am a lot more experienced... and accurate.

Well, he gets me pretty good in the arm (still got a welt as I type this) and, well you know how it is... With men it doesn't back you off to get hurt, it brings out the dog in you and the fight turns into a "bring it on" kind of thing. So, I get him back in the leg (going around and snapping into the back of the bare-skinned knee). He winced, but there was no quit, so... we kept going, of course. He comes after me pretty good, and I decide to bring out the bear in me. I get loud and charge after him. He turns like a deer in the forest, with white tail shining as he flees, and I lunge with one last desperate swipe.

I think the neighbors down the block could have heard the slap of slightly wet towel across the back of his shoulder. Luckily he had on a thin t-shirt or it would have been worse. It was bad. The tears started and he crumbled into the couch.

I am pleased that Christ Jesus has given me a compassionate heart for my son. My first impulse was to rush to his side and give the spot a therapeutic rub. (My second thought was to do a victory dance and spike my towel, but I didn't do it.)

Here's the thing, though. In that moment, he needed me to teach him something. He needed to know how to access the toughness inside that a man can find in an instant. He needed to learn how to bring a ferocity from his adrenaline-based instincts. Instead of crumbling like a boy, he needed to know how to rise up and get tough and nasty. I wasn't coming down on him about it. I was encouraging and coaching. I was demonstrating and explaining how to do it. I told him to keep his chin up.

Eventually he rose up and had his dignity back. He understood the lesson of how much further he has to go to become the man he will one day be, and he knows I am teaching him. But, it wasn't enough. I wanted him to know my heart for him. I told him I wasn't sorry, because it was part of the game, and when men play, someone may get hurt. Part of the deal. But, still, my first response was to help. (Hey, I didn't do the victory dance, eh.)

It still wasn't enough to show him how I felt about all this. So, I had him read the following piece that I wrote a while back. It is about a father's willingness to let his son bear pain for the sake of his ascension into a more glorious existence. We must allow our sons to feel their pain so they may also know their strength to overcome it and not be ruled by fear of it. There is a victory beyond the pain, if we so choose.