Many years ago, our oldest, a shy but very determined 10-year-old, became fascinated with everything baseball. Michael often spent hours, in the quiet of his room, studying his thousands of baseball cards and reading magazine stories of his boyhood heroes. Sometimes on Summer afternoons with his buddies and often Dad, he played out his imaginations in sandlot ball games on the schoolyard down the street from our home. His particular specialty, as it was for many young boys: imagined grand slam home runs. He’d circle the bases in his most affected home run trot to the imaginary applause of adoring fans, politely doffing his hat in mock appreciation.
We sometimes played into the evening twilight and on the walk home shared stories of the great players of the game, both past and present. It was the best of times. It was a time of innocence for my boys.
One spring, Alley’s Restaurant had a contest offering some lucky young boy the opportunity of a lifetime – to catch fly balls in center field at the Padres’ Stadium on the final day of the season. Michael was determined to win this contest. All through the Summer he made his daily stop at Alley’s, stuffing the ballot box with applications. Each time he would leave the young hostess with his cutest boyish smile hoping to sway the jury, a smile that was destined for trouble in later years.
To everyone’s surprise, he won the drawing. He was so excited. Determined to hone his fly-ball-catching skills to the absolute pinnacle of perfection before the big day, he coaxed Dad and a friend into setting up the pitching machine in the grocery store parking lot to shoot baseballs high in the air. As they drifted down, he locked the baseball into his tractor beam, hauling in each catch with two-handed precision. He practiced hour after hour, day after day, until perfect.
The day came, and on a warm fall afternoon, Michael and Dad were escorted through the catacombs of Qualcomm Stadium. As they stepped onto the field Michael saw for the very first time the five shiny new cars to be given away that day, and the 55,000 fans there just for that purpose.
My heart sank as I looked into the wide eyes of my shy little boy, filled with awe and frankly a bit of terror as he saw all those real live fans in the stands looking down on him.
I took up residence in the Padres’ dugout standing in casual conversation with Tim Flannery as Michael made the long walk into deep center field … alone. Almost the entire Padre team casually looked on, as they sat leisurely stretching on the Summer grass in centerfield while the Alley’s Restaurant event unfolded. As with many young boys these were Michael’s idols. He knew the name of every player, their batting averages, earned run average, home run stats – all of it. There was no statistic that escaped his meticulous scrutiny in the quiet of his room as he combed through their baseball cards over and over again.
Jerry Coleman, the Padres announcer, introduced Michael to a very raucous crowd. If Michael caught all three balls, each of the 55,000 fans would receive a free meal at Alley’s Restaurant, two balls for a free dessert, and if he caught only one, a free drink. Just what this shy little boy needed, more added pressure? He took up his position alone in center field, anxiously looking toward dad standing by the dugout along the first base line, then up at all the fans behind me. Row after row, thousands of faces staring back at him. I could see panic in his eyes. My heart ached for my shy little boy.
Michael readied himself as the first ball was shot high into the air. Deep in concentration he followed its assent moving amongst his idols, who sat quietly watching. The ball rose high into the air, almost out of sight before starting its descent back to earth. But this was not a baseball, it was a cloth ball that floated back and forth in the fall breeze circling in the center field of the enormous stadium. He tracked the ball this way and that as it drifted back to earth, floating to and fro on the breeze. Finally, he steadied himself, willing the unpredictable ball into his glove, but it hit the heel of his glove, and fell to the ground.
He stood petrified, staring at the ball on the ground. Panicked, disbelief flashed across his face as the crowd in unison, gave out a great “OOOHHH” of disappointment. There would be no free Alley’s meal for the 55,000 fans. Once more he tried to make the catch without success – there would be no free dessert. On Michael’s final attempt, Michael’s boyhood hero Tony Gwynn lent his helping hands to control the glove and an encouraging word, which made this final failure to catch the ball all the more heartbreaking. Michael was devastated. The crowd’s instinctive reaction to his three-time failure to catch fly balls in the outfield echoed their displeasure.
I saw in my son’s pale blue eyes the wrenching, desperate, heartbreaking disappointment. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he struggled to bring his emotions under control, to retain his dignity. He made the long walk from center field to the foul line and by my side. He wiped his eyes. I put my arm around his shoulder and we made the infinitely longer walk back down the foul line toward the dugout, then through the catacombs under the field. Unflattering comments from young boys and irreverent fans followed us along the long painful walk out of the stadium and into the parking lot for a quiet moment together.
Thoughts raced through my mind as we walked. I felt woefully ill-equipped for the teaching moment that lay ahead.
“Don’t mess this up, Dad,” I told myself.
I could think of so many other fathers better prepared than I, but this moment was mine to own – to be a father, as best I could. I couldn’t delegate or pass off this moment in time to someone better qualified. I said a little prayer in my heart as we walked to the parking lot, our car, a quiet place to talk. “Father in Heaven, I wish I was a better man. Please, I’m gonna need your help here?”
For more than a half-hour we talked. Michael expressed his searing disappointment, his embarrassment, his pain – all the emotions that come with failure.
I let him know how proud I was of him for his unrelenting determination, for facing his fears, for taking the leap and risking it all.
I shared with him moments in my own boyhood when I too had failed – the agony of defeat I went through trying to make sense of it.
“Failure is just a part of life,” I told him. “Even when we put forth our best effort, we sometimes fail. Sometimes things turn out just downright awful. Sometimes it is hard to understand. Sometimes it is difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
Many years later I have learned failure is oftentimes the best teacher. Through failure we learn to better face our fears, to overcome our emotions, to master the challenges of life. Failure is often the best teacher to prepare us with the confidence to succeed next time. Failure is frequently the greatest character builder we are given in life. The pain will pass, but the experience will make us stronger!
Every part of raising children is humbling. The awkward months of carrying a child, the miracle of birth and the unending trials of a newborn baby. When these miracles from God first arrive into our care from our Father in Heaven, we parents are a bundle of nerves, and we wonder if we will ever again get a full night’s sleep. Everything is new, demanding, and wondrous, from the first step, first word and the many other firsts over those early years, we are certain they only happen with our child.
All are humbling until one day sometime in those middle years, when we think we have finally figured it all out and are proudly ready to give advice to our fellow parents on how to raise their children.
It is about this time our Father in Heaven feels it necessary to kick the stool out from under our feet, to humble us even further. Our teenager has arrived to crush all our illusions, and all hell breaks loose.
I have often wondered why it seems, sometime after the age of 10 or 11, a child’s brain, imperceptibly at first, begins to seep out of their ears. So much so that, by the time they reach their mid-teens, the child inside has been entirely incapacitated and that once beautiful child seems to no longer make any rational sense at all. Why, most parents wouldn’t be at all surprised to one day look into their teenager’s ear and see nothing to block their vision of the clear blue sky on the other side. It’s an amazing phenomenon, as if some devilish Body Snatcher has taken over that beautiful, sweet, benevolent, and resilient child, leaving the world with a surly, obnoxious, sullen, and virulent teenager.
As a parent, no matter how great the temptation, we must always remember not to destroy the host body. It is a time for love, gentle persuasion, patience and very long suffering, because deep within still lies that beautiful human being. The beautiful child that once was still exists dormant until the brain begins to grow back again, hopefully sometime in their twenties.
In one of God’s greatest miracles, that beautiful child returns, but this time with so many more wonderful modifications it makes the whole evolutionary process all worthwhile. With all the hopes and dreams of God’s greatest creation, our child becomes a mature, functioning adult ready to rejoin us in the world God has left in our care.
As parents, we all make our share of mistakes. And frankly some mistakes are just too good to make only once. And when our children grow older, they are often kind enough to remind us of those mistakes. Of course, of particular importance to our children is to point out our shortcomings, personal as well as cultural. It is important to clearly identify both – just in case we might forget. Mine have all been enshrined in the “Remember what dad did when… Hall of Shame.” I know where the land mines are now, because I have stepped on all of them. I was often too tense, obsessive, and over the top.
I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and getting it done a little less; savored the precious teaching moments, listened to the spirit, reveled in the uniqueness of each beautiful child that God has given us
I wish I had taken them fishing more often.
The truth is, like most fathers, I worried over our children constantly, wondering if I was spending enough one on one time, being supportive enough, or too much, teaching the right lessons, saying the right thing to make their hurts better or just plain missing out on those fleeting opportunities? What lessons were they learning from my example? Were they even listening to what I thought at the time was sage advice?
The truth is I never seemed to have enough time to satisfy my work demands, to figure out how to pay the bills, fulfill my church assignments, coach that soccer game, help with homework, the merit badge, attend that ballet performance or the torturous piano recital. I just tried to disappoint as infrequently as possible.
Sometimes we fathers have to smile, just to keep from losing it. Being a father is exhausting, humbling, often humiliating and it is worth every single minute of it. I wouldn’t trade those moments to surf a million perfect waves all to myself. And no matter how old my children are, I will always be their father, always married to their mother.
Now in our Golden Years, which sometimes seemed to be laced with lead, it is touching and rewarding to see the love of our children reflected in the sacrifice they each make for those in their own families. Especially at Christmas time. There is no better time than Christmas time to see their kind, considerate, and charitable giving. There is nothing that brings more joy to the spirit of Christmas, than to watch the sacrifice, forgiveness and gratitude shared between each other in their own families.
Life is not a dress rehearsal. The opportunities for fathers to teach their young sons and daughters come and then they’re gone. When it’s time to perform this sacred task, the time for preparation is over. We as fathers must be there in heart, mind and spirit, prepared for those teaching moments. Don’t miss them. You’ll regret it. As the poet wrote, “The saddest words of tongue and pen are those that say ‘It might have been.”1
In our current cultural climate, it is now crystal clear why our Father in Heaven provided us with the guiding principles in the “The Family: The Proclamation to the World.” We hold in our arms the rising generation. They come to this earth facing unparalleled challenges, with limitless untapped capabilities, and great spiritual opportunities.
We cannot be casual about how we prepare these beautiful children our Father in Heaven has lent us. It’s for just a short time really.
We must do all we can to be prepared for those teaching moments: study the words of Christ, humble ourselves, get down on our knees to pray for our Father in Heaven’s help, not just in our desperate time of need, but often. Have faith; He will be there with you; to help you with your children’s successes, their failures; to help teach them the principles of overcoming loss; to build their character, self-reliance, and an understanding that free agency must be coupled with personal responsibility.
Help them to understand they may be old enough to make choices, but not to determine the consequences. And when they fall, be there to help them get back up and try again.
It is our obligation to be the best father we can be; arm our children for battle against the unrivaled challenges this rising generation will surely face; help them stand tall for their God given inalienable right and freedom to “choose the right,” to fight for their liberty in a world where both parents and children are often confused as we slide toward social anarchy. Teach your sons and daughters how to hold their families close; to build a relationship with their Savior, precept upon precept.
Now may I take a moment to speak of the most important role in the family – mothers. To quote Dr. Stuart Rosenberg, a noted Child Psychologist, “… the role of a mother is the most crucial to the successful development of a child into a responsible and caring adult.” There is a crisis of leadership in our country today when it comes to families and the role of women. It is a modern misconception that motherhood and raising a family is somehow less important and less fulfilling than pursuing a career. An intolerant, unholy, cultural alliance has discounted Motherhood as an archaic and unfulfilling avocation to the detriment of women, families, and all of society frankly.
Women are innately equipped to care for their husbands and children in ways that we as fathers don’t fully understand really. Mothers must not be distracted by a culture advocating moral confusion. I need only ask my daughter Rachel, a high school English teacher, of the impact on struggling teens who don’t have a strong, empathetic and nurturing mother in the home, to understand why there are so many self-centered, irresponsible, insecure, dysfunctional adults in our midst.
At times, the invisibility of a mother’s work within the walls of her own home might feel like a burden. But remember this: the health of a nation, the happiness of its people, their prosperity and their peace all find common roots in a mother teaching her children in the home. If mothers can keep the right perspective in mind, they can see themselves as great builders, whose imprint on their child will be left on generations to come.
“Children are a heritage of the Lord.”2 “The Family: The Proclamation to the World” further clarifies: “Husband and wife have a solemn responsibility to first love and care for each other, then for their children. Mothers, with the most important and sacred role, are primarily responsible for the nurture and teaching of their children; fathers have the primary responsibility to provide for the temporal needs of the family; fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners.”
Education in the lives of our children should not stop at the schoolhouse door. Mothers and fathers in the gospel of Christ understand the importance of teaching children about standards, values, gospel doctrine, self-reliance, personal responsibility and about life frankly. We must understand that “…education is our imperative duty and we owe the rising generation.”3
The emotional and spiritual events shared as a family: learning, laughing, struggling, and even crying create a rich and enduring bond of intimacy that helps carry us through life’s challenges and build unbreakable friendships within the bonds of family. The biggest mistake we make as parents is not considering “what would the Lord want me to do with this teaching moment?”
Among the many things I have learned as a father raising children, one of the most important is to try to understand that the best things in life are not really things at all, nor are they seen or heard, but felt through the spirit. Through the still small voice that sheds the light of Christ on our lives. The Gospel of Christ is where the answers are to be found, to raising a family, or solving the world’s problems. This understanding is particularly clear now that our children are grown, and the moments are gone, captured only in our memories.
Despite the many challenges facing families in the 21st century, the payoff of a strong, loving family is worth any price. I cherish the uniqueness of all four of my now grown children, their near perfect spouses and my absolutely perfect grandchildren. These are my very best friends. And of course, above all there is my lovely wife Anne. I testify to you of the truthfulness of the scripture: “…for what doth it profit a man to gain the whole world, but lose his own soul” and family.4 David O. McKay probably said it best: “The greatest work we will ever do will be within the walls of our own home. No success in life can compensate for failure in the family.
“The quiet, invisible hand of a loving mother, the example of a caring father to his children, and the strength of a gospel-centered home provide a safe harbor from the storms of the world and a place of refuge from the destructive whims of a confused society.”5
Epilogue:
There is an epilogue to the story of fly balls in the outfield. After Michael and I finished our father-son talk in the car, we walked back into the stadium to find his buddies and little brother enjoying the game like only boys can – no matter what their age. They were not the least bit concerned about Michael’s debacle, or at least they made Michael feel that way. As is absolutely paramount while watching a baseball game, we loaded up on the essentials: Padre dogs, ice cream, peanuts, cracker jacks and popcorn. All the things boys need to keep their spirits up while watching their team lose yet another close one, at least until they slog back to the car holding their stomachs. When all was well, I slipped away to the Padres’ stadium promotion office for a short conversation with the promotions director.
Near the end of the game an usherette showed up at our seats with a sweet smile to see how the boys were enjoying the game and to invite Michael, his brother Paul, and the rest of us to join Tony Gwyn and the team in the players’ parking lot after the game. Of course, Michael was thrilled when we arrived and Tony Gwyn presented him with a game ball signed by the entire Padres team.
Years later, little brother Paul and dad sat down to lunch with Tony Gwyn who talked to Paul about playing for the San Diego Padres after college baseball. As one father to another, I reminded Tony of the day he made missing three balls in the outfield all worthwhile for my boys.
May we always remember, “Families are forever”!
Notes:
The story is true, both for Michael and Paul.
1 Poet: John Greenfield Whittier
2 Psalms 27:3
3 D&C 123:11
4 Mark 8:36
5 Thomas S Monson
