Stories from the Frontline of Fatherhood: December 2, 2005
I reinstalled some software on my computer the other day and was surprised a few days later to notice a prompt for me to ‘change my personality’ at the login prompt. I guess one can change the little picture next to the login prompt, which represents, at least in the computer world, a change of personality. At first, I must admit I was taken back by the boldness of my computer. Since when do I need to change my personality? I know I have my faults, but I consider that kind of question more suitable for my wife or friend to pose than my close personal computer. Either way, the whole encounter got me to wondering whether or not it, or to what degree, I actually have the ability or freedom to ‘change my personality.’ As a MiniVanDad, I looked for the clues to any possible answers right under my nose, literally, in my little ones that I am guiding into adulthood and their own subsequent freedom…to change!?
I have several kids and they all have their own temperaments, their own character that reveals their essence. At times, I request strongly that they modify that character, but do I ask the impossible? In some instances, I probably do. For instance, one of my sons was helping me with an electrical repair that presented itself after dark on a school night. A light switch had gone bad in one of the kids’ rooms, bedtime was drawing near, and mommy kindly recommended that we get an electrician to fix that light the following day. (It had been faulty for weeks.) Well, that’s when MiniVanDad mobilized. After assessing the situation, I figured it was a bad switch and I seemed to recall an extra switch I had in the garage, so I got to work with the help of a trusted assistant. Well, the son I enlisted to help (I needed him to hold the flashlight on the switch box while I replaced the switches) is a pretty sharp kid, talkative, and very inquisitive about how things work. So, after some admonitions to hold the flash steady so I could actually work without the strobe effect, I was pleasantly surprised and grateful for his quiet assistance…that is, until his mind started processing the task at hand. It didn’t hurt that I left the circuit breaker open so I could get some distant lighting from a nearby hallway. Some sparks twinkled in the semi dark work environment. Some sparks went off in my son’s inquisitive mind.
Now for the drilling: “So dad, you’re really good at fixing things,” he says.
“Yeh, it comes from watching my dad when he asked me to help him,” I said. Then I wanted to back up and say it is also part of my tendency. I can fix things pretty well…well, most of the time. Sparks twinkle.
“Why is it twinkling, dad?” inquires son.
“Well, I need the light from the hallway, so I didn’t turn off the electricity to this switch,” I said.
“Oh, you mean that’s electricity?” asks son.
“Yes,” I expediently reply as I get a little jolt from touching the switch side with my thumb.
“What happened?” he asks.
“Well, I just got shocked,” says MiniVanDad thinking maybe he doesn’t need that hallway light as much as he thought.
His eyes light up, but not from a fixed switch. He knows he is real-time, right at the action when it is happening. He is quiet. I am working as quickly and cautiously as my skill and tools allow, which in my opinion isn’t quick enough. I’d like to light up this room, chalk up another small success for the day, get the kids to bed, and kick up my feet for a minute and a half before it is my bedtime and before it all starts over again tomorrow. But I stay patient knowing another jolt awaits a careless hand. I work in steady silence.
Another question rises from the voice behind the flashlight.
“How did you get shocked?” asks good, helping, loyal son.
“Well, I touched this side of the switch while the wire was connected, then brushed this other wire with my hand,” I informatively reply.
Then from out of the darkness, I receive: “Would you get shocked if I touched one wire and you touched the other wire and then we touched our hands together?”
“I am not sure,” I reply knowing that if any other child were now assisting me I’d more likely get “Can I go now?” or “Do I get money for helping you?”
Had I enlisted another child, I probably would have dismissed them due to their general unhelpfulness and work some other way to illuminate my semi-dark environment, but this kid is dogged. Once he gets his mind rolling, he is unstoppable; if I asked him to stop asking those kinds of questions, I’d be asking him to switch off a part of him that lights his existence. I’d be asking him to be someone other than he inherently is. It is just how he’s wired.
I’ll keep watch over his tendency to see how he grows into himself and tries to direct his inherent-ness. If he is even a little like his dad, he may lament his inability to change in response to his repeated shortcomings. He may be able to observe himself patiently, adapting himself slowly to a truer form of himself, accepting that the spark that lights his way will jolt him if he is too hasty.
