Running Etiquette (Part 2)

My last post covered ten of my running etiquette “rules” and as promised, here are the rest.  I hope you find them useful!

Here we go, picking up at number 11:

1. (#11)  The road or trail doesn’t care about you.  Potholes, rocks, lose gravel and the weather are indifferent about what you’re doing.  Wildlife doesn’t respect you or your good intentions either.  Don’t let the routine, the ordinary, or your experience lull you into a false sense of security.  Be prepared for the things that don’t usually bite you, literally and figuratively.  Hope for the best but have a reasonable plan for the worst.
2. (#12)  Have a plan.  In the spirit of the previous rule, let folks know your plan and carry some form of identification.  Whenever possible I let my wife know where I intend to run and how far/long I expect to go. I’m also a huge fan of Road ID.  Let’s face it, we’ve all set out to run a certain route and/or distance, along the way you change the plan for any number of reasons and suddenly you’re not where you said you’d be.  Then you find yourself needing help.  Back to Road ID--pure figurative gold and very affordable.  No matter what, if someone finds you, they have the info they need to render aid and contact someone you’ve designated on your behalf.  If you’re an outdoor athlete, whether you run, walk, bike, ride horses, etc., get yourself a Road ID.  Hopefully the worst never happens, but if it does, make it easy for someone else to help you.  If Road ID isn’t your thing, that’s fine.  Just find a way to ensure others can find out who you are and render aid to you in the event you’re unable to ask for their help.
3. (#13)  Hygiene matters.  If you’re an early morning runner it seems in most cases the shower understandably happens after the run.  Fine, but no matter what time of day you run, brush your teeth before you hit the pavement or trail, especially if you’re going to run with someone else.  We runners love our air and when we run we sure move a lot of it in and out of our lungs.  When you’re running with others, minty fresh (or even mediciny) breath always wins over last night’s egg salad or the kimchi you ate at lunch.  Trust me.  Your clothes matter too.  You might not notice or mind the clothes you’ve repeatedly run in for the last week, but your running buddy will.  Being frugal is one thing, but consider how often you probably ought to swap your shorts and tech tee for a fresh set.  Ditto for your body.  I didn’t forget what I said at the start of this rule, but knowing you’ll get a little “aromatic” when you log the next several miles isn’t a good reason to put off the shower that you probably already needed yesterday.  Last thing on this topic: if you run in Vibram Five Fingers, please throw those things in the washer every now and then.  Yes, you can do that!  They’ll hold up just fine and we won’t have to smell your feet even when you’re still 25 yards away.
4. (#14)  Running is a journey.  I’m talking about a lifestyle or even a lifetime and of running, but just about every individual runs contain a little piece of that journey.  This one probably warrants a separate, dedicated post as well.  You hear runners talk about facets of this all the time when they say things like “listen to your body.”  When you run, you have time to strip away the usual daily grind at the office or at home.  It’s you, your body and your thoughts.  If you run regularly, you’ll inevitably find yourself noticing things about your body that you’ve never noticed before.  You’ll have the chance to work through issues mentally ranging from how your body is managing the physical stresses, pains and achievements of the run, to matters that the “normal” day doesn’t afford you the chance to dedicate thought to.  You can daydream, or listen to music or books.  You can actually enjoy an uninterrupted conversation with a friend who runs with you.  You’ll see the world around you differently.  You see things you’ve never noticed on the road you normally drive down.  The trail in the woods you never see other than to drive by becomes a beautiful adventure and a world all its own.  Over time all those runs add up and the time spent running makes you a better person:  physically and mentally.  Others may or may not notice, but you will.  That’s why I say running is therapy for the body and mind.
5. (#15)  Run for fun!  I’m concluding by circling back to some of the thoughts in the earlier rules.  Don’t get all wrapped up in the gear.  Get yourself a good pair of shoes and get going--alone or with a friend.  Old shorts and a t-shirt are just fine.  Buy other stuff when and if you decide you need it.  Don’t let other people or someone else’s running attire become your excuse for not hitting the road or trail.  Generally speaking I don’t look like a runner, and quite often I don’t wear what some might consider the “right” clothes.  Whatever.  Enter races if you want, and if you do, have fun.  As Nike says, “just do it.”  Brookes says, “run happy.”  There are dozens of other appropriate slogans out there.  Pick one and take it to heart!

If you’re not a runner and this has encouraged you, let me know if you decide to get out there!  If we live near each other I’ll gladly run with you  If not, I’ll gladly be your virtual running buddy. 

As always, it’s great to be a dad!

DISCLOSURE:  Road ID did not ask me to review, support or recommend their product.  I don't have a relationship with them other than as a happy customer.  I've not been compensated in any way.  The opinion expressed here is completely my own.

Running Etiquette (Part 1)

I’ve seen other runner’s etiquette and "rules" lists over the years and thought maybe I should share my thoughts with those who follow my adventures.  Hopefully you’ll identify with them, you might chuckle a bit, and I might even make you a little angry.  These are the “rules” I try to run by and they’re based on my own experiences dating back to my years as a young man when I started running with my Dad.  Some may be unique, but most are probably variations on common themes from across our sport.

1. Never judge other runners.  You can certainly admire them, but don’t judge them.  They’re running too.  I think it was in Runner’s World I read, “there are no ugly runners.”  It captured the same attitude I’m trying to express.  Publications like Runner’s World (which is an awesome resource!) seems to present a picture of what some think is the typical (or stereotypical) runner: very lean, ideal form, and all the right gear.  There are many folks out there who look just like that, but if you see someone running who doesn’t fit the picture, remember this: at least they’re running.  You and I won’t ever know why or how most of the folks we see running actually ended up motivated to hit the road or trail--all you know is they’re there.  As a lifetime runner without they “typical” runner’s body type (I consider myself an “ordinary runner”), I’m pretty sure I’ll never look like those runners on the magazine covers.  The less-than-picture-perfect person you pass on the road or trail might have finally decided to give running a try.  They might even be on their very first run.  Or, they may have once been an incredible athlete, but are now recovering from injury.  What matters is they’re running.
2. Acknowledge other runners.  A smile or wave of recognition or encouragement is always appreciated.  A kind verbal or non-verbal greeting goes a long way when shared with other non-runners on the road or trail too: walkers, equestrians, cyclists, etc.  Make a point to offer this kindness to others whether they return it or not.
3. Your shoes matter most.  Other than shoes, all the rest of your gear falls into the “nice to have” category.  You risk hurting yourself without the right shoes.  If you’re just starting out and don’t know what you need, your best bet is to find a local running store.  They’ll assess you and let you know what kind of shoes you need.  Many of them will watch you run and/or look at an old pair of shoes to see how you move, then advise you from there.  Oh, and those shoes won’t last forever.  Understand that if you get into this, you’re probably going to buy new running shoes every 300-400 miles.  Distances vary depending on whose advice you’re considering and how you run.  Regardless of miles, if your feet, ankles and knees start complaining and there’s no other cause, it’s probably time to treat yourself to some new shoes.
4. Running is an individual and a group activity.  For many of the runners I know, it’s primarily individual rather than social.  However, you’ll still find like-minded buddies to share your passion with whether you run with them or not.  Fact is, there’s an individual and a social element to running no matter who you are.  Even if you’re a solo runner, find a local running group or track club, or even a casual group of friends at work or school who also run.  I’m pretty sure you won’t regret it.
5. Running buddies and training plans keep you focused.  I mostly run alone unless I’m in a race, but I have several running and non-running friends who expect to hear about my jaunts.  They ask regularly and my answer can’t be, “I didn’t run.”  They’ll apply all the appropriate pressure.  Call it accountability or something else, but it’s nice to have others around you who are interested in what you’re up to.  For those solo runners like me, training plans give some structure to the routine.  Even if you enjoy running, you’ll find yourself in those periods of slump when the routine becomes too routine or you’re not challenging yourself.  Having a race goal and following a related training plan causes you to add variables you might not otherwise include:  flats and hills, slow and fast speeds, changing distances, etc.
6. Running is competitive.  Here’s the secret though: you may not always (or even usually) compete against another athlete.  Your primary competitor may be a new distance or a personal best/record, a change in the frequency of your running or weekly volume, or a change in the time of day you run.  There may or may not be another human there.  This is true for races too.  I know I care very little about when other runners finish the race I’m in.  The competition for me is to finish what I started and how that finish compares to any previous races of the same kind.  But if you’re competitive and want to race others, you’re still in the right place!
7. It’s as much a mental game as a physical one.  Maybe it's more mental than physical.  No doubt running is a physical activity and it carries all the physical benefits and consequences with it.  Learning to physically deal with discomfort and pain is only a part of it though.  Right along side the physical aspects are the mental and emotional ups and downs associated with your commitment to run:  mentally dealing with the physical discomfort, pain and injury; nerves on race day; and frankly moments of boredom.  Whether you run with some form of audio entertainment or not, running is not always the most mentally stimulating task.  I’ve mentioned it before: running for me is mentally therapeutic.  Even so, running with music, an audio book, or just my thoughts along with the urban or natural sounds that surround me can still result in those moments where my brain wants something more or different.  Discipline is called for: yes physically, but also mentally.  Oh, just getting out the door to run may be the thing that requires the most mental discipline.
8. Never defend your right of way.  The rules of the road or trail are nice, but your soft body will usually never win a contest with a bike, horse, or motor vehicle.  At best, you’ll probably break even with another runner or jogging stroller.  Courtesy and respect are always nice when they’re extended to you, but in the interest of safety and deference to others who may not even see you, when in doubt, err on the side of caution and respect the things around you that could cause you harm.
9. Respect the distance.  This rule, and the next probably warrant their own dedicated posts:  No matter whether you set out to run a mile, a 5K, 10K, half marathon, marathon or ultra, patiently and properly train for and respect the distance.  It’s the best way to avoid injury.  Biting off more than you can chew after a moment of sudden inspiration usually ends in unnecessary pain and discouragement.  I know this will anger some, but I also tend to think unless a race clearly advertises otherwise, running races are for running and the achievement of crossing the finish line is diminished if you treat it otherwise.  If you enter a race knowing you can’t or won’t run through to the finish, consider covering the distance outside of the timed race setting.  This is especially true of the longer distances: the half marathon and longer.  I’m definitely not the fastest runner, but I’ve never entered a running race without the expectation I’ll run from the start to the finish line.  You can (and should) do the same!
10. Walking is awesome.  This is related to respecting the previous rule.  Do what you can do to gain and maintain good health.  There are times when anyone who runs finds they need to walk during training and during a race: to repair equipment, perhaps to eat or drink (I can’t drink from a cup without walking), to deal with an injury or help a fellow runner.  When you need to slow to a walk during a race, check beside and behind you then move to the side of the course.  In other words, run like you drive--or should I say run like you’re supposed to drive.  Some races declare a side of the road or trail for slower runners or walkers.  If so, follow the rule.  When it’s all said and done though, if you move to the side, you’ll lessen the risk of surprising or angering a runner behind you who may want to pass.  You’ll also reduce the risk of causing a wreck and getting hurt, or hurting someone else.  If you’re a runner, pay attention to the races you enter.  If the race allows walkers, parents with strollers, etc., don’t get mad when they’re there and moving slowly along the course.  Walking is awesome too, but enter running races to run unless the race specifically accommodates walkers. 

I’ve probably amused, intrigued and angered enough folks at this point, so I’ll stop for now.  In a few weeks I’ll post the rest of my thoughts on running etiquette.  In the meantime, if you happen to see me out there, let me know if I don’t smile and wave.  And please don’t hit me with your car.

It’s great to be a dad!

Book Review: The Compleat Gentleman

The Compleat Gentleman: The Modern Man’s Guide to Chivalry (Revised and Updated) by Brad Miner (Richard Vigilante Books, 2009)

In this wonderful book, Brad Miner rolls an incredible volume of history and research into a single reference about chivalry, then applies it to modern times and modern manhood.  The book generally has an academic tone to it, but not in a way that’s distracting.  In fact, for what is essentially a combination of history and what today would be called “self-help,” the book is definitely readable and held my attention throughout.

Miner works us through the picture of the compleat gentleman by discussing the medieval knight (often used to typify gentlemanly behavior), then examining three persons as models or types:  the warrior, the lover and the monk.  He also distills the essence of the gentleman into a single Latin concept: sprezzatura, which he thoroughly examines throughout the book due to its rich, deep and complex meaning.  On the surface though, it simply means nonchalance; Miner says that to today it would mean “cool.”  Toward the end of the book, he summarizes his work by saying, “if ‘honor’ is properly the one word that epitomizes the character of a gentleman, then ‘sprezzatura’ is the last work about the gentleman’s ‘conduct of life.’”  He goes on to say, “There are two ways to look at a fellow’s sprezzatura.  On the one hand, it means discretion, or, more grandly, prudence; on the other hand it means restraint, which may even be concealment.”

As you read, Miner will weave these concepts together with others, including the role of historic stoicism, and leave you walking away challenged and encouraged that no matter who you are or where you think of yourself relative to gentlemanly conduct, you’ll can make more of yourself.

At the end of the book, Miner quotes Rudyard Kipling’s poem “IF” (available through The Kipling Society at http://www.kipling.org.uk) as his closing and as “the best short summary of the compleat gentleman’s profession.”  If you’re not familiar with Kipling or this poem:

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;

If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And – which is more – you'll be a Man my son!

Finally, a note for those who might mind, the author clearly writes from a Catholic perspective and defines himself as a classic liberal.  Even so, he’s never in your face with either and the points about being a gentleman don’t conditionally rest on either.  No matter what your religious or political persuasion, the book is informative and useful.

The Compleat Gentleman is definitely worth the time to read.  If you have an interest in the history of gentleman and chivalry, the book is a great anchor point for additional research, with plenty of references and a healthy selected bibliography.  I recommend this book to any man whether he’s a father or not, think it would make a great gift at the appropriate time for any young man, and will definitely be on my son’s reading list.

It’s great to be a dad!

Reflections (Part 2)

Last week I told you the story of the birth of my son.  Just typing that story out last week and reliving it in my mind brought joyful tears to my eyes again.  Although that wasn’t why I wrote it, I was flattered to hear from many of you who told me what I wrote resonated with you and apparently the stock went up on several brands of tissues.  As promised, here’s the rest of the story of my reflection on my wonderful wife and the birth of my son.  The emphasis changes a little here, from my amazing wife to the beginning of my own development as a first-time father.

Paul’s Pitstop Along the Canal

I mentioned my wife labored for 51 hours before Paul was finally delivered by C-section.  As you recall, he was breach, then on the day we were to originally have the C-section, he flipped over and was properly oriented for a normal delivery.  And then there was the marathon.  After Paul was born and we were all resting quietly in the Labor and Delivery Ward (L&D from now on), our doctor came to us to explain what caused the lack of progress.  It seems that Paul had turned his head to the side at about the time he started progressing down the birth canal.  As a result, the shape of his head didn’t line up with companion shape of the birth canal and he simply stopped.  No amount of labor was going to change it, especially since Steph’s body was properly trying to move him along, creating enough pressure that Paul’s head just wasn’t going to turn back.  In times past this could have (would have?) resulted in the death of both mother and child, but thanks to God, modern medicine, the wonderful skills of the medical professionals that took care of us, I enjoy the company of my beautiful wife and son today.

I learned a bunch of cool stuff as Steph rested and recovered, and began bonding with my infant son.  Steph “held” him for nine months and now it was finally my turn.  I was nervous but eager to learn.  He had his first bath and I learned how to change his diaper and swaddle him.  The Super Bowl was on with the volume down and Steph fed Paul his first meal outside the womb watching the game.  (I can’t make this up!)  At about halftime, Steph fell asleep and Paul and I sat with my new son in my arms, watched the game, and bonded.  And every now an then, I found myself weeping just for a moment.  It wasn’t for any specific reason.  I think it was that intangible and very real bonding--father’s and son’s hearts were touching.  It was, and remains, one of the best experiences of my life, sitting in the quiet and warmth of that room next to my sleeping wife who had just done something truly heroic, and holding my hours-old son.

An Angry Dad

The next morning everyone was doing fine and the process began to do some final testing in order to discharge mother and son.  We were excited, tired and happy to think about taking our son home for the first time.  But there was this little thing called jaundice we had to deal with first.  He didn’t look jaundiced, so this came as a surprise when, as we were being discharged from L&D, we were taken upstairs by someone from another department.  It was the first we’d heard that this was the plan rather than going to our car and heading home.  And now I was angry in addition to being tired.

The change from pleasure with the L&D crew to thorough disgust for the “professionals” in the new ward was dramatic, none of whom could competently or authoritatively explain to me why we were even there other than to say, “your son has jaundice; his bilirubin levels are on the edge of high, and this will prevent a problem from developing.”  It made sense, but we couldn’t get a doctor to see us until I threatened to take my family and leave the hospital.  An orderly actually told me I couldn’t do that.  I didn’t mention to him that I could have snapped him like a twig and instead maintained my composure and told him he needed to rethink what he had just said.  We weren’t under arrest and no one could even confirm we were the right people who were supposed to be there.  I told him if a medical doctor didn’t come explain to us why we were in this new ward within two hours, in an adult manner, we would be leaving.  We had signed formal discharge papers in L&D and had not been formally readmitted to any part of the hospital.  As far as I was concerned, this was all a mistake reinforced by lack of any interaction with a physician or appropriate staff.  I wanted to see test results and have them explained to me like an adult.  I also wanted to know clearly and concisely what the “treatment” would do to remedy the alleged problem and how long it would take.  For those of you who are familiar, you know the treatment for an infant with elevated bilirubin levels isn’t cosmic and really doesn’t require a lot of explanation--it involves baking the boy under some incubator lights (technically called phototherapy, accomplished with lights or a photo-optic blanket) in a controlled manner.  Having a medical background I was actually familiar with the treatment, but didn’t like that no one with any authority or medical competence seemed to want to explain it to my wife and I.  I was literally packing our bags up again, when a doctor showed up.  I politely and professionally let him have it.  With the doctor’s apologies appearing genuine, along with his sufficient explanations for why we were there and for how long, we ended up staying through the next night to let Paul bake and went home the next day.

Don’t Look Into The Light:  Shaping a Father’s Heart

The real story is actually about the time that passed with Paul under those lights, especially through that night, and the thoughts and feelings that continued to emerge as a brand new, first-time father.  My wife was exhausted and I was beyond tired.  The hospital didn’t have a photo-optic blanket, so Paul was laying helpless in an open-sided incubator with ridiculously designed little goggles on to keep the lights from causing damage to his eyes.  For those of you who are parents, you know about infants--they have no motor control and so I worried about him knocking the goggles off and ending up with eye damage.  Designed as they were, they seemed to come off his head when he simply thought about moving.  And so I intended to sit up all night hoping to let Steph sleep as much as possible.  She was actually doing well and thankfully was able to sit up with Paul for part of the night, giving me about three hours of sleep.  But it wasn’t very good sleep and I was entirely consumed with this little son of mine and that my wife now had to stay awake even longer.  All Paul had known was nine months of comfort in the womb, then suddenly he’s on the bright, noisy and cold outside but in the protective arms of Steph and I, and before that dust could settle he has something awkward on his face and no real contact with either of us other than the sound of our voices and fairly regular adjustments to the goggles.

I still don’t know how a heart can be full of joy and thoroughly broken at the same time, but mine was.  What’s really beyond my ability to explain is although I couldn’t have loved my new son any more than I already did, every moment that passed as I sat awake with him my love grew.  My heart was full, but somehow it kept getting fuller.  A better picture of this is that my love for my son was growing deeper and stronger with every minute that passed.  I know this would have happened even without the frustrating side trip to the incubator, but this little bit of additional frustration and adversity simply highlighted it for me.

Homeward Bound

The next day, and two very tired parents later, we took our son home.  Everything was exciting and scary.  Was the car seat in right?  Was he warm enough back there?  Would his little head flop over too far and hinder his breathing?  Would we know since the car seat faces to the rear for safety?  I can’t stare at him the whole time; what if we get into an accident?  Somehow we made it home.  Since then, like all parents, we’ve received perfect support and great advice from a variety of folks within our circle of friends and family.  I think we’ve managed to do OK as parents so far.  It’s wonderful to have the experience of others to lean on, and to learn that you really can do this parenting thing--a subset of this marriage thing--without an instruction manual.  By the way, that last statement doesn’t mean you can’t raise a child without both parents.  Life is messy and things happen--at a minimum the “Ds” haunt many of us:  deployments (or long business trips), divorce, death.  There’s other stuff too, but to keep this truthful, after my own experiences these last three and a half years, it seems to me solo parenting isn’t the default or preferred situation.  It takes two of us to make those little, wonderful kids, and it seems two should bring them up.  When that can’t happen, I hope that same circle of family and friends is there to stand along side the parent flying solo.  

Honoring our Women

My wife Stephanie is amazing and she’s also a hero to me, on that same very short list I have with just a few other people on it, including my dad and both grandfathers.  Ladies, every one of you stands on a pedestal in my world, for many reasons.  In the absence of other reasons though, you still hold that special place for that most wonderful and miraculous thing you can do--bare children.

Men, if we don’t honor our women--all women, but especially our wives--then we’re not really men.  The word “honor” gets used a lot in certain circles, but I’m not sure many of us really understand what it means practically.  Not that I agree with every premise behind his statements, consider this amazing conversation between Robert MacGregor and his son in a scene from the 1995 movie Rob Roy:

Son:  Father, will the MacGregors ever be kings again?

Rob Roy:  All men with honor are kings, but not all kings have honor.

Son:  What is honor?

Rob Roy:  Honor is what no man can give you, and no man can take away.  Honor is a man’s gift to himself.

Son:  Do women have it?

Rob Roy:  Women have the heart of honor, and we cherish and protect it in them.  And you must never mistreat a woman, nor malign a man, or stand by and see another do so.

Son:  How do you know if you have it?

Rob Roy:  Never worry in the getting of it.  It grows in you and speaks to you.  All you need do is listen.

Men, all our circumstances are different whether we’re single, married, or fathers.  But we can’t afford to mess this up.  We live in the world and others see us:  other men, sons, women, and daughters.  Never be an ass; just be an honorable man.  

Single men, it’s OK to be the man that women want you to be and that younger men can genuinely look up to.  Be a real man of strength and honor--mentally and physically.  Don’t let yourself fuel the caricature that men are full of rudeness and too much testosterone.  Don’t go to the other extreme either though and be that ugly model of overdone pasta with no idea who you are or what you stand for, and who doesn’t know where to find his spine or what testosterone is.  If you’re a husband, you have a wife to love and cherish.  If you’re a father, you have sons and daughters to raise.  For those of you with sons, join me in my hope that we raise our sons well.  We are men.  If you’d prefer not to be, like last week, feel free to send me your Man Card; I’ll quietly and discretely dispose of it for you and we’ll never speak of this again.

It’s great to be a dad!

Reflections

I recently picked a book up while browsing at a local bookstore.  Fathers and Sons: 11 Great Writers Talk About Their Dads, Their Boys, and What It Means To Be A Man is a collection of essays written by fathers, sons, and one daughter.  Only part way through the first essay in the first section of the book, entitled “The Beginning”, I found myself fighting indoor allergies, sweaty eyeballs, um, alright--tears.  Awkward to say the least, as I was sitting in a bookstore sipping coffee.  It was an unexpected reaction to an essay written by someone I don’t even know.  I can't say it brought back memories because what went through my head hadn’t been forgotten, but the essay did result in fragmented memories coming back together that hadn't been that way since the birth of my son almost three and a half years ago.

I haven't appropriately honored my wife for bringing my son into this wonderful world in this forum; it's overdue and the time has come.  I also haven't talked about those first hours in the hospital after Paul was born and the initial thoughts that went through my head a brand new dad--not so much the lofty philosophical thoughts (because frankly, there weren't any), but rather my initial caveman reaction to going from being a father who's son is still on the inside to being a father with a son in my arms.  So i'll write these thoughts and reflections down because I need to for myself, but hopefully those of you who read this will carry something away as well.  Dads, especially you first-time dads, assuming my experience isn't unique, maybe you'll find you're not alone; there are other men standing around you--standing with you in the fraternity that is fatherhood.  Moms, if you have a husband who doesn't like or want to talk about his fist contact with fatherhood, maybe this will give you some glimpse into your man's inner workings.

Labor

Our pregnancy was pretty much a standard one.  Steph dealt with gestational diabetes and pregnancy-related hypertension, but that's not uncommon and it wasn't ever a real issue.  Good advise from the doctors, discipline on Steph’s part, and things went smoothly.  Late in the game though, Paul did a summersault and ended up breach.  No big deal again.  As the day approached our doctor talked us through the procedure to turn him around just prior to delivery.  If it worked, a normal delivery would follow; if it didn't he'd still arrive courtesy of a C-section.  The day arrived and we checked into the hospital, armed with all our knowledge and no experience, ready to bring our child into the world.  Check in, get "comfortable," a sonogram to confirm the position of the child, rotate as required, and deliver--ready, set, go!  We came in with the C-section scheduled and mentally prepared for the surgery.  One quick sonogram later we learned that our child decided to have mercy on Steph; as she slept the night prior, he reoriented himself and was pointy end down.  The doctor told us we had an option: go ahead with the C-section as scheduled, or start down the path of a normal delivery.  Either was fine, but due to Paul's position, the natural path would take a little more time than usual to allow him to move the rest of the way down the birth canal and into contact with the cervix.  Having nothing else to do and a preference not to have surgery, we opted for a normal labor.  A little extra time, plus another 14 or so hours (what we were told was the average length of labor for a first child in the U.S.) and we' have a baby on the outside.  We were nervous but ready.

About that whole 14 hour thing...the next 51 hours were the fastest and longest hours of my life.  You read it right, I said fifty-one hours.  Hours.  Nothing really went wrong, but everything took a long time or even longer.  Let me back up; nothing went wrong in this modern world, but Steph and Paul may not have survived the birth in times past.  Paul simply wasn't  moving down the birth canal like he should.  He came down a little, then stopped and decided to take a break, think about coming out later, who knows.  Steph started having some major league contractions somewhere along the way, but not near the end.  Paul just wasn’t ready.  She was a superstar and powered through it like it was business as usual and she had done it many times before.  I don't and can't understand how this is possible other that to believe what I've heard others say: you ladies are made to do this.  And for the record, it's not only mysterious to us men; I think it's miraculous.  I was there and watched my wife do something she had never done before--give birth to my son, after doing something else she had never done before--carry another human inside her body for nine months while that little guy grew from a microscopic size to almost seven pounds.  I get the science behind it all but when I hear scientists talk about it all I hear is Charlie Brown's teacher talking.  When you look only at the biological and chemical science of pregnancy and birth, you miss the absolute majesty of it all.  There just aren't adequate words in human language to capture what happens.  And our wives some how contain this in their bodies naturally!

My wife literally wore the doctor and her staff out.  Around the 49th hour our doctor came in, did some of that poking around doctor stuff and said, "OK, if that baby isn't on the outside in an hour, we're going to go ahead and do the C-section".  We hadn't asked about this or even really discussed it between us since opting for labor, but when she said it Steph and I were absolutely agreeable and ready.  Exactly one hour later, our doctor retuned, did some more doctorly poking around, said some scholarly things about things with Latin names, and everything shifted to the surgery.

We Have A Son!

Another hour passed and Paul arrived.  I was in scrubs and sitting at Steph’s head.  The room was cool, and Steph was all bundled up (from where I sat), wrapped in sheets and blue towels, interestingly, looking a lot like Paul would just a few hours later after the nurses swaddled him.

The c-section was relatively fast after so many hours of labor.  Steph was a champion.  We exchanged small but important words, mostly exchanges of “I love you” and “how are you doing?”  She seemed very calm and I was nervous.  At one point she told me she felt like she couldn’t breath very well.  I glanced up at the monitor and anesthesiologist; things looked fine and he comforted her immediately by assuring her it was a common feeling due to the anesthesia, but that she was breathing fine and her oxygen levels were good.  Steph seemed OK and I had to trust him.  Very shortly after, our doctor said, “OK dad, I’m ready to deliver the baby, do you want to stand up and see?”  I winked at Steph and stood just in time to see my son enter the world.  His back was to me as the doctor gently and smoothly lifted him up with her hands under his arms.  Just a few seconds later and I heard his voice for the first time as he began to cry.  My heart leapt for joy and broke at the same time.  Nothing was wrong; everything was right and good.  And I had just witnessed the most amazing thing in my entire life:  the birth of my firstborn son; and my amazing wife who instantly became a hero in my eyes.

I’ve seen some amazing things through the 47 years of my life.  I’ve traveled to all but one continent on this earth, been to some of the wealthiest and poorest nations, worked as an EMT and firefighter, and served in combat along side my brothers and sisters in arms.  I have never seen anything that rivals what my wife did.  I didn’t do it; she did.  She bore my son, kept him safe, nourished him by God’s grace, then made herself completely vulnerable by placing herself at the mercy of everyone except herself as she lay helpless on her back on a table--entrusting herself entirely into the hands of people she really didn’t know.  And our son was born.

Like Alec Wilkinson wrote in the third essay in Fathers and Sons, I began to cry.  Just like him, I didn’t anticipate it.  In fact, I didn’t even think about my possible reaction to my son’s birth in advance.  Here’s what Alec said, “I did not expect to cry when my son was born--it seemed a silly and conventional and trivial thing to do, weep for joy, like a figure in an advertisement--but I did, quite suddenly and without warning, as if it were a reflex.”  I was blown away and I shed tears: not bawling, not even sobbing, but I quietly and lovingly wept in absolute awe of my wife.  Although it wasn’t the case before Paul was born, at that moment it became inconceivable to me that anyone can view human life as anything but miraculous: whether you’re a creationist, evolutionist, a noneoftheaboveist or a nothingatallist.  You get my point:  life is a miracle and my wife and son are the proof.  Ladies, you rock.  Moms, you’re something even more special.  You have facilitated miracles.

Men who are dads, if you don’t respect this about your wives, you should probably just turn in your man cards now, if you can find it.  If you think I’m right and can’t tell your wives what you think, or the other men in your lives, I fraternally encourage you to grow a pair or send your card to me and I’ll discretely dispose of it for you.  (We’ll never speak of this again.)  If you’re one of those other men and would presume to mock a fellow man who happens to be a dad and tells you something like this, turn your card in too, and use some form of express mail.  Finally, if you’re a single man or husband with no kids, I humbly ask you to just accept and respect what I’m telling you.  If and when your turn comes; let me know if you think I missed the mark on this.  By the way, unless you were born in a lab courtesy of a test tube, if you have the privilege of still having your dad around, consider finding the right time to ask him (or any other dad you respect) for his thoughts.  Be prepared to learn something (or to confiscate his man card).  I know you’ll do the right thing.

The first few nights after Paul was born were ordinary in one context, but extraordinary in another.  The extraordinary aspects I’m referring to are my own reactions to some very common things that happen with many an average newborn.  Nothing about the events of those next few short days and hours surprised me, but my reactions stunned me.  If you’re interested, please be patient and I’ll write more about this story soon.

It’s great to be a dad!

My Dad

My dad is one of my heroes.  This Father’s Day I want to honor him by explaining to a limited extend what he’s contributed to my being the man and father I am today.

Here’s his story:

Dad was born in Salt Lake City, Utah in 1937, the son of a salesman for what was the American Chicle Company.  One of his earliest memories was from when he was a little guy (probably only two or three years old).  The family lived on the third floor at the time and dad would often play in or near the window when he couldn’t be outside.  The window washers had come by but failed to put the screen back tightly.  When dad climbed up to play, he fell out the window.  His grandmother (called “Nan”) jumped out the same window after him and as Dad recalls, somehow she seemed to get to the ground before him or at nearly the same time in order to try to protect him from the fall.  Fortunately he fell into a clump of bushes below the window and wasn’t harmed.

In 1941 when he was about four, the family moved to Dallas, Texas where my grandfather was promoted from salesman to District Manager.  At that time, as the US entered World War 2, my grandfather volunteered for and was inducted into the Navy and attended Officers Candidate School.  Around that same time, my dad’s grandmother back in Salt Lake City was going blind.  As a result, the Navy sent my grandmother, dad and uncle back to Salt Lake to be with her.  The Navy paid for the travel and sent them on a troop train; that was my dad’s first exposure to the military, riding the train with the troops who were making their way to the war.  Shortly after arrival, it was clear Nan was completely blind.  At that time, my grandfather was the head of household and the sole provider for the family.  as a result, the Navy exempted him from service and the family (including Nan) moved back to Dallas.

When dad was first in grade school, his older brother Neil was supposed to walk him home.  Neil just walked home alone and left dad at the school.  Dad found his way home alone, even though he doesn’t remember how he found the house.  Neil took a beating.

As a boy and young man, dad always had chores to do.  One particular chore that still sticks vividly in his mind was mowing the grass.  My dad and uncle were both young, dad wasn’t tall enough to reach the lawn mower’s handle, but my uncle was.  As a result, my uncle Neil was allowed to push the mower.  There was also a rope tied to the mower that my dad used to walk in front of the mower, pulling it along like a plow horse.  When the grass didn’t need mowing, there were always other chores to do: painting the house, mending a fence, etc.  It was clear to my dad (as unenjoyable as it was when he was a child) that he was expected to put the family first and that everyone in the family was expected to contribute for the greater good.

His first real job was as a paper boy in Dallas when he was 9 years old.  As was normal for the day, he would go door-to-door to collect directly from the customers once a month.  From that money, he would pay for the newspapers, with his profit coming from any additional money or tips collected.  From what profit he made, my grandmother allowed him to keep $5 a month; the rest went into the house fund to cover other family needs.

The family moved from Dallas to Cleveland, Ohio in 1951 where my grandfather was promoted again, now to Division Manager.  This was early in the Korean War and dad has vivid memories of lots of radio chatter about our military and the war.  Cleveland became home for the rest of his youth and it was there that he completed 8th through 12th grades. 

When he was 13 years old he took an all-summer job washing dishes at the Centerville YMCA Camp in Ohio.  His first summer there he was still short enough that he had to stand on two Coke-a-Cola crates to be tall enough to wash the dishes.  His work ethic impressed his manager there and as a result, he was able to work other jobs too, including in the craft shop and eventually as a life guard, all under the oversight of the same manager.  His experiences at camp were good ones, it earned him some money, and it got him out of a full summer of chores at home.  He continued working for the next five summers, through graduation from High School.

As was typical of the time, since he didn’t have a car he hitchhiked to get to and from camp, even to return home in the middle of the summer when he had a few days off.  His last summer there, the summer after he graduated from HS, his brother Neil had joined the AF and dad wanted to have his brother’s Buick.  Grandpa wouldn’t give it to him and instead said he could have it if he bought it.  Dad paid $100 and bought his first car.  What was noteworthy about that final year Dad had accelerated through HS and completed school in February.  As a result, he worked for my grandfather from February until the summer.  That summer before college started, probably to avoid more chores around the house for no pay, he went back to the YMCA camp.

He graduated from John Marshall High School, having lettered in track all four years, and applied to attend Miami University of Ohio.  Miami was co-ed university and known for its business school.  It was a feeder school for Harvard’s Business School, and as such was the only state school in Ohio that required prospective students to take entrance exams.  Dad was accepted and also decided to enroll in ROTC.

As a freshman, he pledged for ΣAE and was accepted into the fraternity.  That year though, he and his group couldn’t be inducted because the fraternity was in trouble and on probation with the National Chapter.  Dad and about 30 other classmates decided to wait the probationary period out and join when they could.  (Other students apparently didn’t wait and went on to other fraternities.)

At that same time, his brother was studying to get into medical school and due to his circumstances, needed to pursue a masters degree first to prove himself.  As a result, most of the available money in the family went to pay for his college bills rather than my dad’s.  My grandfather paid for dad’s first year, but that was it.  Dad wanted to continue college and ended up working four jobs to pay his room, board and tuition: as a waiter in  one of the women’s dorms, as a burger cook and waiter at the fraternity house, and as a salesman at a local clothing store.  He finally worked his way through to graduation in June 1959, received a business degree and a commission in the US Air Force.  His dad congratulated him for working his way through college and asked him what he wanted.  Dad said he wanted a car, preferably a convertible.  Grandpa asked him if he’s like one of those new Impala convertibles, dad said yes.  Grandpa picked the car up and dad thanked him for such a nice gift.  Grandpa then told him it might not be such a good deal and to look in the glovebox.  In the glove box, dad found the payment book for the car.  It wasn’t intended, but dad had just bought his second car, thinking it was a graduation gift.

As I mentioned, dad was in ROTC all four years of college.  He wanted to join the AF to be a pilot, figuring he could serve his country for several years, then shift into the commercial aviation world as an airline pilot.  He took the exam to see if he qualified to compete for a pilot training slot and earned his private pilot’s license, at the time a requirement to gain a pilot training slot with the AF.  He scored well and with a private pilot’s license in hand was selected to attend pilot training after commissioning.

In December 1959 he reported to Lackland AFB for what was called officer preflight training.  After successfully completing preflight, he continued to Malden AB (Malden, MO) for primary flight training where he flew the T-28 and was in the last class to fly this reciprocating engine aircraft for primary (pictured above), then at Laredo AFB, TX where he flew the T-33 to complete pilot training in a jet aircraft (pictured below).  After graduation and with survival and passing through the Technical Training Unit, he began flying C-133’s as an airlift pilot.  Throughout his career he flew C-130s, C-141s and C-5s as well as other assorted aircraft.

During the early part of his career, he was also selected along with 125 pilots from across the AF to screen for the astronaut program.  He passed the grueling 9 day physical, but ultimately wasn’t selected to complete the training since he didn’t have an engineering degree.  His name was kept on the books as eligible, but he was never called upon to enter the program.

He served in combat in Viet Nam, commanded at the squadron, group, wing and twice at the air division level, and also served as the Technical Training Center Commander at Keesler AFB, where he retired in 1991.  One of the Air Divisions he commanded, the 76th Military Airlift Division at Andrews AFB, MD, included three subordinate wings, one of which was the 89th Military Airlift Wing responsible for presidential and congressional airlift, including the US’s most famous jet: Air Force 1.

His original plan to move to the airlines after a few short years flying for the military was overcome by his love for military aviation and those few short years became a 32 year career.  Along the way, while working a full-time career in the Air Force, he also earned an MBA on his own time.  He retired from active duty as a major general and transitioned to civilian life.

Shortly after retirement, he was hired to tech MBA studies at William Carey College in Hattiesburg, MS.  Around that same time he also ran for Congress against the incumbent for the 5th Congressional District in Mississippi.  The incumbent won but the visibility and desire to continue in public service was noted.  As a result the State of Mississippi asked him to become the first executive director of the newly formed Mississippi Gaming Commission in September 1993--the year the State Senate voted to legalize and regulate casino-style gaming in the state.  He accepted and ran the State’s gaming compliance arm for almost six years until sometime in 1998.

Shortly afterwards, he was offered the position of President and CEO of a financially struggling Signature Works (the largest company in the world employing visually impaired workers).  He served with them for two years, moved the company back into the black, then handed a healthy company to new leadership.  Never content to sit still, he then started a company with two other men to store cars for military members stationed overseas or deployed.  That same year he also started his own company, PDH Associates, to assist individuals and companies who desire to enter into the gaming industry.  Since then he’s taken a number of corporate governance positions within the gaming industry, including a position on the Board of Directors for the Riviera in 2001, and as the President and CEO of Pearl River Resorts, working directly for the Meko (Chief) of the Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians.  He still lives in Mississippi today and actively continues with his own company, as well as with Pearl River Resorts and the Riviera.

Dad, I want you and others to know what you taught me: the things I can say you’re responsible for teaching me and that have made me the man, and the father that I am.

• Serving others and your country is more important than serving yourself
• Work hard and provide for your family
• Be a team player but don’t expect others to carry your load
• Be generous with what you have and help others when you can
• Education is important--get as much as you can
• Discipline will get you through most everything in life
• Priorities matter--commit to and finish what you start
• Have a sense of humor--don’t lose it and don’t forget to laugh
• Don’t forget where you came from--it matters because it makes you who you are

There are so many more things I could say, but these are the big ones.  You didn’t just tell me these things, you taught me through your words and deeds across my entire life.  You also commissioned me as a second lieutenant in the US Air Force, officiated all of my promotions, greeted me when I returned from my first combat deployment, and my son is named after you.  Thank you for being my dad and my hero.  If I’m ever even half the man that you are, I can count my life a success.  Happy Father’s Day, dad.  It’s truly great to be your son, and as always,

It’s great to be a dad!