a chilling memory

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This time last year, a few of us attempted "roughing it" by having a father/son barbecue and then camping out. Sleeping outside. In the snow. Let me tell you that it was rough! So rough in fact, that only two of us were up for the challenge of seeing it through to completion. After dinner and a snowball fight or two, the children were taken to stay with their mothers. Virtually all of our camping compadres disappeared in that process.

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I remember that night clearly. The wind was brutally fierce. The lights from the mini-mall next door relentlessly beamed their harsh lights like x-rays through our tired eyelids. The tarp over our heads was as loud as a jet engine! We toughed it out, and stayed through the frigid night, but did not accumulate any decent sleep time.

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My lunatic friend decided to do it again this year. This time I declined, hoping he would come to his senses, but to him, this is perceived as one of those manly things that must be conquered, rather than a great and useless inconvenience that is easily avoided. He endured another tough campout this year, sans Craver. After he shared a few details from this weekend's sequel, he tried to recruit me for next year!

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Can you guess what time of day that small photo was taken? Try MIDNIGHT!!

lesson from africa

Somewhere in Africa, a father walks, accompanied by village elders and warrior-mentors, to the hut where his son lives. That boy lives with his mother. She is one of several wives to the boy’s father who now stands outside her hut.

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The father does not come in but announces the name of his son, and calls upon the lad to come out. He will keep calling until his son comes out and joins the men. But this does not happen without resistance from the mother. She blocks the way and begs the men not to take him, saying it is too soon. But, the decision has been made, and they will not relent.

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The boy steps out from behind his tearful mother. She cries, because she will not see him for a year. He will remain in the men’s camp, isolated from women and children as he is ushered through the rites of passage into manhood. After the training, he will be a hunter, a warrior, a man.

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This process is significant enough that if the village has a 16-year old who is “called out.” And a 40-year old who is not, the 16-year old is a man, but the 40-year old is still a boy.

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To the best of my memory, that’s how Norm Wakefield begins his talk on The Calling Out of a Son.

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We live in a time and place where boys and men are distinguished by the prices of their toys. Instead of finding a helpmeet to provide for, they marry a mother-substitute, who is expected to take care of their needs. It should not surprise us that grown women have a problem submitting to the leadership of …boys.

My oldest son turns 17 at the end of January. I have decided that it is time to “call him out.”