While obvious to most who know me, I am not what you would call an “outdoorsy” guy. It’s not that I don’t appreciate nature. In fact, I view it as a sacred wonder of our world. Yet while I appreciate the art of the adventure, have great respect for hearty people who camp and hike, and even at some level envy those with a healthy dose of Theodore Roosevelt in them, I just have never been motivated to put on a backpack and head out into the wild. It sounds cliche, but I am one of those who will take a Marriott over a Mountain any day. I use the excuse of being an L.A.-raised city boy, but it’s just never been a part of my DNA. Even as a proud Eagle Scout, I recognize that all the merit badges requiring the outdoors were a heavy lift. I got them done, but wow was I glad when they were over!
All this becomes a problem when certain fatherly duties come to the forefront. Kids want to camp. They want to be outside. They want campfires and s’mores and to get muddy and pick-up things on the ground. And Autumn and outdoor activities go hand-in-hand. So this Fall, I’ve been forced into getting outside with my kids as part of a series of things happening in (what for me at least could be considered as) nature. I signed-up for the campouts and the bike rides and even the (wait for it) hike. The result was not what I expected. Let me tell you why…
A few weeks ago my little boy and I took part in a father/son campout. It was great. It had all the trappings of what I remembered from my time as a youth. The sleeping bags, the bugs, the questionable food that tastes good because you are hungry, and the happy memories of being around a campfire. At the end of the adventure, I thought it had been a real home-run. I put on what I thought was my best game face, tying bikes onto the car, suggesting we take walks on trails, and doing all the stuff that I thought would somehow up my “outdoorsy” quotient in the eyes of my son. He seemed to enjoy it. If there was a way to get muddy or dirty, he found it. On the way home from the campout, I asked him what he liked most about the campout. I was sure the answer would be something about the “roughing-it” that we had just endured so I could check it off my psychological list of fatherhood duties. What he said shocked me. “I liked being with you, even though I know you don’t like camping. Oh, and the campfire. That was cool. Thanks for this weekend, Dad!”
I don’t know how these kids do it. Sometimes it is as if they all went to Erma Bombeck training for insightful, heart-piercing comments that wow us parents with their unexpected insight. These, of course, are syncopated in the most bizarre way, between fits of naughtiness and/or madness when you are certain they have learned nothing or that you must be the worst parent in the world because nothing seems to be seeping into those little brains of theirs. Just when you want to get mad, they throw out a maxim. And my son had humbled me with this one.
How did he know I was faking? I thought I had been careful not to joke about it or make him feel uncomfortable. I even thought my acting was pretty good. But what he took from the weekend wasn’t deceit, but dedication. And it reminded me of just how much my own parents did for me even when it was probably the last thing they would have put on their to-do list. I was humbled by the mental list of school activities, dances, church meetings, late nights of homework, projects and last-minute calls to the rescue.
This Fall has helped me fall deeper into fatherhood. And it has proven that I have a long way to go. I don’t know where it will take me, but I pray my kids will be patient with me along the way. I have a feeling there are many more campouts (or unexpected equivalents) in the future.