When we think about how movies like, “The Secret,” can influence us, they seem like the corniest ideas imaginable. Deep down inside, I’m still the little boy who spent all his money on comic books, as soon as he could. Who read about the Professor, Wolverine and wished, someday, the good guys would win over the bad guys.
Unfortunately, it’s easy as an adult to forget how much *fun* it was playing with toys. Magical. Delightful. As a child, I played with He-men, with Transformers, dressed like a Pirate, a Super Hero. Dreamed.
At some point, the dreams left and then the career took over. Business became business, not fun. Those dreams remained buried, deep inside. When my own children started to grow up, and especially these last few years, watching, yearning to be with them. Not being able to bask in their glow, to watch them become men. It’s frustrating to be a remote controlling parent and trust me, the wish I have most inside is to hug my children once more. To hear them laugh, to be made fun of, to hear them tell me, “It’s okay.”
Comfort. Security. The idea that their identity or mine, could be stolen at the drop of a hat concerns me greatly. I have two unique, special and precious children. We come from different countries, but they are mine and I am theirs. Their father, and like any father, I want the very best for them. It’s a bit tough to compete as a man in the “badge,” arena when you have humble beginnings to your own story and have always felt a tiny, gnawing insecurity inside.
“Am I good enough?” I asked, earlier. Before I knew, I’d wonder. That wondering, that gnawing doubt, I allowed inside, it took hold, root and grew. Suddenly, I lifted my head up, lost, unable to remember where I was or worse, *how* I had arrived.
We’re all good enough to be fathers, otherwise, we’d never have been able to make children
Flaws, mistakes, rough edges and more are what make us special, unique. If we all made the right decision, the right call, all the time, we wouldn’t be human. We’d be gods. So as a father, with the flaws I own, with every imperfection inherent in every imperfect cell of my flawed from the beginning body…if I’m qualified to be a father, if any human being is qualified to reproduce, we all are qualified.
It sounds corny to write that, or even think it. But, it’s true. I know every parent I’ve ever met has asked themselves that question, and now, I know, it’s doubt. Pessimism. I’m good enough to have made children, and I love them. I expect their flaws, and I expect their pain. I am going to share their tears and their triumphs. Relish in their glory, their accomplishments and achievements. Small, large, relevant to my life or outside of my comfort zone, their outcomes are their own.
I’m just here to give what advice I may, because I love them, while we’re both on the same spinning, floating ball in outer-space, the third rock from the Sun, in the Milky Way. It’s a big, wide, massive universe out there.
What if hope, what if love, what if that unique gift we all share, to be human, to be flawed, really is the answer we’ve been searching for?
Have you ever wondered how ugly we all look compared to the aliens? We’re not humans, after all. We’re Earthlings