Being surpassed

I fondly recall the years I spent learning to play racquetball with my dad; we spent Saturday afternoons down at the rec centre chasing a bouncy blue ball around a large court.  He let me win every now and then to fan the spark of interest while I improved, but by the time I started to earn a few real wins, they were coming farther between because I was making him work.

We eventually switched to playing squash - a faster, better game in my opinion - and he started to beat me there, too.  It wasn't long before I outstripped him and I spent a couple years paying for lessons and took part in upwards of half a dozen tournaments a year around the province.  I got kinda good.  It's been more than two years now since I last played.  I miss it.

Lessons learned from Dad were by and large indirectly acquired through our interaction.  Annual fishing trips up north taught my brother and me the appropriate context in which to curse, for example.  The more emotional, direct, intentional lessons were taken from our mother.  Having split parents, and looking back now, that was a balance of sorts.

Tough but fair play was what I took away from the court with my dad.  I remember trying so hard to beat him one day that I ended up drenched in sweat and slumped against the wall of the court, huffing into a paper bag he had to run fetch because I couldn't stop hyperventilating.  I like to think he wouldn't let me win that one because I was pushing him to his limit then and he could see the torch being passed outside of his volition.  Last grasp and all that.

I'm already looking forward to being surpassed by my own sons in whatever endeavours we share.  A sense of anticipation I wouldn't have even comprehended a year ago.  I am suffused by a premature swelling of pride at the thought that I will be contributing to the excellence of their development into fine young men.  Which, combined with the concomitant apprehension of so much responsibility, makes for an interesting roller coaster ride.

A walking and (sort of) talking toddler induces me to speculate further into the future each time I'm given pause.  I mean, my heart lurched a little this past week when Declan burst out in hysterical laughter every time he successfully "keeked" a ball in the backyard.  How am I going to feel when I find out first hand that he can run faster than me?

It's a strange sensation, but those two small people are the only ones I can think of that I WANT to be faster, smarter and better than I am.  There's a father's ego at work right there.

Comments

[marian]

Today I was going to put up a fathering post I'd written a couple days ago (tis the season), but instead I'm still working through some stuff from yesterday. I might throw it up there later, though.

Anyway, I have loved seeing Max surpass me. It's a little wistful sometimes, but mostly it adds to the old bursting heart phenomenon. I've also felt kind of lame at times, like when I absolutely cannot fathom what he's doing in math and chemistry. He tries to explain and my face goes all blank and I start drooling.

Interesting that you call it a "a father's ego" — food for thought there.

[TerriTorial]

Thought provoking my friend. Very well said.

[rick]

As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth amd truth;
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these parts, do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store:
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give
That I in thy abundance am sufficed
And by a part of all thy glory live.
Look, what is best, that best I wish in thee;
This wish I have; then ten times happy me!

Sonnet XXXVII, from good old Shakers- who was a father too.

[fv]

It is a poor student who does not surpass their master.

[Grampa]

Great story on the racquetball and squash Si, but the tales of Gypsy Lake, ; The One That Got Away, May 17/05; is a real eye opener. Being the first time I have read it, it literally brought tears to my eyes. I had always hoped that those trips would stay in your memories for the rest of your lives. They are chiselled in stone in my head. We must give thanks to the God of fishing; Zen; for introducing us to a life changing place such as Gypsy. As for the teaching of my grandsons in the fine arts of fishing and cussing, I will be there to lead the way. Maybe it is finally time to quit smoking. Thanks for the kick in the ass.

[Grampa]

P.S. - Remember when the three of us would wrestle on the lawn until we were all exhausted. If you recall, that kind of roughhousing ended when Dad started loosing to his first born. I may be dumb, but I am not stupid.

[Mark]

Speaks volumes to me, that's for sure.

My dad taught me photography, and I continued it after leaving his house. I will never forget the first time he hung an enlargement of one of my photos on his wall. It's still there.

I hope, like you, that I pass things on to my son at which he can (and wants to) excel.