Changing Priorities

I talked to Pop-Pop on the phone today. Nana and Jama were napping before it was time to deliver food to the homeless along the Route 1 corridor. We chatted about my son, and tried to work out some logistics. Shane is going to be visiting tomorrow, so that Carrie and I can attend Igor and Casey's wedding.

Pop-Pop isn't going to be there.

"By this time tomorrow, I hope to be scrubbing a toilet in Seattle," Pop-pop said.

Pop-Pop is flying out to Seattle to visit a relative with Alzheimer's who may not even remember he exists. While there, he is going to clean up the relative's apartment even if he has to pose as the "cleaning guy." If Pop-Pop doesn't go out there, this relative could lose his apartment and end up on the streets or who knows where.

How's that for a servant's priorities?



I remember as a kid, I thought of my dad as "Mr. Perfect." He was always working, and I thought he enjoyed it. He would work long hours, make big bucks, come home late, and then work more. It wasn't always work for his job when he got home, though. It seemed like Pop-Pop had a clue on how to fix just about anything. If something broke, he'd patch it up. To top it all off, Pop-Pop was (and is) super-organized. When I moved out, he gave me a box full of papers that included medical receipts from my early early childhood.

As a teenager, I figured he was everything I was not.

I was an ADHD mess organizationally, I wanted to "Work to live. Not live to work," and I was far more interested in worlds of science fiction and fantasy than anything remotely school related. I figured I'd never be as financially successful as Pop, and I had no desire to be. He was a star student, and I did my best to find the minimum level of achievement where I could avoid being grounded.

I understand my father much more now. It is not that I felt we ever had a particularly bad relationship. It is funny how priorities and thinking change.

A burden born for a loved one is a purpose. Love and a purpose motivates. Pop worked hard to provide for his family as I aim to work hard to provide for mine.

Growing up, there are two things you can learn from your parents: what you want to emulate and what you don't want to.

One of the big turning points in how I view my father was wrestling. Pop always played sports with me and supported me on little league teams as a kid, but around 5th or 6th grade I stopped playing. 7th and 8th grade was around the time Pop started traveling the world more for Mobil. In 9th grade, I decided to try out for wrestling.

The decision was 100% my own. I had tried it in 7th grade PE, had a passing interest and after talking to a friend, Larry, we decided to at least attend an interest meeting.

Pop was thrilled. I did not know at the time that he also wrestled in high school. From that point on, Pop was at every match. Any match he couldn't make was videotaped. He would pick me up from practice every day and we'd often get Roy Rogers on the way home. Pop was my biggest supporter. I didn't always understand why he 'loved' working so much, but I knew without a doubt he loved his family.

Pop always made a point of driving the 'worst' car in the family. The newest car went to Nana. Anything less safe to cruise around in went to a kid until it came down to whatever beater Pop drove. It's not that he could afford less. He just had other priorities. If Nana had wanted anything, he would have written the check (and did once to ease a move to Beaumont), but material things weren't something he craved. Nowadays, the IRS likes to audit him, because he donates and tithes an abnormally large portion of his income. Retirement has given way to less paid work and more Kingdom work (and let's not forget Shane-care...Carrie and I would be sunk without Nana and Pop's help!).

This is a hard piece for me to write, because it's hard to sum up a three decade relationship in one sitting. There were times when I really made Pop mad (and boy does his voice boom and carry through walls then). There are other hilarious memories of Pop, Uncle Kevin, and Uncle Dennis going on dunking sprees at the pool (while all of us children tried to take out their legs and up-end them). There are times when I thought Pop was dead wrong and I was 100% right. I've changed my stance on some of those times since (hindsight and growing up are a witch) and on others I have not. (What can I say? I am my father's son, but we're not the same person!).


I wonder how Shane will view me growing up. What will he think of my work ethic? What will he think of my standards? What will he think of my faith and world view? What will he think of plain old me?

If Shane were to write a similar post about me when he turns 30 what will he write?


Hopefully, he will say what I can say about Pop: I have a good father.

I believe I have big shoes to fill to walk in Pop's footsteps.

Ironically, I'm sure Pop would tell you the same thing about his father, Grandpa Vern. I come from a line of dedicated family men that I hope I can follow.