I was four years old when my father left. I did not see him again until I was eight when I flew to Houston TX for a visit. I have very few memories of that trip, but one memory has stuck with me all these years. After a very awkward meeting at the airport my father asked me if I was hungry and where I'd like to eat. As an eight year old there was really only one answer to that question...McDonalds. As we drove back to his house I remember him pulling into a restaurant that I had never seen before called Arby's. I remember him reassuring me that I would really like it, but I remember thinking "this is definitely not McDonalds." Even at eight years old it did not escape me that after seeing his son for the first time in years my father's first act was to go to the restaurant that HE wanted. Years later my mom would tell me that Arby's was always his favorite restaurant.
I think of this memory often and I can honestly say I don't think it's out of some deep resentment for my father. Rather I think it has more to do with this scary fact: you see, I can honestly say, that as a grown man my favorite restaurant is also Arby's. It's a scary fact to me because it reminds me that in some almost mystical way, even though I've only spoken with him a handful of times since I was four, I am my father's son.
Like my father I am pulled to put my wants and desires above that of my children or any other person for that matter. At times I feel like a wagon that has gone up and down a road so many times my wheels have worn deep grooves. When I stop and look back I see those grooves stretching back for miles and miles, generations and generations. Only through some extraordinary act of strength can I jump out of those grooves, and then only for a time. I always seem to end up back where it is the most comfortable for ME. I am my father's son.
But I don't think that is the end of the story. I have other memories too. I remember sitting in a park on a summer day as a total stranger told me about a God who sent his Son and was murdered for me, and that there was nothing I could do to repay that, but all He wanted was to live with me. I remember asking that God several days later what I had to do to feel closer to Him and hearing for the first time a still small voice say "you need to know I will never do to you what your father did." I remember reading in a book that because of what Jesus did I had the right to be called a child of God. I have memories of another Father.
But the grooves remain and the question that hounds me is: who am I? Am I my father's son or am I my Father's son? Pray it is the latter.
My Father's son.