I don't think that a father ever completely trusts his kids. Which is just another way of saying that a father never really trusts himself. When we leave our children alone without our supervision, we take with us the enormous fear and guilt of what we did when our parents left us alone. We remember how we lied to them when they went away on their vacations, and we remember how we might have nearly burned the life they built down around us as we tested the limits of our freedom. But we also remember how responsible we became in the absence of their policing, what we did to protect their trust, and how tenacious we became - as tenacious as dogs guarding the gates of a castle - when we realized we were in charge and had to take care of what they had trusted to us. It is that remembrance that gives us hope that our children will carry on famously, making the world a better place, after we're gone.
I know my children are lying to me while I’m away this week. Maybe it’s just a few little lies, but they are doing things they’d rather not tell me about and that I’m not sure I’d want to know about if they did. “Dad, we had a party with 40 or 50 of our closest friends and about midnight we thought it would be awesome to drag race down Main Street with your car.” Thanks, but I’d rather you kept that to yourself. “Dad, we took so many long hot showers that the water heater finally exploded and it flooded the basement; it’s alright though because we found the money you kept hidden and had it all taken care of.” Okay, Okay, just keep it to yourself. “Dad, my best friend had a tiny little problem with the police and we let her hide out in the attic for a few days - don’t worry, though, because when the police searched the house they didn’t find her.” Thanks kids, I’m so of proud you for helping a friend, but I don’t really want to know any more about it.
Do I really think my kids are doing any of these things? We’ll no, probably not. But they could be. God knows, I did.
At the same time, however, I know my three daughters would rip down an iron door or lift a car up off its axels if they felt that any harm was coming to us, our home or either of their sisters. I’ve already seen little traces of it on this trip away. The late night phone call we got from my middle daughter when the bank called our home to report suspicious activities on our credit card and she could not convince them to unblock it. The way the oldest is caring for her little sister: cooking for her, tenderly getting her hair in a bun for ballet class, making sure she is picked up from school on time each day and getting her to bed on time each night. The voice of my youngest when she asks us about each detail of our days here in Paris, eager to get us to see we should not worry about her so we can joyously relive what she clearly wants to be the best days of our lives. Yes, it is thrilling to see them carring for us and carrying on without us; it infuses me with the feeling that I have done my job.
So how do I reconcile the lies they might tell me? Well I look at it this way. If I never left them alone, they’d never have the chance to lie to me. And if they never lied, they would never learn the limits of their own freedom. It’s a simple equation really - lying equals learning, and the more you lie the more you learn about the truth.
On top of that, each time they lie to me it shows me that they still need me, if only a little. And, since I’m slowly becoming a selfish old crank who would keep my kids around me forever if I could, I like that they need me just a little bit more when I’m way from home then when I’m there. I really do like that.
Daddy bug, daddy bug
Fly away home
Your house is on fire
And your children are alone
They need you, they need you
Oh yes they do
So fly home from Paris
Cause you need them too
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