The Circle of Life

I took my kids fishing for their very first time just recently. My son had been begging me to take him so he could use his new pole that Grandma and Grandpa got him. My daughter received one too, so of course, she was ready to join in the experience.
I ran down the road and picked up my fishing license and a few supplies, and raced back to the cabin, knowing that both kids were overwhelmed with anticipation. We packed up our stuff. Worms. Tackle box. Poles. Basket. "Ready Dad?" "Ready Grandpa?" Off we went, the four of us side by side, walking down the worn gravel road next to the lake. We come to the little wooden dock behind the lodge, and the kids can't take it anymore. They run. Poles in hand, life jackets strapped around their chests, they climb up onto the dock and wait for me to catch up.  After an argument of who gets to put their worm on first, I get all three of us baited up and ready to go.
I start with my son, Tony. First I teach him how everything works. What to do when the bobber goes under. How you reel it in. The basics. After a 5 minute crash course and a quick game of 20 questions, we toss his line out into the water. And he waits.
Kaylee's turn. She's a couple years older, so of course, wants to do it all by herself. "WHACK!" She tries casting  out her line only to fail to release the button. The hook and bobber whip around in circles, crash against the metal railing of the dock, miss the side of my head by a mere 2 inches, and finally crash to the dock beneath us. "Oops," she says with a smile.  After another 5 minute crash course and a couple more questions she's finally ready to toss her line in the water. Just as she's tossing out her line I see Tony's bobber dive underwater and swim to the opposite shore. "Tony, reel it in!" shouts Grandpa. He gives it a quick jerk and reels as fast as his little hands can maneuver the reel. He pulls it up. A Bluegill. He looks at the fish, looks at me, and smiles. I don't know who was expressing more pride at that moment, him or myself. The look on his face after pulling in his first fish, will forever be engraved in the back of mind. "Good job son, Dad's proud of you."
Just as I'm taking the fish off his hook, I see Kaylee's bobber head towards the opposite shore. She of course is talking to the people next to her and trying to make sure she looks as cute as she possibly can. "Kaylee, reel it in.! She struggles at first, not exactly an athletic girl, but she tries hard. After a minute or so, she manages to pull in the fish. A bluegill. "Daddy, Look!"  Her first fish. I'm overwhelmed with emotion, trying not to show it, as there are other people fishing around us. My Dad moves over and helps her take off her fish. I watched. And remembered.   He taught me how to fish. The memories of fishing with my father are priceless to me, and to share that moment with him was more than I could ever ask for.
We fished for hours. The kids managed to catch quite a few more fish. In fact we filled the basket. Of course when it was time to clean the fish the kids were no where to be found. But that's ok. They did exactly what I wanted them to do. They had fun. I hope 20 years from now, when either of them are sitting on that dock with their kids, I can be there to watch. And I hope, they will always remember their first fish with Dad.
 The circle of life, will never cease to amaze me.

Motivation

It's something I've been lacking lately. It used to be a driving force in my life. I was always motivated. I wanted a promotion. I wanted to lose weight. I wanted a nicer car. I was motivated to be successful, and I did it. But something lately has taken over my mind and body. Call it laziness. Complacency. Maybe just boredom. But deep down in my soul, I've lost my motivation.  I've stopped going to the gym. In fact, lately looking in the mirror I've noticed I look like a tired, middle aged man with a beer gut. Not a 26 year old up and coming store manager with the largest drug store chain in the nation. I should be energized, confident, and happy. I feel bored.
I sit back and try to think of the things that used to motivate me. My kids. There is my motivation. Why isn't it enough lately? Why does even a trip to the park seem like a daunting task?
Fear of failure. I used to be terrified that I'd never get to where I wanted to be in life. Never be out of debt. Never drive a new car. Never be able to pay for the kids' college tuition.  I'm not even close to being able to do any of that right now, but I'm on the right track.
I'm bored. Not of my life, but the challenges. I have a gorgeous wife, 3 beautiful kids, and an amazing family that is always there for support. But I feel unchallenged. I'm complacent at work. "Same shit, different day." I hate being that guy. I'm supposed to be the leader there. I need more. I need to be told that I'm doing great. I need to be told that I need to improve. Something. I need a challenge.
At home I'm lazy. And Kristen if you are reading this I sincerely apologize for the past couple of weeks. I'm struggling, but I promise I will figure it out. I need a project at home. Something to get excited about. I think it's time to start on the garage. "The Man Cave."
I'm bored with myself. I need a change. Not a new hair color or new wardrobe. It's time to get in shape. Time to feel good about the guy looking back at me in the mirror. For so long it was easy to say, "maybe next week. I'll wait till I find someone to go with." So far all I've gotten from that is a larger waistline. It's time to find my own challenges. Materialistic motivation was good for the younger, immature, cocky 21 year old who first started out. 5 years later, and that stuff just doesn't get the job done. I have to stop whining.  It's time to blaze some trails. Time to find myself. Time, to get off my ass, and live.

Father's Pride

As I'm holding you in my arms, I realize how much you've grown. Soon you'll be a child, a boy, a man. It only takes a moment, before the days of innocence are lost. I think about all of the things you must learn, or I must teach you, before you cross into the unforgiving grip of reality, and face the world on your own.

I will teach you how to walk, and swim, and ride a bike. We'll play catch, roast marshmallows, and fish till it's dark. I'll tell you stories of my past. You'll tell me plans for your future. We'll take trips, and see old friends, and keep secrets from your mother. While these moments may stand still, the clock keeps on ticking.

I can't wait for basketball games. I'll teach you everything I know. We'll put up a hoop in the driveway, and a light to lead the way. Your mom will call you in to eat, I'll convince her just 10 minutes more. I'll watch from the window as you practice, critiquing your every move. In the end I'll just smile, your just like me in every way.

I'll do my best to guide you son. I hope I don't let you down. I'll always tell you the truth, no matter the pain it might cause. I want you to stand up for what's right, and have faith in what you believe. I'll teach you right from wrong, and forgive you for your mistakes. I can only hope when all is said and done, that you have learned as much from me, as I will learn from you.

Time will tell the job I've done. One day you'll be on your own. A job. A family. A place to call home. The need for my approval will slowly fade away, as the choices you make, are of yours and yours alone.
As I'm holding you now in my arms, I realize how much you've grown. Time stands still for no man. I just wish, it would slow down.

Gone Fishing

I'll never forget the excitement, and anticipation of a fishing trip with my Dad. Every year, Dad, Uncle Carroll, Uncle Kelly, and myself traveled north a few hours up to Fairbault, MN to escape the challenges of everyday life. A lot of kids my age at that point in time would want nothing to do with a trip like this. 4 days spent with your Dad and family members trapped on a boat in the middle of a lake with nothing to do but talk. Me? I loved it. I looked forward to it. I miss it.

We never got up too early. We always stayed up too late. There were days we would hardly fish, and some when we would fill the buckets. There was one thing guaranteed. Laughter. I remember laughing myself to tears listening to stories of Dad and Carroll growing up. Meeting "the locals" in the cabins next door. Exploring new bars and restaurants in "downtown" Fairbault. And of course, having a beer with your Dad for the first time.

We haven't gone on a trip in many years. I'd be interested to explore our old stomping grounds now. See what's changed, what's stayed the same. Dad and I always talk about taking a few trips and "getting  back" into fishing. Maybe this is the year. Maybe it's time. Maybe, it's long overdue.

Just another Monday

It's 6:30. Light has yet to peak through the blinds in my bedroom. My alarm is ringing and my wife starts to stir next to me.  Another 10 minutes maybe...."Wake up Josh, get the kids up and ready."  My heart sinks to my stomach, and I realize..it's Monday. I hate, Mondays.

"Wake up baby girl. It's time for school." Another 10 minutes maybe... "Up and dressed let's go!" They scramble from the bed to the kitchen table. Breakfast. Check. Dressed. Check. Teeth brushed. Check. Coats, hats, gloves, shoes. Check. "Ready Daddy!" My heart sinks further. It's time to go.

We start our journey, hot cup of coffee in hand. "Can you turn it up Daddy?" Katy Perry is on the radio. She loves Katy Perry. As if Monday's weren't bad enough. My mind wanders as we make the trek through the back roads of northwest Iowa. The kids are singing and dancing in the backseat, while I struggle through the first scalding hot sips of gas station coffee. My chest feels tight. It's hard to smile this morning. Hard to breathe. More coffee.

"Park over there Daddy!"  I hear the recess bell ring as we get out of the car. She struggles with her backpack and races towards the front doors. He grabs my hand and tries to move me along. I look around and notice all of the other parents dropping their children off at school. I wonder if they hate Mondays as much as I do. I wonder how many of them, have the same sickening feeling in their stomach as I do. The second bell rings. She puts her stuff in her locker and starts gabbing with her friends. I stand across the hall, listening to the anticipation in her voice, so excited to start another week. She turns to run into the room. As I grab my son's hand and turn to leave, I hear her voice. "Daddy!"  I turn around and run right into the waiting arms of the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. "I love you Daddy. I'll miss you."  She disappears into the classroom, skipping the entire way. One down. One to go. More coffee.

Back in the car, Bruno Mars is rattling the change in the cup holder. My son sings along and moves his head to the beat. I pull into the driveway. Get out of the car Josh, I think to myself.  It's time. He grabs my hand and leads me up the steps to the door. We're greeted by the sound of kid's laughing and music playing. Hat. Check. Gloves. Check. Coat. Check. I feel his tiny arms wrap around my legs. "I love you Daddy. See you later." "Love you Buddy. Be good."

Back in the car. Silence. The radio is off. There's no singing. No dancing. No backseat driving. I sit in the driveway, finish the last of my coffee, and stare around the car at the empty seats. 7 days. 7 days before the next Monday. 7 days before I have to make the journey through northwest Iowa. 7 days, before I have to feel the sting of letting go again. Sunglasses. Check. Seat belt. Check. Coffee.  I'm out of coffee. I hate, Mondays.

Getting Started

Once again inspired by my mother's ambition, here I am, blogging. There are so many things that have happened the past 3 years, I feel the need to create room in my mind. The memories of triumph and failure. Disappointment and regret. Pride and satisfaction. All have stared me in the face lately. All have challenged me to keep evolving.

I'm a first time husband, 3rd time Dad, first time uncle, and forever grateful son. Each of these has brought it's own challenges, which is why I'm starting this blog. If not for other people to read, maybe to convince myself of reality...