By Adam Park
I was driving my only son (he has three sisters) to his first day of high school. He’s 14 years old, demoted from the top of the totem pole in middle school to the bottom of the high school pole. He looked nervous, as anyone would when entering a new phase of life. He was silent..
In our culture, it’s safe to say that friends don’t talk much. My son and I communicate better than that stereotype, but there is still some truth to it. Every now and then, we hide in what we call “dude island”—not a place, but a state of mind. We watch sports, play video games or hit some golf balls. Away from the rest of the family, the one we loved, but… was not the man. That was enough. That was nice. That was Dude Island.
As we neared the school, he broke the comfortable silence.
“Dad. At my graduation party. You and me. MMA style. In the backyard.”
I remember the first time I spanked my father. I was in eighth grade and already passed him in height. Still I’m shocked. From that moment on, I saw him a little differently. He was no longer invincible.
I laughed and agreed to the conflict—set four years in the future. Then I kissed him on the forehead and sent him to school.
Neither of us had such strategic attributes. in gender roles, so I felt like I understood what was behind her challenge. And I was okay with it.
Actually, I like it.
He stared ahead, imagining a bigger, stronger version of himself. I’m a big guy, and he knew he couldn’t match me at 14. But he sees a future where he can be.
Almost four years have passed, and none of us have forgotten. Once, en route to a tournament somewhere along the Ohio Turnpike, he reminded me of our agreement. I looked at the athlete next to me and realized that he was in his ‘rising season’, while I was inevitably on the decline.
After some introspection I told him, “I’ll be disappointed in you if I beat you, and I’ll be disappointed in myself if I don’t make at least one good showing.”
This spring, my son will graduate from high school. She is the captain of her team, an honor roll student, a volunteer at both the hospital and preschool, and she wants to be a doctor.
He is an amazing kid. Better than me at her age. Hell, better than me now.
I sometimes ask some questions of my own choice. I notice excess weight. I feel years.
But I’m okay with him being better than me.
Actually, I enjoy it.
Isn’t that the goal? Raise people who surpass us? Do we leave things better than them? Campsite rules, applied to life.
Our match is a few weeks later. Wish me luck. I hope I don’t throw my behind. I hope I can put on a good show.
And if I lose I know it will be against a worthy opponent.
Previously published Men Living
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