To be a parent is to live in a constant cacophony of emotion.

The intense joy and fierce protectiveness when you hold your newborn. The exasperation of managing a toddler. The hopefulness as your little boy hits his first single. The inner pain as she shows you her bloody knee. The perplexity of childhood rivalries and shifting loyalties. Confusion, ecstasy, disappointment, anxiety, self-recriminations, pride, grief, fun…every day is a ride with unpredictable twists and turns.

And, <irony> best of all </irony> - there’s no way you can prepare for it, no way you can be adequate, no way you can have the wisdom you need until you’ve pretty much run through the gamut. You can’t possibly be ready for this jumble.

Well, generations before us have taken the plunge, often at a much earlier age and with far greater disadvantages. All other risks and adventures pale in comparison.

Growing up isn’t just for the kids. It’s for us at the same time. Embrace the jumble. It’s yours whether you planned for it or not!

Confession: I’ve never had much use for cheerleaders.

Anything that smacks of efforts to whip up the crowd has always earned an instinctive disdain. Maybe I have emotional issues. Whatever.

Last week, however, I had the privilege of sitting next to a mother who was, in a very genuine sense, a cheerleader for her children. As a Dad, I was fascinated and richly encouraged.

Getting onto the flight to Chicago, I was preceded by a Mom shepherding her two young boys onto the jetway. Turns out she was stuck next to me while her boys were across the aisle (same row). When you’re a parent, you immediately notice well-behaved kids. I noticed.

I also couldn’t help noticing the bright and cheerful disposition of their mother. All thoughts of perusing the reading material I had stashed away for the flight soon disappeared as we were immersed in conversation the entire way to the Windy City.

This radiant and enthusiastic lady was an authentic cheerleader for her kids. Her actions and disposition toward them were like a breath of fresh seaside air. She loved her husband, her boys, and her role as a Mom. When I told her my wife and I had 5 boys, she make a very sincere cheerleader-like gesture and exclaimed, “You rock!!!”

Little did I realize how much I needed that simple cheer!

In the row ahead of us was a mother having a very difficult time controlling her child. The contrast was unmistakable.

I need to be a better cheerleader, a more encouraging coach, a teammate out on the field with my boys.

Dads can learn an awful lot about being better Dads…from Moms. And maybe we all need a little cheering on to rock it better!

Sometimes, as my kids get older, I find myself fast-forwarding to what I hope to tell them later.

When they’re ready. Like, when they cross the threshold and become parents themselves.

This is what came to mind this morning:

When you have your own little ones, your job is…

- to give them legs strong enough for the long haul.

- to make their arms sturdy enough to provide for themselves (and others).

- to nurture their innate abilities in whatever positive direction that leads.

- to mold their minds into the path of knowledge AND wisdom.

- to shape their hearts to be both tender enough to read others’ pain, and stout enough to bear their own.

- to stiffen their spine to stand up for themselves and for others who need them.

- to never give up seeking to model all of the above, no matter how feebly and imperfectly.

That is the exhilaratingly painful privilege - the joyous responsibility - of being a parent. It was my parents’ role, and my role, and now the torch is passed to you.

It’s your true legacy.

One of the viral pieces of news in the past couple of weeks was the tongue-in-cheek site Please Rob Me, underscoring the potential consequences of broadcasting your location (such as, not being at home!) too broadly on social media. You know, inviting bad guys to break in while you’re Four-Squaring at the mall…

Well, right now I’m more concerned about a different kind of digital invasion. Namely, as parents – how do we encourage the responsible use of digital media by our kids while preventing “screen addiction?”

We still have 3 boys at home – 2 teens and an 8-year old. We have TiVo (so glad to no longer be subject to broadcast schedules and commercials!) and Netflix on-demand; a family iMac with all the usual web destinations a click away; a Wii; and each kid has an age-appropriate handheld device.

We’re really not big TV watchers, and my kids aren’t sedentary couch potatoes, but let’s face it – all this stuff can be an endless parade of sight and sound that is an easy default (instead of, say, walking the dog, exercising, reading books – all that boring analog stuff!).

Even Dad has to be reminded at times to put away his iPhone (ahem!).

Now, we don’t want to be rigid and spin out all sorts of rules and timetables and impossible-to-enforce schedules, but at the same time, we need to build SOME fences around this stuff so that it does not overwhelm us entirely. For instance, on the iMac, each child has an account, with a preset time allotment of one hour per day. But that’s just one of the digital conduits!

I’m betting all of you who are parents are struggling with this. How do you handle it (apart from, say, moving to Lancaster County and joining the Amish)? What’s working for your kids/family? Have you figured out strategies to allow healthy use without feeling like you’ve walked onto the set of the Invasion of the Family Snatchers? Please share in the comments!

(Image credit – no, not my kids, but very cute!)

Those three words are still echoing in my mind and heart. They only brushed past my ear for a few milliseconds, but the vibration of them continues, an acoustic double-espresso of emotional energy.

“Love you, Dad!” Tossed over his shoulder as one of my adult sons headed out.

A simple phrase, really. Easy to tune out or even brush off. Until your kids grow up, that is.

Thinking back, the “I love you’s” flow easily when the kids are young. Then they get older, and it’s not so cool to say it. What was once common becomes rare, replaced by the silent hope that it’s still true. The unspoken is now taken for granted.

You get used to near-silence after a while - uncomfortably reconciling yourself to a season of affections assumed, though your ears miss the words even as your eyes interpret the almost imperceptible gestures. You were there, once, some years back - you know how young men keep it in check. Especially when their budding independence comes up against your not-quite-so-confident-anymore leadership.

Then, as they leave the cocoon into the responsibilities and privileges of adulthood, their parents seem to undergo a metamorphosis as well. No longer a mere “bad cop” figurehead at the helm of a prison ship, or some retro dunce from another planet, those parents transform into human beings again.

Mom and Dad again.

And every “Love you, Dad!” rings that much louder. Makes the moment that much brighter. Means more than the young man can possibly know.

Fame, titles, riches - they all have their place. A pretty distant second place, overall. Every “Love you, Dad!” is pure gold.

It was a young man looking clearly into my eyes this morning.

Back from a successful 3 months at boot camp, being forged into a United States Marine. Completing a month off to see family and friends over the holidays. Now having the final Dad-breakfast of this chapter of his young life, before heading out tonight for advanced training and a career going who-knows-where in coming years.

It was a young man across the table. So short a time ago, a little tow-headed boy. Now, a strong-jawed Marine, quite a sight when in his dress blues. We looked into the future together, with both confidence and excitement.

For years, we held him close…with the ultimate parental goal of finally letting go.

And as we had a last talk to cap off this stage of the father-son relationship, it was a young man who was thinking responsibly. Aware of his duties, and of the needs of others. Someone for whom I always felt deep love, but now, another, very profound sense was emerging.

Respect. Mutual respect.

This boy had given us a run for our money. Growing him up was definitely not a trouble-free process. There was heartache and grief. But underneath all the teen folly, a young man was lurking, ready to shed the cocoon and fly.

We’re at the launch pad, and this one is fueled up and ready to go. It’s lift-off time. My heart is oscillating wildly with more emotions than I can even identify. My keyboard, even now, is stained with tears.

Go, David - Go. May God bless you.

Love, Dad

You’re never ready to have children.

You can’t be experienced enough, wise enough, wealthy enough, plan well enough…and if you think you are ready, then actually having them quickly disabuses you of that delusion!

You have the loving desire to invest in a new generation, and the rest of it you learn by doing. Ready or not.

After a while, perhaps, when the kids get older and start their metamorphosis into young adults, you may start feeling ready NOT to have these children anymore! The teens years can be exceptionally trying, and just when you thought you had this parenting gig down (during the relatively easy years of, say, ages 3-11), all kinds of twists and turns and detours rattle your sense that these (formerly) delightful little offspring are going to be ready for adult responsibilities. And for you…maybe that empty nest idea starts looking really good. If you can ever get these proto-adults ready for what’s coming.

If you have multiple children, you also find out that they don’t all become ready at the same pace. But your yearning is the same for each one - that they’ll have the raw ingredients, the responsibility and the mindset, to leave the nest and succeed at whatever they choose.

Next week, my #2 son begins basic training with the United States Marines. We’ve been through the agonizing years of wondering if/when he’d be prepared to shoulder “big-person” responsibilities. But, he made a commitment as he turned 18 to join the service, and since then, we’ve seen some major changes - changes that we’d labored long to bring about, but couldn’t seem to make happen. So as I finally realized last week, looking at my square-jawed and forward-looking son, that he was, indeed, READY, great relief flooded my heart. He isn’t going to stumble out of the nest and flutter to the ground. He’s going to stride forward confidently, head high and shoulders broad enough to be a man.

The bridge has been crossed.

And that’s the reward at the end of “Phase 1″ of this parenting adventure. When you can let go and say, “this one’s ready.” When your little daughter is suddenly a woman, when your little boy has transformed into a man. You know you had a huge part in it, but also, something mysterious is at work in their growing souls. Something strange and wonderful that, in its own time and its own way, finally makes them…grown up.

And ready.

I’m not a big fan of noise.

Some people seem to thrive on it. Loud music, crowded parties, auditory chaos. Not for me. A walk in the woods, a good book out on the deck, a one-on-one conversation with a friend - that’s how I roll.

But, I have kids. Five of them. Boys. And that means…noise. Lots of it!

Twenty+ years of noise (thus far), with about 11 more to go.

Of course, I love my kids, and I know that an inescapable part of the package is barely-controlled chaos. But as I get older, I find myself yearning for the mythical empty nest state, where things aren’t broken daily, bickering is someone else’s problem, and interruptions are chosen instead of imposed. Of course, at that point I’ll probably start to miss the whirlwind, and be demanding time with future grandchildren. Maybe I’ll yearn for some noise. But then again - maybe not.

I met a young married lady at an event this week and she has three boys, all under the age of five (one set of twins). She described the state of her house, from the moment the kids got up, as “airborne”! Perfect.

Truth be told, I secretly enjoy the liveliness (mostly). But I find myself trying to carve out little moments of escape, some safe harbors from the kaleidoscope of chaos. My RAM is beginning to fill up with sound files. My hard disk is getting fragmented. It’s just one of the job hazards of being a long-time parent, I guess - when you’re young, your signal-to-noise filtering capacity is greater. At this stage, I yearn for more signal, and a lot less noise!

I’m thankful that I have kids, and many would give their right arm to be in my shoes. But as all parents can attest - some days your bell gets rung one too many times by the percussions of parenting. The result: kid concussions! Punch drunk parents just looking for a little peace and quiet.

So, if you ever see me in a large group setting, looking ill at ease among the sound waves, do me a favor and lead me to a quiet corner for a chat. Or, if you want to come over and supervise the kids for a long weekend, that’s an offer that will be seriously considered! Finding a safe harbor from the aural maelstrom will always be much appreciated…!

(Image credit)

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