It's Always
Darkest Before the Dawn

My mood was as dark as the pre-dawn skies, fueled by my son’s defiant behavior and another sleepless night. Both he and I had retired the night before, hoping that a “time out” from one another would improve our ability to communicate. We were wrong. Not only had the gulf between us grown our opposing fortress walls seemed to have strengthened. Now, not only were we individuals with differing points of view, we were enemies at war, lobbing threats like mortars and sniping personal attacks with intent to kill. Other family members were careful to stay out of the line of fire. No one slept.

I leaned with my back against the wall and closed my eyes. I was losing. No matter how hard I tried to remain calm and explain my point of view I could tell my words were bouncing like stones off of hardened steel.

Honestly, I wasn’t calm. I felt angry. I felt hurt. I was scared and tired. My son struggled with a critical age and I knew it. Fifteen. I was fifteen once. Working with young men through Scouts and other youth programs, I had watched many decide the road their life would take at or near this pivotal age. I could feel my son going through this process and it wasn’t looking good. Some of the choices he was making ran the risk getting him caught up in the judicial system. It seemed to me that this had become a deciding moment. What happened next would have a lasting impact. Doing nothing was not an option.

Frequently when looking back on our lives, we can point to a moment in time when something happened that set our life’s course for years to follow. Often when they occur it is only in hindsight we say, “That event changed my life.” Sometimes we recognize them for what they are when they occur. This was the latter. I knew I had to get it right.

I called a cease-fire. It was answered with silence. The house grew quiet. My son rearmed and hunkered down for the next volley. We both were losing. My strategy up to this point was failing and I furiously tried to empty my mind so I could think clearly. I needed help. I slowly slumped to the floor and began a silent prayer. They say there are no atheists in the trenches and this definitely felt like war. I had nowhere else to turn.

Slowly a new approach formed in my mind. “Give him a true expression of your love,” it said. At first the concept seemed absurd. For me to express my love, I would have to completely disarm and forget my own pain. I would have to break down my own defensive walls then step across the gulf between us, climb over his fortress wall, reach down into his fox hole, all while risking additional injury to my pride and potential rejection. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to do it.

Silent moments passed by while I generated the courage to attempt what was sure to be a self-serving ego suicide. Finally I stood and walked towards my son; he braced as if expecting to be injured. Reaching out I put my arm around his shoulder. He was tense; cold and hard like a stone. Time passed, “Nick, I love you more than anything.” I whispered.