Now that we have established that, I can elaborate a bit. When I was growing up, I soon learned that, even though my Dad had more formal education than my Mom, it was difficult to beat Mom in a battle of wits. For most people, trying to debate Mom was like bringing a knife to a gun-fight. (She taught more than one Baptist minister to not say “Does anyone have anything else to share?”)

Mom also had a very well-developed sense of humor. Here, I will postulate that these two facts about my Mom are not coincidental, but have a causal relationship.

Kids are Funny

When my sons were very young, not longer after learning to speak, they wanted (like most kids) to tell jokes. Most likely, children watch adults sharing funny stories and want to participate in the process of making other people smile and laugh.

Typically, this begins with puns, and (not surprisingly, with my sons) that’s how things began with both of the boys. (To this day, we enjoy pun-fests that make normal people nauseous.) However, both of my sons quickly graduated from simple wordplay to more complex notions of “funny” pretty quickly.

My older son, when he was roughly 8 or 9, was riding in the car with me on the way to the local mall. As we pulled up, he saw the sign below:

He looked at the sign and said, “The heads and the tails don’t match.”

I had driven by this sign countless times, but had never noticed this. “Wow… you’re right. They don’t match.”

Without any hesitation he said, “That’s a horse of a different color.”

For a moment, I pondered whether or not some demon had possessed the child sitting next to me. How in the world did he find that phrase, and somehow pull it into that context? How did he do this so quickly? How did I not think of it first?

My strongest memory of my younger son’s foray into humor was in the midst of a discussion about braking systems in the car. He was very young (probably 7 or 8), and wanted to understand how the brakes worked. I explained the behavior of the disc rotors, and how the calipers held the brake pads, and squeezed the rotor to slow it down. I even did some demonstrations by sliding some paper between his fingers as he squeezed, to show the action of the calipers.

After the discussion reached a level where he was satisfied that he understood, he asked, “Dad, do the calipers ever go bad?”

“Well,” I replied, “I guess they could. Why?”

He smiled and said, “Wouldn’t that make them ex-calipers?”

Yes, this joke was rooted in a fairly simple pun, but the setup he provided (that something gone bad might yield the prefix “ex”) showed that he was doing more than just noting words that had similar sounds or parallel meanings. He was using a joke to demonstrate understanding. Once more, I was annoyed that I hadn’t thought of the joke first.

“Funny You Should Say That”

Obviously, my wife and I never hesitated to make jokes in front of our sons, and so much of their attempts to be funny was simple mimicry. However, there were many occasions where one of the boys wouldn’t understand a joke, and would want an explanation of what made it funny. We never hesitated to explain those, even though they were sometimes more complex.

Over time, my sons both learned that all humor is rooted in two things: parallelism and surprise. The first component, parallelism, can have many forms, but ultimately says “This thing that you know over here? Well, if you put it over here just right, it fits too.” The second component, surprise, comes from how unrelated the parallel situations are. For example:

“Isn’t it ironic that the stationery store had to relocate?”

The parallel comes from the homophonic relationship “stationary” and “stationery.” (This, by definition, tends to make this a joke that works better when spoken than read.) The surprise of the joke comes from the reality that stores frequently relocate, so temporarily substituting “stationary” creates cognitive dissonance.

Humor as a Gateway to Education

How does all this relate to my assertion at the top that there is some kind of correlation between intelligence and humor? Here’s my take:

When my sons were small, and wanted to create their own jokes, they realized that they would have to look for parallels. As they did, the trial and error of joke telling taught them where the parallels applied, and where they didn’t. As they grew older and started to study the humor of others, they began to find other realms of knowledge that they could reference with humor. For example:

Son: “Hey… do you have any sodium bromide?”

Me: “Why would I have sodium bromide?”

Son: “Wrong answer Dad. You’re supposed to say ‘Na Bro.’”

(For the non-scientist, “NaBr” is the chemical designation for sodium bromide.)

Mind-maps and Parallels

If you’ve ever used mind-maps to take notes or organize your thoughts, you will appreciate the value of being able to spot parallels from different subject areas. When you are faced with an unfamiliar subject, one of the first tasks is to figure out the relationships between the various elements within that realm.

If, as you dig into a subject, you begin to see things that “feel familiar,” you can start to do some preliminary grouping and organizing of your mind map, based on a parallel that you already know. If a given pattern or parallel does not apply, your familiarity with the previous subject will make it quite clear where the disparity is, and will illuminate areas where the pattern works.

Holding Patterns and Pun & Games

As I’ve watched my sons move up through high school and off to college, one of the most notable of their characteristics is their ability to learn new subjects and adapt to new environments. I attribute this to their ability to hold and maintain the patterns of element relationships within a subject area, and transfer those patterns to new subjects they encounter. I’ve long since lost count of the number of times they’ve said something along the lines of, “So when I heard this, I immediately realized it was like ___.”

So the next time you’re making silly puns with your 7 year-old and teaching him or her to follow suit, don’t think of it as immature, childish fun. Instead, think of it as preparing them for a lifetime of learning.

That’s exactly what you’re doing.

We discussed a wide range of topics. Last night, while shopping, we’d discussed the design of intake systems for performance cars (the merits of hood scoops versus cold-air intakes). Today we talked of Facebook, parent-child relationships, and sexuality. In other words, just another typical conversation with one of my sons.

In the middle of his junior year of college and with his older brother married and living 90 miles East of us, you would think that I would be accustomed to my younger son being four hours-away. You would think that him being home for several weeks over the Christmas break wouldn’t create an intense sense of loss as I watched him drive away today. You would think I’d have seen this coming.

You would be wrong.

Mirror, mirror…

Both of my sons, for good or bad, look quite a bit like me. Just yesterday, when my younger son went to get his license renewed, someone who didn’t know him said, “Are you Tim’s son?” The family resemblance is strong enough that a friend of mine from high school, not having seen me for over twenty years, met my older son and immediately asked the same question. Both of my sons have heard “You look so much like your dad” that they’ve long since started to expect to hear it.

Today, as we sat and talked, I noticed that he was briefly distracted, watching someone intently as they walked from the drink dispenser back toward the counter. I turned to look. My son had been distracted by seeing a toddler step away from her mother at the drink dispenser, and wander off looking for her father.

I smiled to myself. The boys don’t just look like me.

“Pass the changing roles please…”

Several years ago, just prior to my father’s death, Dad came to live in our house. During those all-too-short months, some of the most remarkable experiences I had were our late-night conversations about theology. Dad, having been formally trained at a Southern Baptist Seminary, took great joy in wandering down lesser-travelled conversational paths in his search for the truth, and this became even more evident late at night when he would suddenly become unusually talkative.

During one of our more memorable conversations, we were discussing the Biblical story of Jesus and the woman caught in adultery (John 8:1-11). Dad looked at me thoughtfully and said, “Did you ever wonder what Jesus wrote on the ground?” He was speaking of verse 8, where Jesus writes something in the dirt with his finger, prompting the religious leaders that were about to stone the woman to drop the stones and walk away. Dad continued by saying, “I wonder if he wrote the name of a mistress of one of the men about to stone her, or maybe some other shameful secret that all of them knew.” We never came to any solid conclusions, but I loved having this kind of conversation with him.

Today, sitting across the table from my son, I asked him for his opinion of a project that I was considering. I asked because the project might be considered controversial to some of my theologically conservative friends, and I was concerned about the potential reflection it might have on our church, and who people perceive me to be.

He looked at me and said, “Well, I don’t remember Jesus worrying about spending too much time around prostitutes and tax collectors. It seems to me that he hung around with all sorts of people, and not just the religious ones.” The people in question aren’t prostitutes or tax collectors, but they’re definitely a group that most Christians spend little time on or with. As of now, I haven’t yet decided whether or not to take on the project, but I found my son’s comments thought-provoking, to say the least.

Life Shared vs Barter-dom

As I sat in my car, watching him drive away, I suddenly realized why my own father took such joy in such conversations. It wasn’t because he wanted to pass along some grand theological truth to me. In fact, I doubt that it mattered too much to Dad what it was we talked about.

Dad knew, as I’m beginning to understand, that being intimately connected to someone has little to do with the exchange of favors. We don’t create intimacy and love by saying “If you’ll do ____ for me, I’ll do _____ for you.” Sadly, many relationships are built on such bartering. I know of at least one couple that treats sex this way: “We can have sex if you’ll take out the garbage this week and help me get the house clean.”

Last weekend, my younger son turned 21, and I joked that now my parenting duties were complete. My friends reminded me that there were many more things left for me to take care of, not the least of which would be grandchildren. Even so, him reaching this age does mark an important milestone, and it caught me a bit off guard. He’s on a different road now.

Perhaps it’s my own feelings of mortality, but I was struck by wondering how many more of his birthdays would I be blessed to enjoy? How many more casual lunches would we have where we could pick and choose the topics randomly, completely unconcerned with the need to discuss a particular subject? How much more life would we share?

Road Scholar

Just before I backed out of the parking space and started to drive home, I posted on Facebook, “And just like that, he’s gone again.” I don’t know, as my son officially gets on this particular road, what lies ahead of him, but I feel quite confident of his ability to navigate it well.

As I made my turn and went the other way, I did so with caution, blinking hard. For some reason, my vision had just become quite blurry.

What Kind of Love?

What kind of love did this man have, that he would go down to the end of the road, every day, and watch for the son who had scorned his love and provision? What kind of love compels someone to wait patiently, even when love isn’t reciprocated, on the outside chance that someday, they will return?

Depending on the day, the father probably started doubting himself. “What did I do?” he must have asked, or perhaps “What did I say that drove my son to leave me this way?”

Can you imagine how, with each passing day, he might have been more and more discouraged? Did he ask about his son in town, or pester his son’s friends about his whereabouts? Did he go roaming through the countryside, searching high and low? Was he endlessly chasing after his son, never truly letting him go? Perhaps the father had an even greater love than that.

What if the father loved the son so much, that he hoped for the son to find the desire of his heart, no matter what that might be? Is it possible that the father loved the son enough to say “goodbye,” knowing that the son’s pursuit of his dream might never lead him home? What if the son said, “I never want to hear from you, ever again.” Did he love his son enough to honor the desire of his son’s heart this way?

With no way to know if his son was alive or dead, the father did the only thing he knew to do: wait.

Prodigal People

It’s been my experience that most of us have “prodigal people” in our lives. Sometimes, they “go to a far country” without leaving our house. Sometimes, they spurn our affection and provision. Sometimes, they must say “goodbye” to us in some way, so they can pursue the desire of their heart.

How will you respond? Will you arrogantly and smugly give them up for dead? Will you hope for them to suffer, and come crawling back to your door? Will you sit and dwell on the many ways of saying “I told you so” or something similarly caustic, should they ever darken your door?

(By no means am I suggesting that we should martyr ourselves for those we love, and let them be abusive toward us. Those we love clearly must understand that words and actions have consequences, even in the midst of love. Those consequences, however, should not include witholding love.)

What then, from their perspective, would they expect to hear upon their return? Based on how you’ve behaved in the past, would they expect to be welcomed home, as the father welcomed his long, lost son? Or, will they expect to hear indignant, selfish words (however justified) of your pain?

Selfish or Selfless?

What if they are unsure? What if, as they approach the house (metaphorically speaking), they are too frightened to walk up to the front door and knock? Is it possible that the only way they will summon the courage to “come home” is if they see you, standing at the end of the road, waiting for them?

It’s true that if you do this, you may wait forever, and feel the emptiness of uncertainty. But then, who wants to be loved with a love that risks nothing? Who wants a love that costs nothing? Wouldn’t each of us, if we are wearing the Prodigal’s shoes, want to be loved with a love that waits patiently, forever? Wouldn’t each of us want to be loved with a love that selflessly sends us off to pursue what we desire, instead of selfishly holding onto us for themselves?

Stand. Watch. Wait.

Forever.

I went into a bathroom used almost exclusively by a teenage boy.

The Violent Chess Match in a New Venue?

The boy in question is my son, of course, but even living with this person did not prepare me for what I witnessed. I was prepared for the dried toothpaste encrusting the sink. I was prepared to find the wiring to the iPod speakers strung along the back of the sink, and around to where they were sitting on the lid of the toilet tank. I was even prepared for the pile of clothes that appeared to have everything he’d worn prior to showering for at least a week, including tennis shoes.

I was not prepared to see a football helmet.

Now, around our house, football season lasts 12 months. It has been this way since my older son was 7 years old, and started playing Pee Wee football. Impromptu blocking and tackling lessons seem to happen most anywhere in the house (except the kitchen, where nothing is allowed to interfere with the consumption of food), and these sessions have become more violent as the boys’ have grown to be roughly the same size as I am.

Football has been called “The Violent Chess Match” because the layers of strategy approximate the game of chess, but the participants clearly don’t behave in the manner of chess masters, calmly taking turns in a quiet, sedate setting. Recognizing this, football-related drills seem to happen randomly around our house, sometimes lasting seconds, and sometimes extending on for several minutes. (The length of time is generally determined by how long my strength and will hold out, since both of the boys have long-since passed me in upper and lower-body strength.)

Flushed from the Pocket

As I stated above, the kitchen has been off-limits for most of this activity, as the three of us have generally agreed that food must take priority. Prior to this morning, I would have thought that the bathroom was another room where football would not be practiced, but finding a helmet there caused me to think otherwise.

Naturally, this required some investigation, so before leaving for work, I woke up my younger son and asked, “How violent is a trip to the bathroom that you needed to take your football helmet in there?”

Sleepily, he replied, “Dad, you have no idea.”

I accepted this answer, closed the door, and went out to my car. I’m pretty sure that I don’t want to know.

My role as a parent is to make myself unnecessary.

Is that really my role? I have to admit, it’s hard for me to argue with that, even though my heart wishes it were otherwise. I certainly want my sons to continue to talk to me, but if I don’t teach them to operate in complete independence, am I crippling them for life? What will their lives be like when the day comes that I’m gone?

At the time of this writing, my oldest son is 20 years old, and my youngest is 17. If something were to happen to me today, both of them have enough basic life skills to survive in the society that exists today. In that regard, I could probably claim that my work, as a parent, is finished.

The Changing Parental Role

In truth, my role as an authoritative, instructional guide is nearing the end, but my role as a friend has already fully developed, and that will (hopefully) continue for the remainder of our lives. The role that is just beginning is just as important. I call this role “the peer-mentor.”

In this month’s Men’s Health magazine, an article on first-time experiences mentions the following:

The first time you see your father as a man, complete with flaws, unfulfilled dreams, and unchained lust. Your mission: Learn from him, but don’t repeat after him.

I’m not so sure about the “unchained lust” part, but the rest of it is right on. I can remember clearly the day that my annual salary passed my father’s, and in a way, it made me sad. It was the moment that I realized that it was just as likely for him to ask me for money, as for me to ask him. It was a moment of… equality, and not one that I had seen coming.

It’s Nice to be Needed, but Is It Good?

In Economics, there is a technical distinction between “needs” and “wants.” Things in the “needs” category would be food, water, and shelter. We talk about the “need” for a car, but the truth is, it’s only a “want” dressed up in “need” clothing.

One of the things I noticed about my own father, after I started to see him as another man, is that I wanted to know his opinion on things. I didn’t just tolerate his thoughts or commentary. I wanted to know his reaction to just about everything.

In most relationships, we seem to be drawn to feeling “necessary” to the other person. We ask, “will he/she miss me?” We wonder if our absence will cause a sense of emptiness in the life of our loved ones.

A Healthy Choice

In an unhealthy relationship, there is a sense of interdependence that causes each of the people involved to stop growing. Though this type of relationship is common, and generally seen as “successful,” it’s ultimately unhealthy because it doesn’t push the participants to grow beyond where they are today, and become something more tomorrow.

In contrast, a healthy relationship pushes each of the people involved to grow emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually. The best relationships are those where the parties live collaboratively, but aren’t interdependent. That is to say, where I do things for someone else because I choose to do so, not because they can’t do those things for themselves. Likewise, it’s entirely appropriate for me to enjoy someone else doing something for me because I want them to do so, as opposed to me needing them to do so. It’s a subtle, but important difference.

Perhaps then, my job as a parent might be better defined in this way:

My role as a parent is to make myself unneeded, but not unwanted.

There are many fond memories I have of my sons’ childhoods. Reading to them is near the top of that list.

Read, Read, Read

You’ve had a long day, and now you’re home and want a break. Work was frustrating and tiring, and home is where you kick up your feet and relax. Ah… the sweet bliss of home.

But there’s your son or daughter, begging for your attention, wanting you to read them a story. You’ve read the story so many times that you can almost recite it without looking at the pages. Making matters worse, half the time that you try to read to your child, they get bored and rush off to do something else. Here’s what you do:

You read to them anyway.

You read to them whenever they want you to, for as long as they want you to. You read to them at night before bedtime. You read street signs for them. You read the plaque at the aquarium or the zoo to tell them about the secret lives of exotic animals.

When you read a familiar story, you make it interesting for yourself and for them. If you have the ability, make up funny voices for the various characters in the book. If that’s not your style, try intentionally changing some of the story in a ridiculous and surprising way. For example:

…and that’s when Brother Bear and Sister Bear decided that they wanted to get boring desk jobs instead of working as professional piano jugglers.

You’ll be amazed at the things your child will notice.

Most importantly, even when you don’t want to read to them, you’ll remember that these days will be over soon. That in the wink of an eye, your son or daughter won’t need you to read to them anymore. All too soon, they’ll be just a little more independent than you expected, and will be reading things without you.

Who knows? Maybe one day, they’ll become a professional piano juggler like you always wanted to be.

Twenty years ago, we were awaiting the birth of our first son. No other single event in my life has changed me the way becoming a father changed me, and for that, I am unbelievably grateful. I’m grateful for the things I’ve experienced, and grateful for who I’ve become as a result of becoming a dad.

Proof can be found here.

Since you’re still reading, I’ll assume that, for whatever reason, you believe that I have something worthwhile to say about raising kids. Regardless of the truth of that statement, we’ll accept it as a given for the sake of this posting. Here, I’ll give you my secret. I’ll fill you in on most everything I know (and some things that I need to keep re-learning) about parenting. After reading this, you’ll be able to safely ignore everything else I have to say about raising children. Honest.

Actually, This is a Book Review
This will actually be a multi-book review, because I’m going to point you to three books that sum up virtually everything that I have known and applied when raising my sons. Some of the things here I’ve done better than other things, but I have not found anything in these three books that should not be read by new or soon-to-be parents.

Book 1: The Five Love Languages
This was an amazing book for me, and one that taught me a great deal about communicating love to my sons. (Yes, I know there’s an edition that he wrote with specific instructions for children. Having read this book first, I found the version for children to be a little repetitive. Even though this book is geared toward “significant other” relationships, the principles apply just as well to a healthy relationship with your children.)

Here’s the short version. Human beings tend to communicate love in one of five basic ways: Acts of service, physical touch, receiving gifts, quality time, and words of affirmation.

And now a quick way to make this concept useful: Think of how one of your children most commonly communicates love to you. Do they make you a gift of some kind? Do they want to hug you? Is it one-on-one time with you where they have your undivided attention? However they show love to someone else is possibly the main way that they will hear or feel love from someone else.

Clearly, it’s more complicated than this, but that’s the gist of it. Read the whole book. It’s well worth the time and (minimal) effort.

Book 2: How to Win Friends and Influence People
People who haven’t read this book probably look at the title and are turned off. This is not some Machiavellian treatise about manipulating people around you. This is a basic handbook about human-to-human interaction.

I first read this when I was a teenager (the 1970′s… get over it), and I remember it feeling “dated” back then, so I’m sure it will read even more that way to someone picking it up for the first time today. First published in 1937, it’s filled with references to life that seem straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

Regardless, this book is a “must have” for anyone who deals with people. If you’re stranded on a desert island, you can probably do without this book. For everyone else, there are fabulous lessons like, “You Can’t Win an Argument” and “If You’re Wrong, Admit It.” Simple? Absolutely. That doesn’t change the fact that most of us ignore the principles in this book, every day.

Yes, it’s true that you can influence people even if you’re a jerk. Don’t be one of those people.

Book 3: The Five Dysfunctions of a Team
The author of this book, Patrick Lencioni, is seriously ADD. This is not an exaggeration, and it’s something I think he would fully own up to.

I first saw him at a seminar that was rather pompously titled, “Lead Like Jesus,” and watching him was absolutely exhausting. Only Scott Meyers, noted C++ programmer/author, wears me out more during a presentation. (Those of you who aren’t programmers can substitute “Howie Mandel” for “Scott Meyers” in the previous sentence and get most of the effect, unless you’ve never seen Howie Mandel’s stage show.)

Lencioni’s stage antics notwithstanding, he’s a gifted author who teaches in parables. That real-life stories were also the medium most often used by Jesus to teach in the New Testament is not a coincidence.

However, don’t make the mistake of thinking that this is a book of theology. In fact, other than recognizing the similarity of teaching style, you’ll not find in-your-face scriptural references or heavy-handed preaching. This is not a book about faith, or about your walk with God. This is a practical book about figuring out how to make a team of people work together most effectively.

Appendix
Like the part of the anatomy by the same name, this section isn’t strictly necessary. You can live without it. You can stop reading at any time, and your life will still have meaning. Still here? Well, in that case, I’ll try to sum up what I’ve said above. (This is also helpful for those of you who skip to the end of stories… Tiffany.)

First, if you don’t love your partner or your kids, everything else is pretty meaningless. If you love them, then learn how to express love in a way that they will feel. Without figuring this out, don’t bother with the rest.

Second, the relationships we’re talking about here are crucial. Your job isn’t more important than these. Your hobby isn’t more important than these. If they are, see the paragraph above. Don’t these relationships deserve your best effort? Don’t they deserve as much energy as what you put toward other activities?

Third, someone has observed that there are lots of ways for families to be happy, but there are a lot of similarities between dysfunctional ones. This is true at work, at church, and in your home. Build trust, allow (and encourage) healthy conflict, encourage commitment, demand accountability, and focus on what’s really important. Do these things, and you’ll have a strong team, and strong team members

These are “Hulk Hands,” padded foam fists that you put your own hand inside, and then hit things with them. I found these the other day, and found myself remembering how much fun my oldest son and I had beating each other up with them. On the day we bought them (he was in his early teens), he showed them to me and said, “Look, it doesn’t hurt when you hit someone with them.”

I put one on, and then immediately punched him in the face with it.

“You’re right,” I said (as he stood there a bit stunned by the sudden assault), “we have to talk Mom into getting a couple pair of these.” It’s behavior like this that I suspect is responsible for my wife complaining that there are three teenage boys in the house, and not just two.