Father And Husband At 50

I turned 50 two months ago. With all good intentions, really. Without giving it much further thought I had assumed I would continue to live just the way I had been throughout my forties: with lots of energy, with optimism, with a sense of growing understanding of how the world works and how I can work in it and for it.

But 50 was a higher step to take than I had expected. Imagine a staircase with uneven risers. This one was at least 10 inches higher than the ones before. How did that happen, I wonder. As always when it comes to connecting changes in one's mood or personality to a recent birthday I am skeptical. It seems irrational to think that it is the age and not circumstances of that change in age that really are to blame. Independent of what it was, the last two months of 49 and the first two of 50 have been hard.

Here are some of the things that are on my mind and weigh me down:

It feels more challenging these days to have two sons who in many ways are young adults and one son who is still a child. It takes a lot of flexibility to respond well to everyone's needs, questions and moods. I am finding that it's not always easy to find the right tone for everyone. My two older sons are changing rapidly. It's not so easy anymore to find ways to connect with them. Today in the car, I had just picked up Jacob from a friends house and said that I sometimes would like to spend more time with each of them individually. Just to talk, to connect. Jacob, with characteristic directness said: I wouldn't really like that. I took a deep breath and just said I knew he'd say that (which was true). They both sense that something in their dad's emotional attitude towards them is clingy. And it is. They're right. They don't want to be clung to. Now, to be fair to myself, I am not clinging to them in obvious ways (like keeping them from going out with friends, exploring, learning new things, etc.). But I know that I am looking for the conversational connections with them. Connections that I have come to love so much over the years.

Also, I have a streak of melancholy in my personality. I experience this streak as a yearning or aching, especially when I am out walking or otherwise immersed in and enveloped by nature. At those times I experience my own smallness, my finiteness in ways that make me feel both blessed and sad. I am grateful for that feeling. But it is a very personal, perhaps even very adult feeling that cannot be shared (must not be shared?) with teenage sons. If I did share it with them, I'd worry they might feel responsible for me and that is the last thing I would want. But I catch myself wanting to hug them and not letting go. Of course, I do let go. I sense the awkwardness of their bodies when we do hug. More often than not the extend of our physical connectedness consists in two fists knocked together in a friendly way. It's okay. There is something almost noble and edifying in that gesture as well. It is manly. I like it for that reason. But I don't want to give the impression that a part of me does not still wants to ruffle their hair, pull them close (as if they could still fit in my arms the way they used to).

My youngest on the other hand wants to engage in wrestling matches, rough-housing and similar things all the time. I have never been with a kid who likes to be tickled as much as he does. He is virtually looking for that belly-laugh of his own. He loves being knocked around gently and goes down with a laughing groan every time. When he hugs, he hugs with his whole body. It's beautiful. But with him, here is the rub, I almost feel too old for all that activity. 15 more years until he is twenty. How will I feel then?

Despite all these things that clearly indicate that my sons are moving along the continuum of time and nearing adulthood, I worry about how they will actually launch into adulthood. College especially gives me a stomach ache. How do parents finance it these days? Is it unreasonable to expect that one's children will share in the provision of funds for their education? Then I begin to sweat profusely and it is all I can do from descending into tirades against this country and culture in which it is implied that parents who raise their children with love and with values, but not with much money, are not good enough parents.

Another circumstance that adds to the weight of this change to 50 is how difficult it is to feel a sense of shared happiness with my spouse. We could be happy, I believe, if only we could accept life as it presents itself (yes, with all its busyness). If we learned better to use the interstices of that busy life to show each other affection and love, if we could both agree to see love as the medium between us even when we're busy with work, children, friends, if, in one word, we could be soul-mates. I wish we could make moments count rather than always waiting for the grand gestures (for which mostly there is neither the time nor the money, and, as far as I am concerned, not the belief in their effectivenss either).

As I am re-reading what I have written so far I realize that part of my code of honor as a father and husband is to be responsive to my family's needs. I often am convinced that I fall short of that. This is the case especially in my relationship. At fifty my energy to even try is begining to wane. I would like to know, i.e., to be confident, that what I am providing and giving is enough. I would like it, moreover, if I could also think, without guilt, of providing for myself. This will be the challenge of this next decade, I know it: Finding a balance between providing for my family and for myself. My great hope is that what I can give to my family will to a large part also flow out of the things I will give to myself. My hope is that those two things will not continue to seem diametrically opposed and irreconcilable. My hope is that even through something like writing this blog (which is an act of acute self-care for me) I can also give something to my family.