Can Only Two Words Break Your Heart?

I recently shared a video on my FB page and, for the life of me, I cannot get it out of my head.

First off, here is the video to which I refer:

Back story is simple: the kids on the show that day were all having problems, lashing out, getting into trouble, etc. This ten-year old pretty much halted the show when his brutal and heartfelt honesty rocked the hardcore Drill Sergeant so much that he stopped the whole thing right there and guided the boy backstage.

When the boy answers, “Yes, sir.” … well, it damned near broke my heart.

I felt that answer more than you can imagine. You see, my father walked out on our family of five on March 23, 1974. Two days before my 8th birthday. Life would never be the same again.

I rarely saw my father after that. Even decades later when I tried to connect with him it never really took.  The past stood in the way of any future.  It was a terrible and unfortunate fate for any young boy to have to face.

Now, I am going to share some things, some thoughts and feelings here, if only to get them out in the open and breed discussion. It is perfectly fine if you disagree with any of what I have to say. I only speak from my own experience.

Boys need discipline.

They deserve it.

It is in our makeup to function better under boundaries.

Let that sink in a bit.

Don’t get me wrong. We all need love and care and understanding. Those are essential elements in the development of any positive, well-balanced human being. Yet, there is no denying that boys and girls are very different in a myriad of ways. One of those ways is structure.

I spent my youth with my grandfather as my main father-figure.  He was an abusive alcoholic. I dealt with it. I learned fast and hard how to properly react, respond to and follow his orders. And, believe you me, they were orders. Not suggestions.

I had my ass whipped on many an occasion as I was growing up. I deserved it each and every time. Did it make me a horrible person? Did it ruin my ability to love and be loved? Did it trash my self-esteem and make me a whiny little beaten down reject? A loser?

Absolutely not.

There were boundaries set and I learned quickly not to step out-of-bounds, else I dealt with the consequences thereof. Now, did this make me hate my grandfather? Again, no. I mostly lived under his roof; therefore, I abided by his rules. Simple enough. What was the worst thing about all of those experiences? Probably the pain of having to experience them. What was the best thing about all of those experiences? The structure and discipline it bred in me, as a person. As a man.

Boys are different little animals (and I use that term only slightly lightly).

Boys crave attention. More so, I think, than girls. I honestly do not know why. We just do. We want to be seen. We want to experiment with our environment and be commended for having defeated whatever obstacle was in our way…no matter how small. We look up to the person who has defeated all of those obstacles (in our eyes) before us and lived to tell the tale: our fathers.

It took me a long time, many years, to get past the turmoil that developed in my soul. It was turmoil and it was that deep. I did not understand it. Thankfully, it was somewhat muted by my time with my grandfather; although that leads to a wholly different set of tales and difficulties. Still, I struggled. At first I became the class clown in school (at age 8-10); then, I began to withdraw, to lose myself in the storms rolling within me. I got by in school, but I had no friends. Until I hit my teens. Even then, I found myself at the edge of caring what happened to me and I did a lot of stupid stuff (see my previous post as an example).

At 16 years old, I discovered I was bored out of mind in school. I had no drive. I was (unfortunately) wise enough to see that all around me was piles of evidence that I was going nowhere. We were dirt poor, so college was out of the question. With my apathy, my grades were far from able to score any type of scholarship.  Not that that word was ever mentioned in my household.  Education was not at the forefront of anyone’s mind who is just trying to survive. I was looking at a lifetime of farming, grocery store clerking or jail.

My uncle finally stepped in and suggested the military. I never looked back.

I’ve spent my life trying to be a better person, to understand people, in general and to be a good human being.

My Wife and I have never had children (our dogs are our fur-babies), and there have been more times than I can remember that I wondered if that wasn’t by the grace of all that is holy. Would I be a good father? My family history would certainly suggest otherwise. But, I am not my history. I am what I make of my present and a sum of all my hopes for the future.

All of those boys out there, the ones without fathers…they are always on my mind. I should do more. I should reach out and attempt to be a Big Brother. I suppose, if I’m to be honest, my own fears have prevented me from that. I wish it were otherwise.

So, watching this 39 second clip of (me) this little boy answering his heart’s desire in the face of a huge drill sergeant loudly addressing him, seeing his lack of intimidation in the face of his deepest need and want…

My heart is, indeed, broken.

On the other hand, I would wager BIG money that the drill sergeant made a valiant effort to help that little man out. Advice, comfort, words of support. I know this because I was that little boy (at age eighteen), staring in the face of the drill sergeant as he yelled at me for not doing what I was supposed to do, or not doing it right for the eighth time. I look back on those days and I praise those guys and gals who help mold our soldiers. Because, God knows, they are more times than not molding not just a soldier, but an incomplete human being. I never once hated my drill sergeants. I never once spoke back to them, or cursed them.

I respected them.

In the end, perhaps that is the one thing that is missing most in our society of young males these days: a true, deep-down understanding of simple respect.

Structure and boundaries.

A gentle yet unwavering hand to guide.

A source of knowledge.

A point of respect.

A dad.