My oldest of three will graduate high school this week. Since this is the closest thing to a rite of passage amongst the average North American, I write my sentiments here.
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Be careful what you ask for.
Before I was a father, I wanted offspring. But I didn’t want to raise little clones of myself. Lord knows we don’t need more of me.
I had desired children that were their own completely unique individuals with interests unlike mine. And I had hoped they would be fiercely independent of me, at some point. Sooner than later. Not because I hate them. But because my introversion demands such.
The firstborn, our son Ivan, couldn’t be described in any greater terms.
Ivan is about as opposite of myself as it gets. He’s not like his mother either. A true mold-breaker.
If you present Ivan with an item of business and a possible path or solution, he’ll take it and run a completely different direction…one that may or may not succeed. But it works out somehow.
Ivan is kind of like a kid version of Han Solo, based on how he can talk his way into, out of, or around situations. He can walk into a room and convince you he knows whatever it is he’s talking about. He can also give a public presentation or speech on the fly, a skill that’s beyond me.
He could be a politician. Or a cult leader.
Thankfully, I don’t think he’ll be either.
I love him.
And he’s so independent. In Grade 3 he wanted to quit school so he could work. “Nobody hires 8 year olds”, I said.
But thankfully when Ivan was 11, my friend Paul began training Ivan and his best friend (Paul’s son) on various farm equipment over weekends and summers. Paul figured that by the time they were 16 and had licenses, they would be highly experienced at operating bailers and tractors and such. Paul’s plan worked. And Ivan’s need to operate big, loud machinery had begun fulfillment.
I love him.
Then there were those passionless middle school/early high school years. We were constantly persuading him to find an interest. At the time, his only interest seemed to involve staring at a screen. Then at 15, he announced…
“Dad! I want to buy a car…”
“Great!”
“A project car that I can work on.”
“…why?”
I couldn’t comprehend. I see cars as a way to get from A to B, not an identity that sits in pieces on the driveway to be fiddled with ad nauseam. So a year and a half ago, he gets this 1985 Porsche 944 towed to our driveway. And he’s tinkered with it almost daily.
For myself, it finally clicked: this was me at age 14 with guitars and music. My parents had no concept of music. We barely had a record player in the house with maybe five albums, mostly hideous Christmas recordings. Thankfully, my mom’s friend Mrs. Dickerson lent me a guitar indefinitely. The rest is history.
Ivan’s thing is cars. And now I know: Porsches are the most crazy, complex automotive machines on earth. And if you’re a car guy, having a project Porsche is like joining a band with a classic, high end guitar. Getting that thing to run has been one unique challenge after another. But Ivan loves it. He hasn’t quit. And he’s getting closer.
I love him.
Our family immigrated to Canada when Ivan was five. A few months later, he began school in grade one, skipping kindergarten entirely after the teacher said he was ready. He was almost a year younger than his classmates, having been born at the end of the calendar year.
Moving to a new country was a little draining on us all. Moving to a small town had its own challenges as well. Many of the locals have known each other for generations. It’s difficult, if not impossible to fit in. This has been true for myself as well as my kids.
Since grade 1, Ivan has been swimming in…no…DROWNING in a sea of hockey jocks. The majority of the males in his class all have the same general interests as each other, most have parents who graduated the local High School (Bert Fox), have grandparents from this area, and thus had been given a local identity since birth.
Ivan never really fit in. He had to forge his own identity (as do we all). And he never really had a tribe at Bert Fox. But he stood his ground, developed his own unique social interests, and managed it well.
I love him.
And then there’s his girlfriend of this past year.
Ivan has consistently pursued her for over two years, even after a rejection or two. Or three. Way to go, boy. That’s consistency. And loyalty.
Ivan’s girlfriend had done some modelling at one point. His uncle Michael, who teaches at the high school, asks Ivan, “What’s it like to date a super model?”
I love him.
And lastly but certainly not least, Ivan has been involved with karate for over a decade. There was a dojo in the nearby town of Qu’Appelle (not to be confused with FORT Qu’Appelle…I mean, who names a town almost identical to the name of a town 20 minutes away?!?), until it closed and he joined the mother hub Karate group in Regina.
Ivan was once at a Provincial-wide tournament where he was up against several others in his age group, all from the big cities. One of which was the #1 ranked black belt kid in Saskatchewan who had won at nationals.
Ivan won. Ivan, the small town dojo kid. First place. The black belt kid forgot to bow or something, thus lost on a technicality. Ivan acted like this win didn’t really count.
“But (black belt kid) is WAY better than me”
“Who cares. He didn’t follow the rules. You did. Congratulations. You earned it”
Sometimes blessings will come when it doesn’t seem like you deserve it. Accept it anyway.
I love you Ivan .
Beautiful and true. Way to go Dad.
Ivan and Owen sound like they have a lot in common, especially as car guys.