Twenty one years ago today, I was having a hard time grasping the fact I was a new father for the first time. The feelings and emotions that I experienced that morning are not easy to explain. But reality hit me hard and became very clear the moment I held Spencer Christian Martin in my arms for the first time.
As I stood there with this sweet little boy in my arms, with tears streaming down my face, - studying his beautiful face and hands and tiny feet, I was struck with an overwhelming sense of humility and responsibility and love. This was new, and different, and wonderful, and exciting. I began to think about all of the many things that he would experience in life: walking for the first time; talking; preschool; girlfriends; sports and music; taking a bride; life decisions, and even decisions about eternity.
But life is not perfect and is wasn't long before Spencer started to demonstrate to his mother and me that the stubborn and independent Martin gene had been passed down from me in a strong and powerful way. I remember, at the tender age of 5, Spencer informed me that he was sick of me and of living at home and was running away. As a young father, I made the mistake of pretending that I didn't care and helped him pack his little backpack. All the while I was thinking that he would back out. Being a Martin, he didn't.
As he left the house, I told him he could come back when he was grateful and appreciative, said "goodbye", and shut the door. And then my heart started to race terribly. How far would he go? How close to the main road should I let him get before I run out the door after him? Why was he breaking my heart like this?
I have never told Spencer this, but as I shut the front door, I raced upstairs to the master bathroom that had a window on the side of the house and faced the direction Spencer was heading as he ran away from home, and I watched his every move. As Spencer kept walking for what seemed like miles and miles (in reality it was 100 yards), my heart and mind and emotions were racing. A tear trickled down my cheek. Why was he doing this? Why is parenting so hard? If he is doing this at five, what will he be like as a teenager? In my inner voice, I was screaming for Spencer to stop and come back. And then he did stop. And he sat on the curb, his head down, his backpack still on, and he didn't move. He was thinking I guess. Going over his options. Facing his fears. And he sat there for over half an hour. And I stood at the window the entire time waiting for him to turn around and come home. Waiting to go open the door and welcome him back.
And finally he did. He stood up, looked at the house for a few minutes, and started walking back home, his shoulders and head drooping low.
As Spencer turns 21 today and "officially" enters adulthood, my hope and prayer is that he will make his own way, follow his passions, and experience life to it's fullest with all of it's ups and downs.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, I hope that he will know that I love him more than I could ever express to him in words or actions, and that I will always be watching him through the "window", from a distance, urging him on, praying that he makes the right decisions. And that if times get really tough, I will still run to the front door and welcome him in with open arms. I am still trying to figure out how to be a good father, and often times I fail, but I will always be here to support him, encourage him, and cheer for him through the "window".
Happy 21st birthday Spencer! Welcome to adulthood! You're going to do great!
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