Everyone has a father. That sounds like a dumb statement at first. And it may continue to sound so. But it seems like it’s just taken for granted. Really think about it: your father had a father who had a father who had a father… and on and on, going back before times were “old school,” past “olden times,” waaaaaay beyond “times of Olde.” It’s pretty amazing, this long chain that is the Cycle of Manhood.
When I stare at my kids getting bigger, faster and smarter (one hopes), it’s wild to think they’ll be as old as I am one day. I know I know, it goes without saying. But it still melts my brain. C’mon! Lucas is only two! And even though Cody and Max are pubescent, it’s still strange to picture any of my boys driving, going on a date or making that “you’re crushing my hand” smile as their wives labor to push out the little one that will make me a GRANDFATHER!!!
@#$!@%@#$^ ← that’s how you spell the sound of a brain melting instantaneously, by the way.
I think about what my dad must think looking at me, as I am now. Once his tiny little gremlin of a son getting into his tools, now I’m all grown up with three little/not-so-little gremlins of my own.
The idea of the Cycle of Manhood gives me a special kind of appreciation for having kids and being a father, and being a son to my dad. We’re part of an ancient and honorable tradition, with a heritage that wheels away into the mists of time further than even the mind can easily see.
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Maybe something less philosophical?
No problem, we were boring ourselves.