Like most dreams I lost a considerable amount of the story upon waking. I recall there were friendly herbivores, and man-eating carnivores, and I believe there were some ambivalent species for whom eating me could have gone either way.
I remember we were all on a train, but the train was about the width of a large double-wide or triple-wide mobile home, with a central hallway down the middle and individual rooms on either side. Obviously the dinosaurs were relativistically sized, but still large enough to eat me, or too small to really defend me. I remember a group of us humans were trying to survive. I also remember a moment when I walked through the rooms as both herbivores and carnivores (in their respective rooms) were asleep beneath their covers, and I desperately wanted them all to stay that way, especially the tyrannosaurus and raptors. I wish I could keep my kids covered the way the dinosaurs stayed covered.
I also remember there being some young lady with a romantic fancy for me (and with whom I could only occasionally connect emotionally until she was carried away by dream-plot), and likely a scene or two where she and another attractive, nubile, younger (than middle-aged me) lady were un-observably naked. It doesn't take a Freudian scholar to see the elements of frustration there, but it was all more at the feeling of allusiveness of satisfaction with / in fantasy.
Unlike the PBS cartoon, regrettably, there was no time traveling. That would have been awesome. Likely more frustrating than unattainable love interests.
So, I awoke this morning to Day Four. Yesterday in the gym I found myself looking over to the childcare room with a sense of missing them, my kids. Today I find I could stop and be confused, asking what I am supposed to be doing with this time, and thusly getting confused and loosing the time. Looking up from the plow and questioning if I am supposed to be plowing, as it were.
It is just that there is a lot I feel I want to do, or could do, and then those thoughts are attacked like men aboard a train full of carnivorous dinosaurs by thoughts of what I should do.
There is a freedom I feel to be writing, and writing allows me to transcribe "meaning" or "sense," so there is a freedom to be attempting to make sense of me, of my world, of my thoughts of my own experience.
And all of this is just kind of lead-in. It was a fun dream to talk about. What is life for me is making sense of experience, my life as a father. Kinda what the blog is (mostly) about anyway.
My son seems to be ... anxious with going to school. I see his tendency to want to want just play as he did during the summer, to not be "outside of" that with which he is familiar. Things have to come to him on his terms, normally, and becoming a student has not happened on his terms.
We did a Rite of Passage for him, just as we did for his sister. In our family Rites of Passage are important, conferring identity. They should be socially endorsed, but sadly our society is increasingly devoid of both tradition and any underlying, unifying ideology that would give rise to such communally engaged in, value-and-identity conferring practices.
This Rite, which was for the entrance into the stage of the 12 year season of formal schooling, consists of buying school clothes together, buying school supplies (and whatever attendant school function exists prior to first day) together, and most importantly, a party. At this party we allow the one undergoing to rite to select their type of dessert, and then we pray a blessing over them after the meal.
For my son -- who was histrionic in his response to the repetition of the notion of Rite of Passage over the several days of its occurrence -- was only marginally engaged in the being prayed over, very unlike his sister. My prayers for my son revolved around thanksgiving for the sense of destiny and purpose of his life, and this (12 year) season of it.
In the mornings I see the anxiety upon his brow, furrowed in a way I never expected, and yet he acts like he doesn't want me to stick around. I think that would other moms, maybe some dads. Me, well, I am just wanting to be what he needs to be.
I know I expected the Rite to have transitioned him, now, as I write this post. Clearly I have not asked him what he wants, or provided a way in which he can receive this as something he might want.
2 Corinthians 5:6-7 (NLT)
Other translations have verse 7 as we "walk by faith.." While this is a little out of context of how the verse sits within the surrounding epistle, I think firstly, for me to be who he needs me to be, I need to have faith, need to believe in who he, my son, is. And I trust, have faith my son is a hard worker, and will work hard, even at receiving the gift of schooling.
I need to walk by faith in who my son is, who I know him to be,which is someone who really applies himself, and who has passion, created with a destiny. We all are, really, created with a destiny, unique to our individual natures as creations of God's.
I need to not let the obvious, the outward and contradicting displays color my attitudes.
Now, here is the rub, and where I am thankful I have a wife who sees things I don't, and can explain him to me. When he gets home he has a little attitude with me, one almost of ... rude backlash? Having faith in him, in who he is, means having faith, maintaining sight for him of how much better a person he is than the one which reacts as he does... me doing so in place of taking his rudeness personally.
I don't think I take it personally. I think I just don't accept the rudeness as acceptable, as just, as right. But the human heart is deceitful above all things, and I often argue myself into a position of rightness through a belief in my own clear-sightedness.
Maybe there is not something else I could have done differently, in order for my son to receive this gift and season of schooling. Maybe I just need to trust in the Spirit being able to bring my son around to accepting this gift/season. (That makes trusting the effort and discipline of remembering, perhaps.) I think ultimately it means remembering there is a destiny, and destiny means it is writ to happen.
Of course, here is an interesting re-direction of the question: where, like a kindergarten boy, am I dragging my heals, anxious, and seeing only the unwanted loss of control, missing the grand destiny?