Is third grade too young to ground and pound?
I guess now that school is out, this should be safe to publish. I was recently the proud parent of a “Star of the Week.” Yep, I thought, my 3rd grader must have gotten her old man’s brains. My excitement waned just a tad when I found out that all of the students were chosen at one point or another in the school year. However, I was quickly excited when I found out that the kids would be interviewing me as well. I was ready to let my star shine!
As they sat criss-cross applesauce on the carpet in front of me, I thought I may as well impress them right away by letting them know I was an Ironman, and therefore, a stud. “Isn’t that like really hard to do?” Well, for most mortals, yes. “Aren’t you kinda fat for that?” Look Junior, you’ve got ten years max until I see you on The Biggest Loser so you can shut your pie hole! Okay, who else has a question? What’s my favorite color? That’s easy, tacos. Favorite sport? Hmmm.. Is midget tossing a sport? Nooooo. Okay, then definitely facebook! I was on a roll until it came up that my daughter got a bead stuck in her ear when she was much younger.
I was suddenly last week’s news. A real bead? Did it hurt? What color was it? Has your dad ever heard of deodorant? How did you get it out? Did you cry? Even worse than all the mundane questions was little Ralphina Wiggum in the front row. She proceeded to tell me every time she had ever seen a doctor. Right as I was telling her that I didn’t care about her dad’s rash, I thought of a guest pastor that spoke at our church recently.
When he isn’t in the pulpit, Pastor Scott Bloyer coaches mixed martial arts to professional fighters. That’s it! Maybe I can ground and pound this little girl into silence? Then I thought a little more about his message. It wasn’t violence, it was prayer. Apparently, he grew up in the hood and after getting in trouble with the law, his mom told him that he was going to end up dead or in prison. He didn’t listen, but every single day she would faithfully pray for him. That’s dedication and that’s love in action.
Sometimes when I think of my own childhood, I resent my friends who had fathers that were active in their lives. My dad never went to my games, we almost never had a two-sided conversation, and I can count everything he ever gave me one hand. However, he prayed for me daily. Not just me either, I was one of eight kids and he would pray for all of us on a daily basis. My siblings all turned out pretty rotten, but I turned out pretty darn good and I am pretty sure my dad’s constant prayer had a lot to do with it.
It hit me somewhere in the middle of applying a choke-hold to this little girl, that maybe I should be release the pressure of my death grip, and tighten my grip on my direct line to God. Sure I pray already, “God please let this cheeseburger hit both love handles,” or if I find out someone is dying from a rare disease, “I’ve got mad cow! Again?” or even when I buy a lotto ticket, but I don’t pray like I should: constantly, in thanksgiving, for my loved ones, and even my enemies. I’ll start with praying for strength as I add this to my “to do” list (as in I am blessed that I am able “to do” this without persecution). I’ll also pray that you join me.
