College kids should know you love them…no matter what.

My column in today’s Greenville News.  Love on your kids when they’re in college!

http://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/2017/08/30/send-college-students-off-tears-and-joy/607968001/

Two of our sons began university classes last week; one a freshman, one a junior. After spending a wonderful Summer with them, Jan and I always find this a difficult time. It requires that we adjust to walking past empty rooms and accept the fact that they aren’t coming back home at the end of each day to scavenge food and tell us stories. Even their high-school junior sister misses them, although she is under the delusion that the house will be neater with brothers away. (Guess what, papa still lives here!)
Of course, we’re hardly alone. All over the state, nation and world, families send their daughters and sons off to be educated. And what a great thing! Broken parents everywhere have lost children to disease, accident, starvation or war and would love to simply have them alive, much less getting an education. I try to keep that in perspective when I feel sorry for myself.
However, as grand as college is, it’s a time of significant stress for our young people. Many are leaving home for the first time. This means great fun and adventure. But it also means a separation from those who have, for at least 18 years, been their constant supports and care-takers. It means leaving the comfort of the known for new places and new people. It exposes the kids, appropriately, to opinions that challenge their own. It introduces them to other kids from different backgrounds, cultures and lifestyles.
In addition, their sudden unsupervised state opens them up to all sorts of opportunities for bad habits and bad decisions. All of this added together can be very difficult. This is especially true in a time when, for a variety of reasons, some young people seem to be maturing later than in previous generations.
Perhaps this is why colleges are reporting more and more students struggling with depression, anxiety and substance abuse. University mental health clinics are always busy. And many kids end up dropping out or transferring to schools closer to home.
However, there’s one stressor we forget. When we send our kids to college we have high hopes and expectations for them. For years we’ve encouraged them, talked about college and even talked to our friends and family members about our kids’ academics. ‘Oh yeah, Joan here is going to Clemson and then med school; she’s going to be a surgeon! Aren’t you baby?’ (She nods her head nervously…) ‘Rick is planning to be an architect, right dear?’ Or a lawyer or an artist. We think that at 16, 17 (or even in their 20’s) they can plan their entire lives and it will all play out as scripted. That they’ll go to university, get that planned degree, go to professional school or grad school, get that awesome job and then we can tell everyone how great they did.
And yet, what if they don’t? What if they’re frightened? What if they’re tempted? What if they feel outcast? What if they get addicted? What if they get pregnant? Perhaps harder for parents (and kids) to accept, what if they aren’t ready, or just don’t enjoy the academic environment and find that they really just want a job and a family? What if, like all humans, they simply miss home and the places and people they love?
The thing is, we parents (and grands) must never let our children’s identities be completely tied to education or career. Because if is, and if it goes wrong, then the whole structure of their precious lives is shaken. I think this may be one of the biggest stressors of all. That is, their desperate fear of disappointing the ones who worked for them and encouraged them to move forward. It must be absolutely paralyzing.
Our children are valuable because they’re our children. That’s the most important and foundational truth they need to hear. Not because of their grades, scholarships, IQ’s, career goals, awards or anything else. And it needs to be followed by this truth: ‘My precious child, if you are unhappy, if school doesn’t work for you, if you change majors or change life-goals, it’s OK. You are not defined by any of it. I love you no matter what; you can always tell me the truth. And home is always here for you.’
So send them off to school with tears and joy! But always anchor their worth to the love of family, not the success or failure of their educational adventures.

On Veteran’s Day ask, ‘what would I die to defend?’

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Veteran’s Day has always meant something to me.  But then, I was born in 1964.  I’m the last of the ‘Baby Boomers.’  I grew up on stories of family members in time of war.  I remember my father, Keith Leap (my name also) leaving for Vietnam when I was four years old, and remember (vaguely) his return.  I recall my uncle’s stories of the Navy, and of a grandfather in the Army in Mississippi and a great-grandfather who served during the Spanish-American War.  There were others, back to the Civil War, the War of 1812 and the Revolution.

I grew up looking for dates of service on tombstones, and for flags, ranks and units of the fallen.  I grew up with toy guns, toy soldiers and war movies, in a time when we threw plastic grenades with caps in them, which sometimes actually went off and frankly surprised us.

A great-uncle I never met was a Col. in the US Army in France during WWI, and I always heard that he said he was determined to bring his men home safely.  Another great uncle gave me a bayonet he took from an ammo-dump in Italy during WWII; there appears to be a ding in the side from a bullet. A neighbor survived the Bataan Death March; not surprisingly, he suffered as an alcoholic as long as we knew him.  I once met a gracious gentleman who was a former Wehrmacht soldier, who (after a CT scan when his arms were held above his head) said ‘the last time I held my arms like that one of Patton’s soldiers had a rifle in my back!’

I was immersed in veterans and their stories.  And the ones I knew were ever humble and kind.

Was I taught to idolize war?  Was I taught that bloodshed was the answer?  Was I taught that violence was some sort of higher good, as if we were Lacedaemonian children of Sparta?

I don’t think so.  I think I was taught to idolize sacrifice, courage, and simply fortitude.  I grew up in Appalachia; fortitude was necessary, if only for my ancestors to survive against nature.

I suspect that much that these men did had less to do with bravery than determination; in practical application they can look the same, I suppose.

Many brave men and women follow that tradition of service.  They fight, are wounded and die on many fields.  They live or die by their conviction, by their camaraderie, by their patriotism and belief in something higher.

This is hardly limited to the armed forces.  Many live their convictions, in all sorts of fields of endeavor.  But what I wonder now is this:  who will die for their convictions?

We live in a time when many people, especially those in universities, are emotionally wrecked by the slightest challenge to their beliefs, the faintest intrusion into the coddled safety of their own fragile minds.  College administrators give them coloring books, Play-dough, therapy dogs.  Safe rooms are established where they can cry when things don’t go the way they perceive that they should, when there is no trophy or certificate for all.   I suppose this is included in the price of tuition?

But on Veteran’s Day, I must ask of all Americans, what beliefs will they, will we, go through life willing to die to defend?  We should all ask this. What matters most?  Faith, country, family, these are things men and women historically died for.  Ideology?  To some extent, but I wonder.

Will generations of young people learn the lesson of Veteran’s Day?  Not that they need to serve in the military to be real Americans; not that the only heroes are those in uniform, those in battle.  That is a heresy that would produce a warrior class, and we don’t need that.

The lesson, as I see it, is different.  What will you have the courage to stand up and live for, instead of lying down and weeping?  And what will you have the fortitude to die for, if it comes to that?

On this beautiful Veteran’s Day, contemplate that, whether you are or were or never were in the armed forces.  And find an answer.

The future may call on you to decide.

Back to School Blues for a Former Homeschool Family

Lately I’ve seen a lot of photos on the Internet of parents cheering and jumping for joy as their kids were packed off to start a new school year. Mom is giddy and the kids sour-faced as summer comes to an abrupt, but long-expected, halt.  Sure, they’re staged but the message comes through.

http://www.today.com/parents/moms-celebratory-back-school-dance-goes-viral-8C11041602

http://www.fox13news.com/trending/187237945-story

I used to hear parents say the same.  ‘Man, I can’t wait for school to start!  I have to get these kids out of the house and get things back to normal!’  I found it interesting.  I mean, I get it.  Kids, all kids, are loud and messy; grumpy and dirty, sometimes sick, always eating or sleeping.  But then again, they’re kids.  They can be equally funny, happy, joyous, entertaining, sweet, kind and helpful.  On the balance the good far outweighs the bad.

The way I see it, we signed on for it.  OK, maybe it was a romantic date and a glass of wine, but one way or the other, we brought them into this world and they are delights.  Not only so, they are the future.  The future of our families, our very DNA.  And they are certainly the future of our nation, our civilization, our various faiths or ideologies.

Perhaps I’m coming from a different perspective.  By way of full disclosure, we spent a lot of years home-schooling.    Some years, school was all year long, even if in lower doses. (Latin or geography in the pool, etc.)  But one reason we did it was that we knew our time with the children was ultimately short, and we wanted to make the most of all of it.  And we did, whether having class at home or visiting National Parks, every bit was a delight.

Fast forward.  One went to college, then another. And our youngest two are in public high school, a sophomore and a senior.  Mornings are no longer times of lavish breakfasts and learning/laughter around the table.  The clock is ticking, the bells waiting to ring.  The school year is not open for our exploration and delight; it is determined by the state and woe-betide anyone who runs afoul of the sanctum sanctorum of the 180 days of learning!  (Even if the last twenty or so are often spent doing remarkably little.)  Our lives belong to the state, in a sense.  Our trips can only happen when others take trips because everyone is on break together; on the approved break.

Our dining room, formerly known as class-room, is lined and packed with books and notebooks.  With old science kits and well-worn texts, as well as novels highlighted and annotated.  There are files with test papers kept for records or nostalgia.  The desktop computer once shared by four kids is sleeping; as it has for probably a full year or more.  The kids have moved on to their personal lap-tops. Perhaps the desktop dreams of those days gone by.

There are living remnants.  Our youngest still do homework under the bright lights of the dining room.  They still work on that expansive table which once housed our own kids and visiting co-op homeschool students, who were taught Latin by my well-organized and gentle bride.  (The same worn table where many holiday meals have been shared.)

Backpacks still lie about, and the two who remain at home still laugh when they aren’t stressed over AP exams or some other crisis.  We still go through food; and the older two visit and leave their mess, their empty soda cans, their laundry.

It’s still sweet.  But it changes every year.  As it should, I suppose.  But having watched the transitions, having seen our school house population shift and dwindle, I can tell you that every year when the kids go to school I am anything but joyous. I am broken and sad.  My playmates leave; as if I were the pre-school sibling, wishing I could go along, nose pressed to the window, counting the hours until their return.

 

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I walk around the yard, looking for them; for echoes, foot-prints, fleeting memories of summer delights.  In the house I sometimes walk past empty rooms; but seldom look inside at first.  It makes me miss them more.

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Every year I reflect; did I do it right?  Have we prepared them?  Did we miss something?  How could I have used the time better?

Yes, I know. It’s probably pathological.  But my point is merely that when the kids leave, Jan and I don’t celebrate.  Oh, we celebrate their growth and learning.  But we mourn just a bit every time.

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Sure, most of the photos and videos are just jokes.  Everybody, I think, misses their kids at least a little when school starts back.  But I wonder if any parent, jumping for joy as the bus pulls away, considers the chiral image of the scenario.  Will there be a day when you visit the adult kids, and as you leave they cheer? They post photos:  ‘mom and dad finally left!  We’re all so happy to get things back to normal!’  Maybe.  Kids remember.  And they know when they’re wanted, and when they aren’t.

Enjoy every minute. Celebrate the good times, the successes and joys.  Remember the hard ones.  But maybe, just maybe, it’s best not to cheer when the kids go away.  Because they’ll really go away, and go their separate ways, before you can play ‘Celebrate’ and dance your heart out.

And I suspect that if they feel welcome, it’s more likely they’ll come back to visit in years to come.

 

 

After Graduation, Love the Kids. Just Don’t Worship Them

Sam and Tyler K5 graduationhttp://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/contributors/2016/05/22/ed-leap-after-graduation-love-your-kids/84556782/

Graduation is upon us once more. All across the area high, schools, trade schools and colleges are releasing their eager, bright eyed students into the the next phase of their lives. My wife and I have graduated several times, and have graduated two sons. It’s an emotional, beautiful time when Pomp and Circumstance turns moms into weeping messes of mascara and tissue, and dads into great, red-eyed lumps who choke back tears and say muffled things like ‘I…I’m fo prd ov you. I lvvv you,’ sniff, sniff.

The kids are emotional but boy, are they ready. They toss those hats into the air (as parents try to grab them as keepsakes) and they head off to jobs, or to parties or sometimes to pre-loaded cars headed off for the beach. Some go to their own weddings and some go to basic training, or their first overseas deployment with the armed forces. Big stuff all around.
But as I thought about the whole process I realized that one of the great dangers of a successful society (and by any measure of the world at large or history ours qualifies), is that we are capable of investing all of our worth as parents into the activities and successes of our offspring who are now springing off on their own.

As such, we forget something very fundamental. Once the kids grow up, they can largely do what they want. Just like most of us did. But what does that mean exactly?

Well, first of all those graduates with all of their dreams, like ’I want to do forensics,’ ‘I want to be a marine biologist,’ ‘I want to be attorney general,’ etc. may or may not do those things. Their dreams are useful guiding stars at first, but most of them will change course for a variety of reasons. Thus, I am not a full-time magazine journalist as I originally intended. Nor an Air Force navigator…probably good given my tendency to get lost.

We love to brag about what our kids will do. I certainly do. They are hints of the future, and sometimes we believe their successes will somehow atone for our own shortcomings, our own failed dreams. But it’s important to step back on occasion and realize that the future may look very different from what they, and I, and all of us, think it will be for them.

Second, they may decide that the educational path we hoped for them to follow isn’t right. These days, many college majors are a poor economic bet compared to heating and air or welding. My professional friends in medicine and law are particularly stricken by this. When one says to another, ‘Tim dropped out of USC. He’s decided he wants to be a contractor,’ there’s an almost palpable tension and a pat on the shoulder. ‘Well, he may go back to school later.’ Or he may be a wildly successful contractor. Or he may just like building things more than thinking about things that don’t interest him. Who knew?

Third, they will love and marry people we didn’t expect. Just like we did. We can have all kinds of plans for betrothal and hopes that they’ll find this girl or that guy. But in the end, as Pascal said, ’the heart has reasons of which reason knows not.’

And now the hardest, dear weeping parents, and many of you know this. They will make their own mistakes. They will lose jobs and ruin relationships. They will set themselves back. They will violate, sometimes, the law of man and often the law of God. This is called being human. For Christians, it’s tough realizing your kid is a sinner too. (In the secular, world, the equivalent might be realizing your liberal family raised a Republican and you have to love them anyway. Cheer up! Prodigals do return!)
Allow me to review: the kids will study what they want, work at what they want, love whomever they want and make big mistakes. The best we can do is show the grace and love throughout all of it.

But to love them well, we have to take them off the altar. Our worth as humans cannot be wrapped up in our children. That’s a terrifying and overwhelming idolatry and it holds them to far too high a standard.

So as they get those certificates and diplomas, remember they’re humans. Hope and fear, success and struggle in dynamic tension.

And love them.

 

Churches Shy Away From Hard Questions

My column in yesterday’s Greenville News.  While primary responsibility for teaching our children rests with us as parents, the church often drops the ball in its mission to the young.

http://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/contributors/2016/01/24/churches-shy-away-hard-questions/79054658/

I have a problem with the church. It’s not the music, or the ‘mega-church’ concept. It’s not the donuts or the coffee or any other petty issue. The problem I have with the church is that I fear we are doing a poor job of preparing our kids for life.

What troubles me is the way we dumb things down for Christian young people. Maybe we don’t want to frighten them, maybe we don’t want to confuse them or cast any doubt into the faith we’re trying to mold. But frankly, we are failing them. Because it’s a world of hard times and hard questions, and unless we teach kids how to answer them, they’ll have grave difficulties believing all of the stuff we tried to teach.

One of my kids used to come home from Sunday School and we’d ask, ‘what did your teacher talk about?’ He’d shake his little head and sigh. ‘Moses…again.’ Like all of my kids he wanted more than stock stories designed to get through a study guide every year. In fact, our family has often used the term ‘Sunday School answer,’ when having discussions. For example: ‘why is it wrong to steal?’ Answer: ‘Jesus.’ We all laugh at that, but we all know that Sunday School answers don’t always cut it.

The problem we Christians tend to have is that we have a kind of global ‘Sunday School’ answer for the world, which usually comes down to ‘it’s in the Bible.’ Which is great for established believers to say to one another. But at a certain point in time, thinking Christian kids will start to ask about that book we hold as sacred and about that God we worship. And they’ll wonder whether to believe or consign their faith to myth.

Now, if Christian kids ask that, what will non-Christian folks ask them, or say about it? If they don’t recognize the book, or the faith, or the rules, then all of our ‘but it say so,’ and ‘Jesus loves you,’ may fall on deaf ears. So, when our kids go off to work, college or the armed forces, it won’t take long until someone easily shatters their beliefs; not even intentionally, but simply by asking hard, honest questions.

Kids in many churches today are very kind and good. They go on mission trips and they work in the food-bank. They teach the younger kids in children’s ministries, etc. But all too often they aren’t being asked the hard questions in church, or being taught how to deal with them. And I don’t mean that they aren’t being taught how to ‘make the sale.’ I mean they aren’t sure how to face the issues themselves.

What questions do we need to help them answer? Here are some: ‘Why am I here? Do I have a purpose? What is my purpose? Is there such a thing as truth? Why can’t all of our truths be equally true? Did Jesus exist? Does God exist? What do we need Him for? Is there evil? What is sin? Is the Bible reliable? Aren’t all religions the same? How can we be scientific and true to our beliefs? Is Christianity cruel and mean and oppressive? What if I screw up? Why is there pain, suffering and loss? If there is, what does it say about God? Can I have hope in trouble? What happens when we die?’ (Incidentally, many of the same questions are asked by every kid, whether their families are Christian or atheist.)

That’s only a short list. But if we love our kids then we’ll sit down with them and address those life-shaping uncertainties. We’ll do it using the Bible, and by taking from philosophy and history, art and music, biology and physics and every other area of human endeavor, so that they will go into life equipped with solid answers, not fragile platitudes that blow over at the first wind of disagreement.

They’ll ask other questions; sometimes questions we hadn’t imagined. And may of them will have serious doubts. They may walk away from their faith. But they deserve our patience, love and prayers. Because a faith shaken by honest skepticism will be better in the end.

Church leaders and parents, let’s prepare our young people. They need depth to face the world and transform it. They need truth to help them endure life’s struggles. They need to know they are loved and that their lives have meaning.

But Sunday School snippets aren’t enough anymore.

 

My uncle Darrell Leap; a mensch among menschen…

My Uncle Darrell Ivan Leap recently passed on to glory.  Let me set the stage for you:  Darrell accomplished much in his 78 years on earth.  He was raised, with my father Keith and my uncle Karl, in rural West Virginia, on a small family farm.  From humble beginnings he became a well educated world traveler.  He served for a time in the US  Navy, doing oceanographic mapping of the Persian Gulf.  He was an expert in hydrogeology, ground water, and worked on some of the Nevada nuclear weapons test sites,analyzing the effects of blasts on underground water.  The Navy never left him, and he loved recounting stories of it.  He was  a professor emeritus of geology at Purdue University and a consultant to communities on the effects of toxic waste.  He sang in Bach Chorales, played the piano, composed and published music and always loved working with tools.  Appalachia never left him; so much so that in the end my dear aunt, his wife Myra, helped him take online tours of his hometown and environs. The following is the tribute I wrote for him. I was unable to attend his funeral.  (Unfortunately, emergency medicine is job where schedules are difficult to change.  More on that in another post.)  This was read by the pastor who gave the service.

 

I remember Uncle Darrell from very early in my childhood.  Darrell was a kind of mythic

figure to me.  He was always off on an adventure and he always brought interesting things back to show me

at Grandma Leap’s house, on Grapevine Road in Huntington, WV.  I still have Maracas and an African letter opener he

gave to me many years ago.  I recall a time when he came home and was completely exhausted from travel, but we stayed

up as long as he could keep his eyes open, putting together a model engine in the dim, small kitchen in

Grandma’s house.  He represented many things to me as a child:  courage, learning, the exotic and the

benefits of hard academic work.  ‘Take more math,’ was his endless mantra.  Sorry Darrell, it just didn’t

click.  More on that later.

 

One of my favorite things of all was to sit and listen, quietly, while my dad, Keith, Darrell and

Karl (of blessed memory as well) would sit and discuss their memories, or world events.  I just wanted

to be like them.  Strong and capable, men among men.  Menschen, in Yiddish; men of of honor and

integrity.  Together they ever inspired to greatness.

 

Fast forward and I was on summer break after my junior year in high school when Darrell took

me on a field trip with his geology students from Purdue.  He brought me to Indiana where we prepped

for the trip.  Then, for two wonderful weeks of 16-year-old freedom, I was among college students in

hotels and dorms, wandering alone around the wilds of Montana while they worked on projects and

I tried to avoid rattlesnakes, and ate Vienna Sausages alone on hillsides over rushing streams.  Heaven

must look a little like that; at least to a boy.

 

Life moved on.  Darrell married the love of his life, Myra, my treasured Aunt.  I found a girl,

Jan, and we were married.  Darrell and Myra were always welcoming to Jan as my wife, and to us as a

couple.  And when, in due course, children were born to us, they were always excited for our new

additions, always curious and encouraging.

 

As the children have grown into near adulthood, Darrell remained a figure who loomed large in

their lives.  He gave them his collected recollections and genealogical material, with which to anchor

themselves in time, place and history. And he always asked them about their interests, or was leading them

into his. We still have rock hammers and hand lenses he and Myra sent.  Darrell’s life, whether as Naval

officer, researcher on nuclear test sites or academic has always inspired my three sons and one

daughter.  I recall going over some photos once and our daughter Elysa said:  ‘Is there anything else

incredible he did you haven’t told me about?’  In fact, our youngest son, Elijah, has made it his life’s

work to exceed Darrell in mathematics, and has always been terrified that he wouldn’t be able to take

differential equations and thus at least match his great-uncle.  Darrell’s status as a professor emeritus

fills Elijah with awe, as an aspiring academic himself.  And don’t get me started on the harpsichord

Darrell built, which all of my children find fascinating, but especially our very musical son, Seth.  Sam,

Seth, Elijah and Elysa viewed their great-uncle Darrell as an inspiration and a joy, and always looked

forward to visits with him; he was a story teller, like all Appalachians, and he loved sharing them with

us.

 

Perhaps one of our best memories of Darrell was the time, several years ago, when we met

Myra and him at their cabin in Colorado.  It was a brief time of hikes and meals and board games,

when we slept in the cool mountain air after the generator shut off the power and there was perfect

darkness.  Maybe he liked to pretend he was a pioneer. We all certainly loved the experience.

Alas, you are here to honor him in has passage.  I am not, because my work in the emergency

room will not allow me to leave. I will blame Darrell for encouraging my academic life.  (You can

laugh now.)

 

When I told my first-born, Samuel, that Darrell had died, he texted back:  ‘Don’t worry Papa,

you’ll see him again.’  Indeed.  I am confident that I will see him in glory; but I will have to seek him

out among heavenly mountain rock faces, or in the choirs angelic, or as he walks along with Bach and

discusses music.  And he will be vibrant and whole as always.  And forever.

Uncle Darrell was a man among men.  And he lived life fully; the physical life, the life of the

mind, the life of family, the life of faith, and in his love for Myra, in the life of the heart.

I will miss him.  But I will look forward to our reunion. As I hope all of you will.

Thank you.

Edwin

Learning to Love Freedom

I have to admit that I’ve become a bit of a freedom junkie.  As a native West Virginian, there’s this desire, deep inside, to be unfettered.  When I was a child I expressed it by wandering all day long through the hills and valleys around my home.  No phone, of course, and no radio.  No way to contact, or be contacted by, anyone else.  I remember being about 13 or 14 when my dad let me go off into the woods with my single-barreled shotgun to hunt.  I never shot anything.  But I was free.

Later I was encumbered in some ways by college, medical school and residency.  But when my wife and I moved to South Carolina, and ended up in our rural, hilltop log-house, I rediscovered the deep inner peace of freedom.  Our family roams at will through the woods around our home, the state forest across the road.  On July 4th and New Year’s Eve we set off fireworks as long as we want.  On Halloween our bon-fire roars high as the tree-tops.

We throw clay-pigeons over the back yard and shoot them; we have lost untold arrows in the woods, and have behaved like barbarians for years, simply for the joy of doing what we wanted to do.  Our five dogs and three cats collude in our freedom, and have furry smiles as we sling dinner scraps over the back deck into their un-caged, happy mouths.

In 2005, my wife and I discovered a kind of liberty that we had never imagined.  We began to homeschool.  That adventure liberated us from the constraints of state-determined schedules, curricula and ideology.  It allowed us delicious, lavish time together, whether the kids were playing in the pool while rehearsing Latin declensions with my wife, or traveling to the Grand Canyon during the off-season.  We were unencumbered, and while the children learned much and learned well, we had precious little oversight to pester or constrain our wild, free time together, when we rolled about in our fragrant love for one another.  If we had known how it would be all along, we would have started homeschooling much earlier.

Two years ago, I found more freedom.  I took the plunge, left my partnership of 20 years and Jan and I started a small corporation, LeapMedicine.  I began working as an independent contractor.  I worked where, and when, I wanted.  I still do.  If I don’t want to work a holiday, I don’t.  If I want to work, I do.  If I work a shift and don’t like it, I don’t go back once my committed shifts are over.

There are costs to freedom.   It’s magnificent but unpredictable.  The cost of owning a business is sometimes daunting in America today, although I wish I had done it sooner.  There are others.  We recently tried to refinance our mortgage.  We discovered, to our chagrin, that large companies want people in communities of boxes.  You can refinance a house in a subdivision.  But a log house on a hilltop is unnerving to banks and lenders.  It isn’t the same as everyone else.  It’s less predictable, and understandably.  It may not sell.  Only so many people are comfortable away from the crowd, away from the comfort of commonality.

Indeed, we are nationally obsessed with being members of a herd.  Ask a kid in school if it’s OK to be different, the way every kid book with a quirky penguin and a sad skunk says it is.  It isn’t.  There’s a price, and it’s paid in bullying or marginalization.  Maybe it’s good training, because the same dynamic certainly exists in the world of adults.  Try saying the wrong thing, wearing the wrong emblem, believing in something unpopular, standing for a viewpoint on principle not popularity.

Bullying just takes different forms; like social media campaigns, or lawsuits.  Being marginalized means ridicule by a professor, lack of promotion by a boss, firing by a corporation.  America, the land of the free, doesn’t really like freedom these days.  Freedom means you might hurt someone’s feelings, crush their fragile self-esteem, say something shocking.  Freedom of ideas is a beautiful dream, but the kids on the adult playground of modern thought are like the bullies from our childhood, dressed up in suits, with law degrees and political offices; and with the same fragile sense of self the old bullies had.  But they have more power to punish the free, more power to torment the outlier.  Fortunately, truly free people relish their freedom so much that they become hardened to the ways of bullies and go on living in joy and liberty.

I set out to write this as an homage to homeschooling.  But as so often happens, I discovered that homeschooling, and even business ownership, are merely some of the sweet fruits of an attitude, of a decision, to be free.  It was what made America, once upon a time, a great country.  It’s what real Americans long for, live for and are willing to defend and die to preserve.

I hope that my children, and their children and all the rest can remain free.  I hope that they can thumb their collective noses at those who silence, subjugate, manipulate and ridicule those who just want to live and be left alone.  I hope they take their children on trips and walk away from unnecessary constraints.  I hope that they forge new ways to be free and remake this nation.

Freedom.  Take every step necessary to preserve yours, and your children’s.  Because once it is surrendered it does not return easily.

And once enjoyed, perhaps the most addictive thing in all the world.

Homeschooling Offers Families a Great Option. (My column in today’s Greenville News.)

http://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/contributors/2015/06/13/ed-leap-homeschooling-offers-families-great-option/71132414/

I have, in my house, a rising Tiger. Our second-born, Seth, begins his college career at Clemson this fall. He has always been, and remains, an amazing young man. He is filled with both passion and compassion, he loves learning, reads voraciously, is strong as a bear and is an outstanding musician. He makes our parental hearts swell with love and pride. Oh, and for the record, he looks like me and is thus incredibly handsome. What? His mother tells us that all the time so it has to be true!

Like a growing number of college students, Seth comes to the university from the home-school world. From the time he was in 4th grade, he was educated by his awesome mother (with a little help from me), and over time by wonderful teachers in several co-op groups, culminating in a few semesters at Tri-County Tech, receiving college credit as a ‘dual-enrollment’ student.

It appears to have been a good experience for him. His college acceptance letters came without a glitch, giving him several choices for his university education. And despite the constant protests to the contrary (by those outside the home-school world), Seth does just fine in the mystical ‘socialization’ arena.

I have always said that education can be accomplished with great success in any of several ways. Public school, private school and home-school all work just fine. But they only succeed to the extent that parents care and are involved in the educational process. All can fail miserably if parents are dismissive and believe ‘that’s someone else’s job,’ and particularly if moms and dads suggest that learning is drudgery, unnecessary, boring or somehow a form of oppression.

However, for anyone considering home-schooling, I would say that it is a fantastic way to spend time with, and really know, your children. Jan and I have emphasized learning from the beginning. But home-schooling allowed us to tailor the learning to the child. More than that, it allowed us that precious, ever dwindling commodity, time.

You see, our schedule was our own. Yes, the state mandates 180 days of school per year. But we could accomplish that in any way we desired. If we had a schedule conflict, learning could take place in the afternoon and evening. If we had the opportunity to take a trip during the ‘school year,’ we took it and learned in the car, in the hotel or at the National Monument. If I was working evenings, we could play and visit during the day and they could finish up later; or I could help with school during the day while Jan took a welcome break for lunch with friends.

Furthermore, we could design curricula for the interests of the children, whether it was learning Biblical Greek or taking bagpipe lessons. BB-gun team was a credit towards PE. Jan once applied for, and received, a grant of beautiful copies of art from the National Endowment for the Arts. The entire process was, in a word, flexible.

The reason this matters to me, as a parent, is that the world grabs our kids so quickly these days. They have school, of course, but culture tells us that if we want our kids to succeed, they have to engage in a vast array of activities. Beyond academics, clubs, teams and the ubiquitous Internet conspire with parental work and home responsibilities and seem to drive us ever further apart.

This endless motion sometimes robs us of the simple joy of being together; of eating and laughing, telling stories and just sitting quietly, basking in the presence of those we love most. My schedule has always been pretty malleable. But I feel deeply for the loving mothers and fathers who work second and third shift, and for whom any time with their children is rare and precious. For them, in particular, online or home-schooling could offer unimagined opportunities to enjoy their children while they can.

I wouldn’t trade a day of it. And Jan and I would do it all over again; and hopefully do it even better. But as Seth goes off to Clemson, and my remaining two children likely transition to public school this fall, I just hope that parents keep their options open. Even a year or two of home-schooling, strategically placed, can offer opportunities, memories, and bonding that they’ll never regret.

And never forget.

 

When the children return home, it’s a blessing

My column in this weeks’ Greenville News.  Enjoy the kids when they’re home!  And Merry Christmas!

http://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/contributors/2014/12/05/ed-leap-children-return-home-blessing/19972293/

My children, about whom you have read for nearly 20 years now, are growing up. The oldest will turn 20 this month; the youngest will turn 14 next month. And there’s those other two, in the middle, how old are they? Oh yeah, 15 and nearly 18. (The curse of the middle child.)

Our firstborn is in college nearby, living with friends. The others are so busy with coursework that even though they live at home, as autumn passes I seem to see them less and less. They are forever consumed with papers and tests, reading assignments and other projects.

And yet, despite their advancing ages and exploding maturity, they love home. They love home because they love familiarity and comfort. Because they love to eat and sleep and relax without being in charge of everything. They love sitting by the fire and playing games; times when they can slip comfortably into sweat-pants, t-shirts…and childhood.

During these times of rest and relaxation, they occupy themselves in many ways, from staring at the many screens in their possession to simply and joyously tormenting one another. A favorite game? ‘Tiny Punches,’ wherein three corner the fourth and hit him, or her, repeatedly with very short punches. I have received this treatment; and when I find myself in a corner with three of the children around me looking at one another, I know what’s coming.

In years past, there were others. Avalanche involved building a huge wall of pillows and blankets and collapsing it on one another. Another game required that they jump from the landing onto a pile of pillows; beneath which one might find a concealed dumbbell for an extra soft landing. And there was the static torture. Wrap a sibling, or parent, in a fluffy blanket, in the dry air of the basement, then rub it as hard as possible. I swear, I wish I knew how much charge that generates. I recall the pain and the sparks. (Works well on a trampoline also.) I’m just glad I didn’t have a pacemaker.

I am not suggesting you play these games; unless you’re feeling bold. (Like one-legged kick-fight, it can end badly.) I am suggesting that our children, even as young adults, are still children. As we should all be, I believe. It’s at Christmas that we recover those simple joys and simpler times.

Modern culture likes to pretend that high school and college kids are the end all, be all of worldly wisdom and education. To which I say ‘nuts.’ They’re bright and articulate and culturally aware. But they’re still, in so many ways, immature. To us, their parents, they’re still children. And they always will be. It’s why we constantly ask them if they need anything, it’s why we load them up with everything from food to toilet paper when they leave. And why we hug them out of the blue. (A thing they secretly love.)

Granted, at 18 they can vote and go to war. And they can, at 21, drink alcohol. (An odd and probably inappropriate dichotomy in my opinion, but that’s another column.) But they don’t know enough yet. Nowhere near enough. Because a huge part of successful learning is simply born of living through a lot of things. Thus, sadder-but-wiser parents share wisdom with enthusiastic-but-vulnerable offspring.

This Christmas, as the kids come home, as they unwind from exams, as they look for the comfort of friends and laughter and as they seem to sleep like the dead, remember that they are also seeking the wonderful joy of the familiar and the safe. They want to let their guards down and know the simplicity of childhood once more. Best of all, in the process, they are giving us a gift as parents. They are saying, without so many words, ‘I still need you and I’m glad I’m yours.’

So if you find yourself in a house suddenly bereft of chips and soda, if you find the television occupied by video games, and notice that you are being ambushed by large kids who look vaguely like the little ones who lived there not so long ago, take it for what it is.

It’s a blessing of the first order, to have children who still need you. Please proceed to enjoy every second. Because if you do, they’ll just keep coming back. And eventually, they’ll bring more with them.

 

Children help men to become manly.

Children help men to become manly.

This is my column in this past Sunday’s Greenville News.

 

http://www.greenvilleonline.com/article/20130616/OPINION/306160014/Ed-Leap-Children-help-men-manly?odyssey=mod|newswell|text|Opinion|s

I was talking with my wife Jan a few days ago about growing up.  More specifically, when does a man become…a man?  I suggested that for me,  it was sometime around the end of medical school and my time in residency that I transitioned from adolescence to adulthood.  After all, I was married, I had a job and I was a physician.  Seemed manly enough to me!

She countered.  She felt that it was fatherhood that transformed me fully into manhood.  And looking back, I agree.  Before then, for all I had achieved, it was still all about me: my identity, my success, my education, my career, my aspirations, my resume.  I was selfish and she was patient.

It made me think about modern manhood. Many bemoan the fact that modern men seem more and more trapped in extended adolescence.  I’m confident it isn’t true of all of them.  I know some very mature young men.  But too many don’t move forward. From the end of high school through their thirties (and sometimes beyond), they are far more concerned with themselves than anything else.

To some extent, this is appropriate for a young man. We come of age by discovering our strengths and weaknesses, by developing goals and skills.  But men need to move further.  ‘When I became a man, I put childish things behind me,’ St. Paul says in I Corinthians 13.  We usually associate that with toys and games, but it likely refers to selfish pursuits and the endless desire for pleasure.

The sexual behavior of several generations is ‘exhibit one’ of immaturity in our aspiring men. Sexuality is misplaced and twisted, so that their natural and reasonable desire for a sexual partner turns into a pattern of conquest and abandonment, leaving young women emotionally devastated and sometimes scarred by disease, or left with children to raise alone.  (After all, a man can’t be saddled with responsibility when he hasn’t ‘found the right one,’ or ‘found himself,’ can he?)

A vast harvest of fatherless children has sprung up from ‘sowing wild oats.’  Doubtless some of it is from generational wounds, as abandoned young men absorb the lesson that abandonment is normative.  And to be fair, the culture of womanhood has changed as well, and both are intertwined in cycles of dysfunction that lead to the same unfortunate ends.

I wonder, then, if we’ve done a disservice.  In pointing to education, career and pleasure as the sole goods for young men, we have made men unnatural.  Fatherhood is natural.  And by this, I don’t mean serial paternity or mere instinctual reproduction.  I mean the fatherhood in which a man loves and marries woman and together they produce and raise a child.

In that setting, something happens to a young man.  He truly leaves childhood behind.  He devotes himself to the safety and well-being of his wife and child.  I speak from experience when I say that, while I thought I understood love, nothing prepared me for the tidal waves of love that I experienced with the gift my wife gave me in each of our successive children.

I believe, wholeheartedly, that we have only scratched the surface of our knowledge of biology.  And also, that we as yet have very little idea of the confluence of mind, body and spirit.  But we do know that a young man’s brain doesn’t really mature until the mid twenties.  That’s when good decisions are formed and unreasonable risk averted.  Therefore it also seems likely to me that the immense chemical, emotional and spiritual stimulus of fatherhood further propels us from boys to men.  That’s not to say that one can’t be a man without a child.  But some event that requires absolute love, devotion and self-sacrifice seems to be necessary to the process.

It has been suggested that the ‘wild west’ was wild, in part, because there were many young, energetic and unconnected men with neither wife nor child.  I see a similar pattern at work today, in both rural and urban areas, as men produce children but are not transformed in the process.

But proper, committed fatherhood is an event that creates a man who will work for his loved ones, live for them and if necessary, die for them.  So as we remember Father’s Day, we should remember that as much as we fathers raise our children, they seem to raise us.  And take us from the children we were to the men we hoped to be.