Tripp Tripp Hooray!
I’m not sure if turning one means more to the birthday boy or his parents, but it’s reason to celebrate either way. When my daughter, Jacqueline, turned one I wrote a post dedicated to her and the joy she brought (and still brings) to our lives. That post can be read HERE. Writing that post meant as much to me as it will ever mean to her. Hopefully she reads it one day. (Another blog reader!) For this reason, and many more, I wanted to do a similar post for my son, Tripp, who turned one this past Wednesday.
John David “Tripp” Lowe joined our family just over a year ago. It was a beautiful day in Boston, made even more so with the arrival of this little boy. In some ways having baby #2 just 15 months after the first made the experience feel familiar, almost comfortable (my wife may not agree with comfortable…). We knew the layout of the hospital, how the nurses liked to operate, where to find the “fresh” black coffee, etc. We were experienced; at least, more so than with Jacqueline. But beyond that, everything was different with a boy.
Having a boy is something I feared at first. How would I stack up as a boy dad? Did I know how to do all of the manly things (you know, like blogging)? What will he do if I can’t teach him something? You can psych yourself out with these questions. Then I thought about my dad, and his dad, and my friends’ dads—what did they do well? I realized to some extent that no one can know everything. James Bond and Bruce Wayne aren’t real, after all. What is real, is showing up. We’re all flawed in various ways, so too will our children be. What matters most is…well, we’ve all read that Teddy Roosevelt speech, haven’t we…
Tripp has helped ease my nerves immensely in his first Tripp (couldn’t resist) around the sun. He’s been a resilient little guy. He’s traveled well, adjusted with the move, stayed happy through countless ear infections. What I’ve learned from him this year has been to not take being a dad too seriously. He laughs mischievously when I hammer my thumb, stub my toe, or show any frustration at all. It’s a constant reminder that parents are important authoritative figures, but their also friends. Tripp not only puts up with me, but also his sister blabbing at him to do X,Y, and Z. He scoots around on his hands and knees to keep up. He does his best to be a part of the team. He’s fussy when you change him, and doesn’t appreciate being woken up—but he smiles wide when you give him what he likes, usually French fries, but also trains, balls, and, most importantly, your attention.
I never thought much about kids having personalities before I had them. At least no one under five. I was wrong about this. Babies and toddlers very much have personalities. They’re little people being forged by their environment and what they see on a daily basis. They are sponges.
Before Tripp was born, I read a book titled A Good Man by Mark Shriver. The book is about Mark’s father, Sargent Shriver, a well-known American politician and diplomat, who was the first Director of the Peace Corps.
Later in life Sargent Shriver would be diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. In the book, Mark talks about how difficult it was to watch this great man succumb to human illnesses that, albeit out of anyone’s control, seemed to take away his once superhero powers.
Sarge, as he was known to friends and family, attended Mass on a daily basis. He would sit in the very back. Once a good location to make a quick exit to get back to helping his in-laws run the country, was now a good location to not disturb anyone. You see as the Alzheimer’s got worse, so too did other areas of Shriver’s health. He would cough, sneeze, and wipe his nose incessantly. His children and other support staff had to care for him around the clock.
This story inspires me, because here is a man that was at the apex of power for 90% of his life. Yet it was these final days, these darker days that father and son bonded and added to their story together.
Stories like these, and my real-life examples, are what give me peace of mind that Tripp and I will both figure things out with each passing year. I will be there to give him guardrails and guidance. He will be there to provide smiles and belly laughs, and at some point—back sass. But we will both be there in the arena for each other to the bitter end. That’s my prayer.
