EDITOR’S NOTE: The times right now are a lot for everyone, and I’m especially blessed with a tribe that “checks-in” to make sure I’m handling it all well. Neal Lemery sent along this gem to a group of us doing a lot of outreach, along with this message: “These days seem especially challenging for our community. There’s a lot of angst, turmoil, uncercertainly. And, as a result, there are a lot of folks in pain and anxiety, needing the care and comfort of others. A number of years ago, my foster son was at loose ends, adrift, growing into manhood yet often purposeless and in need of love and comfort. I often find my own peace and become centered when I am in nature, and so I felt moved to give my son an experience in nature, and to strengthen our relationship. Years later, I wrote about that experience. Recently, I shared that writing with a friend who is learning to be a counselor and connector with others through experiences in nature. I’m sharing that with you all, as you are healers and guardians of social wellbeing. These times call for our healing spirits.” And I asked him if I could share this special piece with Pioneer readers, and he of course, graciously agreed. We all need to have someone (or several someones) to rely upon for a trust walk.
By Neal Lemery
When he was a teenager, one of my sons struggled with his spirituality, his question of whether the world was simply random chaos, or maybe there was a divine entity out there, or in here, that give it all some structure, some rationality.
He couldn’t buy into organized religion and, as he put it, “some imaginary friend”. He was a questioner and a thinker, but he struggled with a nagging sense that simple logic and reason didn’t provide a satisfying answer, either.
The question began to consume him, and he was wondering what manhood was, and part of him was being tugged back into childhood, and a big part of childhood was something he simply hadn’t experienced, given his crazy upbringing (or, as I would call it, the non upbringing.)
One day, I took him on a walk through the back yard. We did a trust walk, and I had him blindfold me.
“Take me on a walk,” I said. “Guide me, and keep me safe.”
He was so reluctant, so fearful.
“I trust you. You will keep me safe.”
So, off we went, me showing him how to take my arm over his. I was blind, and he was my eyes. He was the guide, and I was the child. He was the dad and I was the son.
He was a masterful guide, and we walked, ever so slowly and cautiously, along the garden paths, up and down the hill, around shrubs and paving stones, and around a tree.
He was astonished I’d trusted him, and yet I had no fear. And, he could sense I had no fear. He was, after all, my son, and my son was now a man. The transformation in our roles was subtle, yet empowering. I could sense a change in his energy. Manhood was in bloom here in the garden that afternoon.
When we were done, he took off my blindfold, a big grin across his face.
“Is it my turn?” he asked, a bit impishly.
“You betcha,” I replied, putting the blindfold across his young, beaming face.
As we walked through the yard and the garden, my hand and arm under his arm now, I talked about intuition and wisdom, experience, and confidence.
He laughed, chuckling at the thought of being led, blind, through the garden outside of his bedroom window, his old man and him shuffling through the plants and stepping-stones, and around the tree, again.
The summer afternoon sun was waning, the light catching in the stubble along his jaw. I looked at him, a man now, this boy child who had come into my life only a few years ago, beaten, weary, and leery of this guy who was going to be some kind of father to him.
Oh, that word was not a good one for him. Biological dad was a scarce commodity in his life, and mom had a number of boyfriends, whose actions with him and his brother ran the gamut from indifference to beyond abusive. On our first day together, I was Neal. He was comfortable with that, and never called me dad, except to his friends. I had to earn that title, though. It was not one he’d ever think of giving out lightly.
“I’m always here for you, son,” I said, my arms around him now, pulling him for a bear hug. “And, I’m so proud of you.”
A big breath whooshed out of his lungs. He was home now, and he was really himself.
His shoulders were relaxed now, and there was the old twinkle in his eyes. He chuckled, he laughed. He was at ease with himself, comfortable in his own skin.
