Entertaining thoughts and dancing with memories

The other night as I lay in my bed in the North Carolina stillness, sleep wouldn’t visit me.

I was visited instead by memories and thoughts of my children. Some of the thoughts brought smiles, some caused me to laugh out loud – and some put tears in the corners of my eyes.

The practical jokes on each other. The cross-country adventures we had. The Christmas family basketball tournaments. The graduations. The hugs and yes, even the harsh words.

I thought about the changes in my family. Changes in their growth and my growth. I started to feel a little melancholy that there are moments that would never return. Time that went from the stage floor of reality to the scrapbooks that tried to hold all the millions of memories.

As I thought about my sixth grandson just recently born, I anticipate the day when I get to meet him for the first time. In the midst of that train of thought, I jumped the tracks to go back a few years to the day Tyler would give Sara a new last name.

I’d coached both of them in basketball, I was there at their first meeting in the Fulton High School gym where we were all scouting a team that my son was going to play later in the week. I remembered how she was the first girl he dated. And how we’d prayed for the right one to come into his life.

So there I was – traveling back to Fred Meijer gardens in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where marriage would begin for both of them.

I watched as my second son officially began his family. It was a time for reunions, a time for reflections and a time for wondering. The reunion of family. The reflection of what had gone forth, and wondering… lots of wondering about the future.

As I looked into his eyes from the parent’s row, I noticed how much he had changed since the days when I actually had to “change” him. I suddenly remembered that calendar he made for me in elementary school with his picture at the top of “July” and a tear came to my eye as I remembered cheering for him at his football games, his golf matches, his track meets and his basketball games.

I remember bawling like a baby at his high school graduation and hugging him a little longer; a little tighter when he graduated from college.

But this was not a sporting event or a graduation, although I was a spectator with a chosen seat. In my heart I was cheering him on as he stood watching his groomsmen come to his side and come to his aid. It reminded me of the times he used to need me. Times when a Band-Aid was called for to his skinned knee or a pizza was in order after a brutal high school practice.

And there in that moment in time, he had to stand alone and wait. Wait for the love of his life. Wait for his future. Wait for his passion. And as a dad, I wondered if I had taught him to wait with enough joy. To wait with enough patience. To wait with enough perseverance.

And then the music began to play a new melody and we all realized that my son’s life was about to change in just moments. The ring bearer came down the isle with the rings, but his bride was coming down that isle with his heart.

I watched the tears in his eyes as she approached and I knew. The most important thing was not his waiting with joy or his waiting with patience or his waiting with persistence… but that he truly learned how to wait upon his bride with love.

Ten years ago, he came to me and asked, “Dad, what do you think about this girl?” And as she took his hands and promised to love him with all of her heart, I felt a peace inside, knowing that a dad who finds a woman for his son that, above all will love him unconditionally is the confirmation of true happiness.

And as they were “pronounced” and walked away down that path, I realized that I watched my son come to that altar as a little boy, but witnessed him walk away from it, very much a man.

As they disappeared into that wooded setting, far from the eyes of the spectators, I felt the reunion of family as we cried and laughed and embraced and cheered the addition of another DeLap. I reflected on how this all happened in a decade. And I wondered no more if I had taught my son all he needed to know before that day or if he had taught me all I needed to know.

It goes like a vapor. Take time. Love hard. Go. Learn things.

Mark DeLap is a journalist, photographer and the editor and general manager of the Bladen Journal. To email him, send a message to: mdelap@bladenjournal.com