The Dad, the boy and their bike (Otherwise known as the long awaited story).

Walking into the room I could feel the fear begin to creep into the pit of my stomach. This fear has gripped me as far back as I can remember. It is the very reason I bought that thing in the first place. The same motorcycle my boy thought would help him in his search as well. You see I have never felt worthy as a man. It has been a point of attack for the enemy my entire life. He has used the men in my life to cripple me as a man. Every opportunity for abandonment he, the enemy, took and used it to create in me a lack of worth. It is the very reason as a young man I could not commit. It is also the reason I have found it so difficult to trust other men. The greatest of these wounds came from my father, but that is another story for another day.
I had to get something off my chest. I knew he could tell that something was amiss as he prepared for his trip of freedom. It had been eating at me for a while, but like I said I am gripped with fear when these things need to be said. The part that truly saddens me is that I have no problem speaking to a stranger on the street or shooting the breeze with a buddy over a bear while watching the game but I have never been able to speak these words that need to be spoke to him. I know it has done harm to our relationship as father and son. Each night before I rest I pray that it will not harm him like it has harmed me. That he will be able to move beyond this vicious cycle that has plagued the men of our family for generations.
I opened the door and stepped into the room. Already I could these words would come tearfully. “Son I want you to know something before you go. I want you to know that I am proud of the man you are becoming. I love you deeply. More than I have often showed with words or actions. But I stand here telling you that it is true. I also want you to know that if you are searching for who you are as a man on this trip it will not come to you through leaving. You see son, I tried to do the same thing at your age. But I can tell you as I stand here I thought I learned what it was like to be a man on that trip. But I was wrong. I learned to be a man when I learned to love your mother without running and love you even though I was scared to death to love you. I was afraid I would break you or screw you up. You see a real man is not some outlaw or some cowboy. A man can only truly be a man in community. In community we have people to look at like a mirror to see who we truly are. We cannot see who we are by ourselves. So if you think freedom and the open road will tell you who you are you will not find your answer out there. You can only find it when you are in community.”
At this she stood up from the bed with fist clenched and leaped towards me. I hadn’t known she was in there. If I had I would never have entered. As she neared I embraced her and she began to pound my chest. I could see she had been crying by the mascara on her cheeks and I just enticed more tears out of her without intention. As she pounded me she screamed at me. “Why couldn’t you say that before, why couldn’t you speak those words with him here? Why, Charlie, why? Why didn’t you stop him?” All I could do was hold her in the embrace. Eventually she stopped hitting me but the tears didn’t stop as our embrace continued. Slowly we sat moved to the bed and sat while continuing to embrace each other. All I could utter was “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
You see we just finished burying my boy, our boy. Today was the day of his funeral. It was just a week ago that he left for his trip on that motorcycle I had once road off into the sunset. He was less that an hour from our house when a car ran a red light and hit him. He was dead before the paramedics arrived. And now I must live with the knowledge that I didn’t speak those words. That I allowed him to leave with words unspoken. Words that desperately needed to be heard by ears that never will. I didn’t have the chance to tell him how much I loved him or how proud of him I was. I simply said “Good bye, son.”