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May 2006In this Issue: |
During spring in New England color astounds my eye… redbud, magnolia, cherry, plum and apple. I made a conscious choice to attend to Beauty this past month. Ahhhh, such joy! I am pleased to share with you that a recent article submission Embodying Your Values was selected for publication by The Coaches Training Institute (CTI). This is a boost to my private coaching practice as 6,500 professional coaches around the world saw the piece and I’ve had coaching inquiries about the work I offer. Check out the short article at http://www.thecoaches.com/newsletter/Leclaire.html In this month’s ezine you can find a favorite story of mine… The Scooter speaks to a powerful theme which we will be exploring at the upcoming “Honoring Father” men’s retreat in June at Kripalu. Please let men you care for know about the weekend gathering of men.Blessings of peace, Sean Casey LeClaire If you'd like to share this issue with a friend, they can view the newsletter online at http://www.seanleclaire.com/ezine/. If you'd prefer not to receive future issues of Be The Change, click the Unsubscribe link at the bottom of this message. THE SCOOTERI’m seated in my car at a Toys R Us parking lot. My breathing is shallow. I’m jumpy, unfocussed… my mother would call the state “you’ve got ants in your pants.” I can’t seem to get myself to drive to daycare, pick up my son, go home, make supper and give him the gift that I just bought for his fifth birthday. I know he will be thrilled but I can’t get myself to turn over the ignition. I’m staring out the driver’s window at a steel gray sky, becoming more and more agitated. Something’s up! Something is definitely pressing for attention. A memory of some sort is arising from my past but I can’t quite get a fix on it. I feel the affect in my body but there is no story in my mind. I’ve gotten used to this lately, especially since my son was born. Periodically, I seem to re-live unfinished parts of my own childhood as my son lives his. I bought my boy a Star Wars Darth Vader scooter. And, it doesn’t dawn on me till it’s too late, way, WAY too late, why I’m anxious, upset. The awareness begins to come to my attention when my son and I are at home, in the living room and he wants me to ASSEMBLE the scooter. I dump the contents of the Darth Vader box onto the hardwood floor. Parts fly out! I sink back into the couch, confused. A deepening sense of hopelessness fills my gut and legs; my fingertips go cold. In that moment I hear my father’s voice in my head… NO! No, not like that…give me the damn thing… You’ve got two thumbs for fixing things, boy! The man revered tools, he could make anything with his hands; I could do anything with a basketball, soccer ball, anything round. Let’s just say my dad didn’t give me much support when it came to using tools. I felt like an imbecile around the guy. He just… wasn’t much of a teacher. We’ll leave it at that. Even today, the thought of going to Ikea and Home Depot gives me a fever. Glaring at the twenty odd parts wrapped in plastic bags and the semi-assembled scooter I blurt, “Son, I don’t have proper tools for this… we’ll have to wait." “But Dad, DAD, that orange tool box, YOU got tools, I’ll get it. I want to ride my dark vader scooter NOW!” He charges down the hallway. Now is my son’s favorite word! When he returns, tool box in hand, I’ve slumped to the hardwood floor and am attempting to get the stem of the damn thing into the front wheel base. “Try turning it around.” My son giggles. Hmmm… That’s it! The kid’s right. The thing fits. Then I put a few brackets together… a screw the size of a nanobot falls out of my fingertips and lands in the seam of the hardwood floor. “Where are my glasses?” I clench my stomach and jaw and hear myself make an odd sound, like a trapped animal. “We, we neeeeeed that!” “Flip it up from the hole in the wood with this Dad!” My boy hands me a pen from my desk. I feel an impulse to scream but instead I say, “Okay,” and after a few long seconds, I retrieve the tiny screw. “See!” He proudly acknowledges his solution and my effort. Then he pats me on the back. “See!” “Son, I c…ca…can’t, just can’t get this.” I’m turning this bloody black plastic thingy that is supposed to go, to hook… on… “WE NEED to get better tools to fix this, get help… Blazé, Patrick… they… THEY can do it. YOU can ride the scooter another…” “Dad, we can do it! Look!” My son points to the picture on the box. I put down the ridiculous schematic and look. “Look, see, the other way, put it upside down Dad.” I turn the bracket and slip it on the stem. I swear, right in that moment, I hear my father. He’s in the room with us, breathing. Not saying a word, but he’s with us. Definitely, in the room, with his son and his son’s son… who’s just turned five and wants to ride his new scooter, not later, NOW! Slow, soft tears slither down my cheeks. My son grabs the scooter from me. “Cool” He bellows triumphantly. “Cool!” “We did it Dad. See! Works great!” He begins to roll around on it. “SEE!! ME, and YOU fixed it. WE made my scooter Dad!” I put that scooter together exactly how my high-spirited, five-year old son instructed me to. My son is a blessing who fills me up and utterly depletes me on a daily basis. I read somewhere that the son makes the father. And, maybe the father who is willing to be made—heals the father who wasn’t there.BODY-CENTERED BREAKS (BCBs)The Body-Centered Break is a body-focused inquiry and awareness meditation lasting only two minutes and done whenever and wherever you are in your day. Benefits as described by coaching clients include: calmness of mind, overall sense of well-being, sharpened mental focus, reduced anxiety, increased ability of autonomous nervous system to recover rapidly from stress, and an increased capacity for learning. CLICK here for an audio-guided BCB at any time you feel the need to slow down and center into yourself. Enjoy the Benefits NOW! HeadRest Radiate QuietMind SteamValve SHARED WISDOMResentment is the poison you pour for another and drink yourself. A guy waking up POEMThe Father Tossed inside For nine months I studied Kill it, keep it, give it away, Forty years later, Dying in a hospital bed, she said. “Son, he had the smell of night: a sailor, a soldier, a brawler?” “His dirty toes clutching the sheets; I fought him, I did!” My mother grabbed my arm, handed me a faded snapshot. She heaved a graveyard breath, mumbled. Sean Casey LeClaire WONDERINGWhen did you first go mute on your father? INQUIRYWhat haven't you forgiven? EVENTS AND WORKSHOPSHonoring Father: A Gathering of Whole-Hearted Men Call Sean at 978-369-8286 or email sean@seanleclaire.com with any program content questions. |
© 2006 Sean Casey LeClaire, all rights reserved. |
