At the same time, the notorious Communist mayor of El Toboso loses his campaign for reelection.  The mayor (who shares a surname with the Sancho Panza of Cervantean fame) proposes a brief vacation across the Spanish countryside with the new monsignor.  Father Quixote reluctantly agrees, and so the unlikely companions load cases of local wine, sausage, and Manchegan cheese into the back seat of the father’s ancient, but reliable car–named Rocinante.

And so begins another quixotic adventure, this time through post-war Spain.  The conversation deals not with the conflict between romantic chivalry and modern realism, but between Christian faith and Communist theory (actually, that might be the same conversation).  Probing their antithetical visions of the world, the two friends exchange books and arguments, eventually discovering that they share a common human struggle:  doubt and fear in a world marked by pain, suffering, injustice, and (most of all) mystery.

As the adventures continue, an odd friendship grows out of commonalities–a mutual love for strong cheese and local wine, shared doubts and doubtful fears, a similar longing for a better world.  In spite of their contrary faiths, Mayor Sancho and Father Quixote become the heroes of a modern romance that weaves through war and betrayal, timid faith and fearful hope.  And like all good romances, this one ends with a tragedy that opens the way to the very center of Mystery–the terrifying center of hope, peace, and the end of suffering.

Read it:  Monsignor Quixote by Graham Greene

Read it: Why I like Graham Greene.

Seek simplicity–and distrust it.
~Alfred North Whitehead

Living Simply

In capitalist societies the idea of a “simple life” has always been attractive.  And economic tremors in capitalist societies seem to make simplicity even more alluring.  These tremors expose the siren call of materialism for the chimera that it is, and simplicity becomes abundantly lovely–a life of freedom from the bondage to things and activities and desires that crush your soul.

But though it is attractive, the simple life is notoriously difficult to attain in affluent societies like ours.  It requires discipline and grace, outward actions and inner changes.  It is a path fraught with dangers and temptations and discouragements.  But thankfully, there are many guides to help us toward the simple life.  One of them is Joshua Becker, the author of the Becoming Minimalist website, which is dedicated to helping families desire, attain, and live the simple life as a family.

The Simple Family Life

Simplicity in family life is extremely attractive to American parents, particularly in a culture that assumes (demands?) that children be involved in sports and arts every moment they aren’t in school.  As an educator, I encourage sports and arts and school.  But as a dad, I know how easy it is to sacrifice the really important things of family life to the fierce demands of the soccer and piano schedule.

In addition to helpful articles on his blog, Joshua Becker has also written an ebook called Simplify, which both introduces the blessings of the simple family life and provides an effective strategy to attain it.  Joshua begins Simplify by telling the story of his own family’s journey from the empty promises of rat-race materialism to the deep pleasures of the life of simplicity.  As the story develops, Joshua lays out his “7 Guiding Principles” of the simple life, along with loads of concrete tips and suggestions.  Most importantly, Joshua also includes advice about persevering in the life of simplicity, ways of keeping the sirens of materialism at bay.

Beginning Simply

The simple life begins first with a desire to live simply.  Then comes reading and study.  Joshua Becker’s Simplify can be purchased here for $9.95.  Though you may not be used to purchasing ebooks, I heartily recommend this one to you–especially if the idea of the simple life is new to you.  In Joshua’s words,

“There is a life of simplicity that is calling out to you. It is inviting you to live the life you were born to live, not the life your neighbor is trying to achieve. It is inviting you to value the things that you want to value, not the values of billboards and advertisements. It is inviting you to remove the distractions in your life that are keeping you from truly living. And it’s been here the whole time…” (76).

For those of you who have already begun the pursuit of simplicity in your own family, you still might want to check out the numerous helpful ideas and practical tips in Simplify.  Once you’ve read Joshua’s book, I then recommend going on to Richard Foster’s Freedom of Simplicity:  Finding Harmony in a Complex World.  Foster goes into great detail about the spiritual, theological, and practical aspects of pursuing simplicity as a Christian discipline.

Simplicity in family life will be an ongoing theme on the Manly Dad blog, and I’ll be drawing a lot from Becker’s and Foster’s books.  Watch for these future articles, but don’t wait until then to begin pursuing the simple life for you family.  Buy a book and start today.

Everyone has a favorite chili recipe–most true aficionados have three or four.  Today I felt like making a simple, straightforward version.  Since the weather was sloppy, I didn’t want to spend a lot of time at the store gathering peppers and chiles, or a lot of time at home cooking raw beans.  So I tried to use what I had on hand to make a good March chili.

Here’s what I came up with:

Spring Break Chili

I always use the same pot for my chili-making–a large cast-iron favorite.  Whatever pot you use, be sure it can hold everything listed below.  Also, I think cooking is more fun if you prepare all the ingredients first.  Then you can really enjoy the accumulations of smells and flavors, without worrying about scorching things.

• 4 oz bacon, chopped
• 1 pound venison (or beef), cubed

Cook the bacon on medium heat in the chili pot.  When it is mostly done, spoon out the bacon but leave the fat in the pot.  Add the venison and cook it on medium heat.  When it is browned, add the bacon back to the pot.  Cook the meat together until everything is cooked through.

• 1 large onion, diced
• 6 cloves garlic, minced

Add the onion and garlic to the meat.  Cook until the onion is translucent.

• 3 Tbsp chili powder
• 2 1/2 Tbsp ground cumin
• 1 1/2 Tbsp brown sugar
• 3 tsp dried oregano
• 1/8 tsp ground allspice
• 1/8 tsp ground cloves

Add the spices and sugar to the chili pot, and stir until thoroughly mixed.  Be sure to enjoy this part.

• 28-oz can diced tomatoes
• 15-oz can tomato sauce

Add the tomatoes and tomato sauce to the chili pot.  Simmer for 15 minutes.

• 15-oz can black beans
• 15-oz can pinto beans

Add the beans to the pot.  Simmer for at least 20 more minutes to mix the flavors.

If you have stellar patience, let the chili simmer for up to 2 hours.  The longer it simmers, the better the flavors will blend.  If the chili gets too thick, add some broth (chicken, beef, vegetable) or just plain water–but add it in small amounts.

Serve your Spring Break Chili with your preferred accessories and favorite beverage.

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Sir Richard Steele on duels and quarrels: “Most of the quarrels I have ever known have proceeded from some valiant coxcomb’s persisting in the wrong, to defend some prevailing folly, and preserve himself from the ingenuity of owning a mistake.”

Snapshots and Screenshots:  I’ve been enjoying Tim Challies’ ebook, Snapshots and Screenshots, a collection of his twelve favorite essays and articles.  Check it out.  It’s free and worth the read.

Man or Mushroom?

For an hour we sat together, reading the last of the adventures of Stuart Little as he searched for his friend Margalo. Then we started The Little Prince (I was pulling for The Princess and the Goblin).

After reading about elephants in boa constrictors and the discovery of Asteroid B-612, we came to the famous discussion of flowers and thorns. The narrator is busy trying to rebuild his plane’s engine so he can fly out of the Sahara Desert and not die of thirst. The Little Prince is busy asking questions about why flowers have thorns. His relentless questions finally exasperate the narrator, who exclaims, “Don’t you see—I am very busy with matters of consequence!”

The Little Prince responds with surprise and anger: “You talk just like the grown-ups! You mix everything up together…You confuse everything…I know a planet where there is a certain red-faced gentleman. He has never smelled a flower. He has never looked at a star. He has never loved any one. He has never done anything in his life but add up figures. And all day he says over and over, just like you: ‘I am busy with matters of consequence!’ And that makes him swell up with pride. But he is not a man—he is a mushroom!”

This simple conversation from a child’s book put my whole morning in perspective. At first, I had been frustrated that my work had resulted in nothing. But the Little Prince’s vehement rebuke reminded me about what truly were the matters of consequence: not my projects, but my son; not my study of fat books, but my wonder at the wide world. This morning I wanted to be a mushroom instead of a father.

Wonder and Companionship

Philip Howard gives similar counsel in his short book, Father and Son. He writes that for the sake of their children, fathers must “keep your boyhood alive, so that you can be a boy worth your boys not in any artificial way, not as a concession, but because you and he belong together.” For me, this means not losing my wonder among my “matters of consequence.” My son has the limitless wonder of a four-year-old, but it needs to be cultivated and encouraged like a zucchini plant in Montana: though capable when young, it can easily be crushed by a rough hand or killed by fierce weather. But given enough care and attention, it will become a formidable fecundity.

Howard continues, “It is a part of the holy intimacy of father and child that the father should learn very early the difference between doing things for, and living with, his boy.” Fathers cannot be content either ruling over their children as taskmasters or pampering them. Fathers must become companions of their children, sharing in their adventures and imaginings and training them in wonder and virtue. As this intimacy between father and child grows, so does the child’s imitativeness of the father.

Howard warns of the consequences of forgetting this: “The father will be too small or too busy to interest the big boy if he counts himself too big or too busy to be interested in the little boy.” Like most true warnings, a great blessing comes when it is heeded. The father who commits himself to become his children’s companion will find his wonder limber and imagination fresh. He will be ready for all the other “matters of consequence” that come his way—and will complete them with that elvish mix of wisdom and wonder that marks a faithful father.

The first of these metaphoric disciplines is that of the Explorer, whose central desire is to discover, to increase knowledge or territory for “the good guys.”  Explorers are also visionaries; their imaginations fuel them with purpose and feed their courage.  Their vision of how their discoveries will improve the world enables them to take great personal risks, to journey fearlessly into new territories.

Conquer and Subdue
Give two girls a doll, a teapot, and a blanket, and they will have a tea party and put the doll down for a nap.  Give the same items to two boys, and they will create a hostage situation:  the doll must be rescued from the bomb in the teapot.  Use the blanket as camouflage to get close enough to thump the bad guys and rescue the girl.  Conquer and subdue.  Save the day.

The central motivation of the Explorer is a deep-felt desire to conquer and subdue—to exercise dominion.  This is why boys love tree forts and playing war.  This desire for dominion seems inherent in most boys, and parents (especially fathers) must be wise to cultivate it.  This can be difficult, especially when the boy practices his conquering skills on his sister by whacking her on the head with his toy sword.  Parents often respond by attempting to squash all such behavior, telling him to play nice.  While this may be an understandable response, it is actually quite dangerous.

The problem with the boy’s behavior here isn’t his desire to crack something on the head with a sword:  this should be heartily encouraged (the father should grab his sword and join his son).  The problem in this case is the target:  sisters are to be protected by brothers, not attacked.  Parents should correct the boy for hitting his sister (“only bad guys hit girls”), and then redirect his sword toward the bad guys in the back yard.  Give him your blessing and send him off to battle the forces of darkness between your porch and back fence.  Finish your work and join him.

Many people become nervous when I talk about encouraging little boys to conquer and subdue.  After all, our culture has given these words the connotation of violence, war crimes, oppression, etc.  But masculinity doesn’t consist only of “conquering and subduing”; it must go on to learn how to cultivate and protect, to learn wisdom and discipleship.  Learning these things will teach him what to do after he has conquered and subdued.

Cultivating Exploration
Sons imitate their fathers.  The discipline of the Explorer requires oversight and example.  Sons with a robust, properly oriented ability to conquer and subdue have simply imitated their father’s own vigorous example.  This example begins with boyhood play, as described above.  Fathers should slay dragons with their sons, reclaim bedrooms from bad guys, and cut off the head of the giants hiding in the closet.  One great father once wrote, “It seems to me that a father ought most surely to carry the genuineness, the enthusiasm, the aliveness, the wholesome beginnings of an all-round, well-developed boyhood clean over into his life with his own boys.”

When boys become older, fathers should begin (as soon as possible) to teach them a more subtle type of dominion:  how to take things apart and fix them.  Begin with simple things like broken toys (or really annoying ones that you wish were broken), then move on to old appliances and engines.  Involve boys in any kind of construction or remodeling project.  Teach your son the feel of tools and the proper operation of them.  Teach him when to use them and on what (dad’s laptop is off-limits).  Then give him lots of opportunity to practice on his own.

Even recreation and vacation become opportunities to train boys in the discipline of the Explorer.  Geocaching, hiking, fishing, hunting, and boating are obvious activities to cultivate this discipline.  But so are birding, stargazing, tidepool exploration, photography, and cooking; these activities also teach a subtler form of dominion—classification and organization of the natural world, and mastery of natural materials in artistic creation.

What About the Girls?
Apart from the daughter getting whacked by the plastic sword, this entire article has dealt only with boys and dads.  So what about daughters?  What should a manly dad do with his daughters and the discipline of exploration?

First of all, masculinity and feminity are two different things.  Dads who raise their girls the same way as their boys are asking for trouble and heartache.  This doesn’t mean that girls should never be allowed to play with toy swords or go geocaching.  But fathers should be training their daughters toward feminity, just as they are training their sons toward masculinity.  In general, boys will become fathers, girls will become mothers.  Boys who prefer dolls to swords will likely become weak fathers.  Girls who prefer swords to dolls will likely become cold, cruel mothers.

The father knows his son will grow up to be a husband—and therefore teaches him to be a true man.  He also knows his daughter will grow up to be a wife—and therefore teaches her to desire a true man as her husband.  The father’s discipline of the Explorer gives his son an example to imitate.  And it gives his daughter a picture of true masculinity, so that she will be attracted to nothing less than the real thing.

I plan to write a series of posts on femininity in the future.  Until then, my advice to manly dads is to love daughters visibly (lots of hugs, kisses, etc.).  Make them feel secure as your daughter and therefore as a woman; the quality of your fatherhood should secure, affirm, and protect their femininity.  Protect them with wisdom, and model true masculinity for them.

Though these definitions will make for great posts in the future, my definition of “manly” begins with a set of metaphors.  Any other kind of definition tends to fall short somehow, since we really only come to know masculinity by hearing story after story of what true men say and do.

Having heard my share of stories about manly men, I believe that masculinity is defined by five metaphoric disciplines:  a true man is an explorer, cultivator, protector, sage, and disciple.

1.  Explorer
Stories of exploration and adventure make up the lion’s share of boyhood reading—as they should. This attraction is fueled by the first and most obvious aspect of masculinity: men are explorers, adventurers in unknown lands. They journey fearlessly into new territories, taking courageous risks.  When faced with a choice of routes in some subterranean terror-tomb, they sniff for the fresher air, cinch their belts and set off again.  True men are eager to discover and adventure.

2.  Cultivator
After the successful adventure, the newly discovered land must be transformed from wildness to fruitfulness. This requires the explorer to become a cultivator, a gardener.  Gardeners clear weeded ground, trim cluttered branches, nurture natural fruitfulness into even greater abundance. Cultivation always strives to create life-bearing goodness. True men don’t just explore and conquer; they also enhance and improve.

3.  Protector
Once cultivated, the land must be protected from outside harm: insects, disease, drought, sloth of the cultivator. The third aspect of masculinity orients itself toward protecting the good things of the new, cultivated territory—whether fruit trees in his orchard, or the young plants around his dinner table.

4.  Sage
The fourth role of a true man is that of the sage—the wisdom-gatherer. Exploration, cultivation, and protection cannot be effectively accomplished merely by a strong right arm. Brute strength is effective only in the short-term (if even then). Wisdom brings forethought, the ability to anticipate threats and overcome them.  Wisdom brings insight and discernment, the ability to perceive the true natures of things. Without wisdom, the glory of cultivation will fall to unexpected enemies—both external and internal.

5.  Disciple
In spite of how successful he has been at the first four manly roles, a true man realizes that he is actually a very weak being in a world that is far larger than he can ever understand. He acknowledges his frailty in understanding, in strength, in virtue—and then becomes a disciple of the greatest example of wisdom and virtue that he can find.  Discipleship then shapes all the other aspects of his manhood. His exploration, cultivation, protection, and wisdom-seeking are all molded by what he learns through this last discipline.

Summary
These five aspects complement and balance each other, so all of them must be pursued at the same time.  A cultivator who isn’t a sage and disciple becomes a tyrant. A sage with no experience as a protector becomes an arrogant talking head. And discipleship without the discipline of exploration and protection leads to effeminacy.

In the next few posts, we’ll explore how each of these metaphors should be applied to fatherhood. When we’re done, hopefully you will agree with me that fatherhood is the place where manhood is fully realized.  If you want to read more about this subject, check out Future Men, the source for my five categories.  But you should also read The Odyssey and The Lord of the Rings; both stories have heroes who demonstrate these disciplines in important ways.  If you haven’t read them, fix that flaw today (only watching the movies doesn’t count)!

You can also practice these disciplines of masculinity by leaving a comment. If I’m wrong about this stuff, be a Protector and correct me. If I’m right, be a Sage and join the discussion. (If you happen to be a female reader, your input is most welcome as well.)

This delay in their publication has been an unexpected blessing: not only did it improve the style and tone of the introductory posts, but it also reminded me of the most important truth about fatherhood.

Not an Expert
The point of Manly Dad is to provide encouragement for dads (and moms!) who want to provide solid examples of true manhood for their sons to imitate and for their daughters to desire in their future husbands. This is not a place to receive expert advice on childrearing. That would require an expert in parenting—which this website decidedly lacks. My kids are far from perfect, and my fathering is even farther from perfect.

As is typical with starting projects like these, the very week of my first post on this website was also one of very difficult parenting.  Circumstances aside, the last three days have revealed how often I fail as a father. This wasn’t anything I didn’t already know, but this time the revelation was so clear that I considered scrapping the website and joining a monastery (joking, but just barely).

Owning Up
This difficult weekend reminded me of the most important truth about manly fatherhood. All hairy-chested definitions aside, the one thing necessary to be a man is to own up to your failings. Make apology without excuse, receive forgiveness with gratitude, make restitution eagerly, and move forward in love and humility.

Any man who does this regularly is a true man. And if he shows his kids the same, then he is a true dad—a Manly Dad.

At the end of the day, behind all the wisdom and love, the father is still just a man—a man flawed and struggling. A Manly Dad is not a perfect dad. But because of his willingness to confess his faults, his failings as a father can become the most powerful demonstrations of his manliness and fatherhood.

This statement will lift a few eyebrows and elicit some comments in response. Readers may find the mental images invoked by “fatherhood” clashing sharply with those called forth by “manliness.” After all, what do diapers have to do with empire-building? Or profit margins? Or the NFL playoffs?

Some readers will see a connection between the two but will take issue with my use of the phrase “fullest fruition.” They may argue that a Marine in full regalia or a lumberjack oiling his chainsaw are truer pictures of hairy-chested manhood.

To both types of readers, I say this: read on. In the articles to come, I will present my case for why fatherhood is the realm of the real man.

Until then, leave a comment. Introduce yourself. Agree with me or rant at me. Present your arguments. Take the bitterness you feel toward the Vikings and level it at me.

Read on. And welcome to Manly Dad.

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