CARLTON FLETCHER: Sons surpassing dads become ‘little milestones’

What’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son? What’ll you do now my darling young one?

— Bob Dylan

As we come to the end of another year, many of us like to get in a little reflection time, look back on the 365 … oops 6, leap year … days that just passed and maybe a little forward to the unknown number we have ahead.

One of the things that I keep coming back to as I get caught up in this end-of-year reminiscing and pontificating (I like to use big words when I’m in this kind of mood) is milestones. The major milestones in life we all go through, and they pretty much offer an encapsulated summary of a life lived: Birth, learning to walk and talk, potty training (a big one), starting school, puberty, first kisses, first crushes, first dates, first loves, first broken hearts, driver’s licenses, high school graduation, college, first jobs, engagement, marriage, mortgages, kids, promotions, retirement, second childhoods, death.

It’s some of the lesser milestones, though, that take us from Point A to Point B in our lives, from major milestone to major milestone, as it were, and help define who we become as people. We don’t get from first jobs to promotions, for instance, without putting in time at some cruddy, mind-numbing professions along the way.

And we don’t get from first heartbreaks to engagements without getting enmeshed in relationships that leave us wondering, as we ponder, what the heck we were thinking.

The thing about it is, though, all those major and minor milestones — even the ones that give us physical, mental and emotional scars — give us invaluable gifts that serve us until we reach that lonely final milestone.

Memories.

My buddy Levine pulls out one of my favorite witticisms that he uses any time I give him grief about what it must have been like for him courting, as we once called it, during the time of the dinosaurs. “Ah, but I’ve got my memories,” Levine will say.

I’d be willing to bet a dollar to a doughnut (another favorite from back in the day) that if I suggested that any of you still reading this ( David? … Bill? … Bill’s mom? … anyone? … hello?) think back to your first memory related to the person you love most in this world, you’d get a big mule-eating-briers (ahem) grin on your face. And even if you’re having a particularly sucky day, that day would brighten markedly, even if only for an instant.

One of the minor milestones that I think is vital in the relationship between a father and a son is the day the son surpasses the old man in a given activity that they share. It may be sports — “The Great Santini’s” son (RIP, Pat Conroy) will not have such a great memory in this respect — hunting (no, not a sport, sorry), souping up a hotrod, laying tile, cooking steaks or attracting the opposite sex.

That’s a day that every father longs for/dreads with equal enthusiasm. And while their offspring don’t dread it so much while it’s happening, they usually look back on that time as a bittersweet memory, especially if they have a son of their own who will one day usurp their superiority.

America is a competitive country, and except for those new-agers who want to give every kid a trophy and encourage their offspring “not to worry about the score, just enjoy the moment” — which really is unAmerican and should land said new-agers on the other side of THE WALL — we all want to win. Dads, of course, want their sons to win, too.

Here’s the evolution of that father-son competitive relationship: 1) Dad lets junior get real close or even “win” while he’s young and learning a particular activity. 2) Dad competes a little harder to push junior as the youngster improves, but any victories are given, not earned. 3) Dad has to focus on the competition to make sure junior knows who’s still boss.

4) Eventually, dad has to work harder than he ever did when he was young just to maintain his edge. 5) Then, the day comes that junior surpasses dad. It may turn into one of those he wins one day, I win the next, but eventually the combination of junior’s superiority and dad’s deteriority (I made that word up) combine to make the student the master.

6) After massaging their wounded pride sufficiently, dads bow to the inevitable and offer whatever advice and help they can to make sure junior hones his skills to a level that surpasses even dad’s … and waits patiently for the day that a future grandson hands it to junior.

Elton John — and James Earl Jones — called it the “circle of life.” That has a nice enough ring. I call it one of those little milestones that helps make each life unique.

Email Carlton Fletcher at [email protected]. Follow @ABH_Fletcher on Twitter.