My wife and I, more or less, raised three sons. For anyone who hasn’t had that experience, it means that, of the five people in the house, four of them are fueled by testosterone. My wife, a retired nursing professor with a Ph.D., and an associate dean of a university nursing program, has observed that, “All males are born with testosterone poisoning — and it gets worse from there.”
She also has observed in her research of our family that there is such a thing as a “chief bull in the corral syndrome.” That is, when the young bulls reach the teen years they tend to push against the old bull. The old bull, on the other hand, will defend his turf to the bitter end. Which is why four bulls in a testosterone-filled house make for exciting times.
It wasn’t always so, of course. In the early days, the male offspring are all cute little calves. Everything they do is cute and their demeanor is sweet. They reverence their mother (I will NOT refer to her as a “cow.” This analogy only goes so far!), and try to be like the bigger, older bull. And then it is over. They butt heads with each other and, as they get bigger and stronger, they think about the possibility of taking over the corral. The old bull sees this change and bides his time.
Once, when one of the young bulls was a younger teen and having an argument with me, I said, “This family is not a democracy!”
He replied, “Yeah, it’s a dadtatorship! When you aren’t here, we are under momuism!”
I thought that response was so clever, I left the room to go find a private place to laugh. I thought, as least for the moment, “Ah, he gets it!” But, then, they get older and the flow of testosterone increases. And they get bigger … and stronger. Still the old bull has his options.
Somewhere along the line, as they entered the middle teen years when they are wondering if they can dethrone the king, I had a conversation that went something like this: “Let me tell you why you will never take me down, in case that thought has been entering your mind. First of all. We raised you right and we raised you to respect your parents. Even in your most angry moment you will remember that I am your father and you will hold back. Secondly, I don’t have that restriction. I will beat you down to the ground.” That may not have been entirely true but whatever works at that stage of the game, I say.
Once, when one of the boys was about 15, he actually took a swing at me. I grabbed him by the throat, lifted him up, placed him against the wall with his feet dangling in the air, and growled, “Is this the day you want to try this?” It turned out that it wasn’t and peace returned to the room. Corral secured for another day.
It wasn’t always like that, in fact, it wasn’t even often like that. Most of their teen years was spent with my being proud of them and going to track meets, soccer games, football games, meeting their girlfriends, and, eventually, attending their high school graduations, police academy graduations and promotions, college graduations, and military basic training graduations. Then came the weddings, the careers, the birth of grandchildren, and the baptisms. The herd grew and multiplied. The old bull looked on in pride and satisfaction.
My sons are men now and have been for a long time. They are the chief bulls in their own corrals and I couldn’t be happier. As I have gotten older, they stopped butting heads with me — although they are still opinionated — and, in the last few years, have even been protective of me (and their mother) as the old bull has gotten to be a shadow of what he used to be. They check on me and look after me as I did when they were small and asleep in their rooms.
I’m not ready for the pasture just yet. I hope to be around to see all of the 12 younger calves grow to maturity, as some have already done. But, when the time comes, I can lie down in the field knowing that my legacy is strong.
Thanks largely to my wife, who had to deal with the testosterone, and, sometimes in spite of me, my three bulls have succeeded and overcome and have taken their places in the world.
[David Epps is the pastor of the Cathedral of Christ the King, 4881 Hwy. 34 E., Sharpsburg, GA between Newnan and Peachtree City (www.ctk.life). He is the bishop of the Charismatic Episcopal Diocese of the Mid-South which consists of Georgia and Tennessee and is the Associate Endorser for the Department of the Armed Forces, U. S. Military Chaplains, ICCEC. He may contacted at davidepps@ctk.life.]
