My Phoenix is NOT in Arizona: Champaign Problems and a Teachable Moment

It has taken the better part of a week now to even remotely digest the change our life has taken nearly overnight.  I know not the depth and breadth of this change, but a change it will be.  I spent the better part of Saturday night lying sleepless in my bed as the clan next door toasted their nuptials until somewhere around 5 a.m.  It was the wedding of a cousin, I believe, and the guest list was at least 400 based upon the decibel count.  With festivities in full swing I assumed the cheering and window shaking bass beat to be the French equivalent of “The roof, the roof, the roof is on FIRE!”  Little did I know that, at that very moment, it was actually MY roof that was on fire.  Just as the party died down to the breaking of the dawn, our phone rang and we received the heart sinking news that our home in the U.S.  had been destroyed.  When faced with such news from afar, the only reaction is one of shock.  It seemed only remotely believable at the time.  Even the photos received of the structure engulfed in flames only brought forth a dull sense of recognition.  Thankfully, the family that was renting our house was not at home at the time and no one was injured.

So, now I endeavor to make sense of it all, weighing through mountains of bureaucratic procedure with banks and insurance companies in an effort to put all back right again.  In doing so, I find myself with a tremendous parental opportunity . . . a teachable moment.  How we react to this as parents will help define how both our children will face, accept and adapt to loss and hardship.  Perhaps hardship isn’t exactly the word.  I must be careful here not to minimize the significance of this moment or make too much light of an ordinarily traumatic experience.  The truth of the matter is, however, that my wife and I have busted our asses so that we could stand here today and feel the burden of having “Champaign Problems”.  I tried to explain this to my eldest in particular and I pray at least something from the lesson sank into his thick skull.  Ok, perhaps that isn't quite fair.  His skull isn’t really all that thick at all, this is just a hard thing to make a child understand when they lack the necessary life experience and perspective to make sense of it all.  It is true though, what would be a life altering and potentially cataclysmic event in many peoples’ lives is nothing more than a small speed bump for the wife and I.  What we lost was a structure.  Timber and shingles . . . nothing more.  And that my friends, is infinitely replaceable.  We still have a roof over our heads here in France and in fact have a second house we can easily move into when we return to the U.S.  Now this privilege has come at a price and this was the lesson I endeavored to teach my son.

We have sacrificed and we have struggled.  Not in the epic sense of the word, but we have done without in our lives while others were spending their pay checks on lavish dinners and fancy clothing.  We stayed poor and made measured, but in many ways wild jumps when certain opportunities arose and we can now show our children the reward for that effort.  When life tried to burn us down, we simply rose from the ashes as if nothing had happened.  You see, the Phoenix lives it’s life understanding the inevitability of the fire, but rests easy with the knowledge that rebirth is just moments away.  These are the things I told my son.  Becoming a Phoenix is neither easy nor convenient.  It takes dedication that most wouldn’t dream of and courage beyond measure, yet none of that seems apparent when we spread our wings and rise gloriously from the flames.  Flying . . . oh flying is the easy part, it is the years spent preparing yourself to be burned to the ground where the battle is fought and won.  While others were doing everything they could to avoid being burned, we were embracing the heat knowing that our better days were yet to come.  So, here is the final score . . . here is what we have truly endured:  A moment of sadness, and a lifetime of opportunity to grow, build, adapt and overcome.  And so, one day in the not so distant future, we will put hammer to nail and our house shall also rise from these ashes.  Rather than wish me well and mourn my loss, perhaps you should congratulate me instead, for I am a man living a life full of Champaign Problems.  Until next time.  R.