In times of insecurity, fear, or rebellion, we can take on the mannerisms and lifestyles of an identity that is not someone who walks with the Lord. We begin to blend in with the world around us and in the process, lose our distinction as sons and daughters of God.

During the Christmas break of my freshman year of college, I was able to fly home for the holidays. In those few months away from home, I went wild with my newfound freedom. Along with that freedom came longer hair and an attitude. For the flight home, I decided to wear a sharkskin suit I purchased at a secondhand store that literally had a sheen to it. I also bought a bowler hat and a cane. The image I wanted to portray was that of a confident dude – a slick operator who had it all together, not a confused boy in transition to manhood.

When I got off the flight and walked into the arrival hall at SFO, I had a swagger to my walk that was in tempo with the taps of my cane on the hard floor. As my dad saw me approaching and I could tell the look on his face was a bit askew from the norm of our past greetings. After a short hello we walked to the car. Dad was quiet on the drive home.

As we pulled into my hometown, dad stopped at our local barbershop. I figured he wanted to get a haircut for Christmas to look sharp. Instead, he said the following, “Go in there and get it cut!” He also let me know to lose the cane, the hat, and the coat in an attempt to look somewhat normal before I became the object of too much attention.

This all happened in the late 60s when rebellion was popular. I was at a personal crossroads. I loved my dad and respected him. I also knew he was right. All of a sudden, I felt like the fool I had become.  In that moment of realization, I pulled off the shiny suit coat jacket, ditched the hat, rolled up my sleeves, and walked into the barber shop, to begin the process of returning to normal. 

The love of my father was expressed that day when he lovingly and with a dose of straightforward truth, let me know the part I was playing was not the real me. The image I expressed was a confused and insecure kid. I offered no words of refusal at my father’s request because I knew he was right. I wanted to be free from my fear but didn’t know how.  I never told my dad of the night in my dorm room after those first few months of “freedom” that I wept myself to sleep one night realizing what had become of my life. The strength of my father’s love called me back to who I was and offered me a fresh start.

I don’t know whatever happened to that gross-looking suit, the bowler hat, and the cane. I suppose they were deposited wherever it is that a loving father disposes of those things that dishonor his kids and robs them of their true identity.