23. Letting Go of the Dream
Today is 17 days from the first anniversary of Dad’s passing. I’ve committed to writing 40 stories about him as that day approaches. Forty Steady Stories.
Dad and I had two hard seasons in our relationship — aside from what I would call “normal” adolescent stuff when I was a teenager. The first was after I’d been working in the family business for about four years, and I’d begun to question whether it was the right fit for me long-term.
I grew up around Parnell-Martin (PMC) and PMC people. Saturdays when dad was working, I would roll around the offices and go exploring in the warehouse. Around just about every Thanksgiving and Christmas holiday growing up, I would go with Dad on “physical inventory” trips where everyone would count every single thing in the warehouses. As a senior in college, I never did a single job interview because I knew I was going to work at PMC after graduation. I knew and grew up around the wonderful people at the Charlotte branch and heard the names of many others all the time. I knew and loved learning about the products we sold and the companies we did business with — both as vendors and customers.
Bottom line: growing up, I think both Dad and I assumed I’d work at PMC my whole life like he did. That was the dream. His dream. My dream.
After college when I started working there, I realized the weight of not just working there but that one day I would be responsible for a lot of people. I understand and enjoy numbers and business, but the truth is my heart is simply drawn to walking with people who are kicking the tires about life, faith, and God and looking for answers. Four years after working at PMC I realized I was probably not wired to run the company the way it would need to be run. I probably could have done it, but it just wasn’t my call. I came to that realization sometime in the spring of 1993, and it was a tough several months with Dad as I processed all of this in my head and heart.
I decided to go to seminary, and the only thing left to do was to tell Dad that I was leaving PMC. One spring morning, we rode up to see my great aunt, “Sis,” who was my granddad Red’s only sister. At the time she lived in Wytheville, Virginia, so Dad and I drove up I-77 together to pay her a visit.
On the way home, I dreaded the conversation coming. Finally, I said, “Dad, I need to tell you something.” I begin to sob a little bit — just like I am right now while typing this, and I told him that I felt God had called me to seminary and into ministry full-time. I told him that I would be leaving the company and going to seminary that fall of 1993.
We had a good but sad conversation on I-77 that day. It was the death of a dream I think for both of us. I had to let go of what surely would have been, in many ways, a dream job. Dad had to let go of his namesake following his footsteps and the oldest in the third generation of our family to run the business.
In many ways, there was some relief finally to the tension that had been building for months as I’d been processing the decision. At one point, I said, “Well, you can’t be too upset with me, because you’re the one who taught me to follow the Lord, and I know that He is calling me to do this.” We both chuckled.
That day, I let go of a dream. Dad did, too. Looking back now some thirty years later, I have absolutely no doubt it was the right decision. And because of the way Dad graciously handled it, it allowed a bunch of new dreams to take root and grow.
The thing that’s hard for all dads is when you realize that you cannot and should not try to make your kids — whether sons or daughters — into the same person you are. Everyone is unique, and kids need room to become who they are designed to be. It’s a tough transition, and unfortunately I don’t think the kids can possibly understand how hard that can be until they are parents (or at least adults). But it’s a beautiful thing when a parent releases a kid to become who God created that unique kid to be. My dad did that for me on Interstate 77 one day in 1993.
