Bo's Café (26 page)

Andy is listening intently while savoring the last inches of his cigar.

“She goes on to tell me about her relationship with her dad. They don’t talk; haven’t for six years. She says he doesn’t even
know about her success with the new video games. It’s killing her. Andy, I really like this kid. I see a lot of me in her.
But I have no idea what to tell her. I just want to say the right things to fix her. But I don’t know how to fix her. The
last thing this kid needs is another authority letting her down. Do you have any experience in this?”

“Other than with the marketing VP of the company she works for? Duh, nope.”

“You know what I mean. Would you help me?”

“Steven, in my office at the marina I have this statement tacked up on the wall:
‘Integrity is proven when you admit what you cannot do and honor what you say you can.’

“What do you think that means?”

“I repeat to myself, ‘…
when you admit what you cannot do
…’

“I think you’re saying that bluffing and trying to make Meagan think I have all the answers will cause her to not trust the
answers I
do
have.”

“Good answer. Very good answer.” He pauses for a moment.

“Steven, do you remember the first time I brought you to Bo’s? You asked me what my real issues were. I never answered you
that day.”

“I noticed.”

“Steven, my dad has been my issue from the time I was seventeen. No, probably from the time I was five. Classic father from
that generation. It’s like they all took the same course, used the same formula: Withhold affirmation, expect what no one
can do, and then give a nonverbal response that communicates disappointment. Nothing I did was good enough, fast enough, or
successful enough.

“When I was a kid, he used to let me wash the car with him. One day, when I was about seven, he asked if I wanted to dry it
off. It was a big deal. He never let me dry it. I worked so hard on that car. When I got done, while I was still standing
there,
he completely redid it
.”

Andy is staring out into space, looking as if he’s been transported back to that moment.

“It’s crazy that I still remember it so clearly. The garden hose was red. I was wearing a green shirt with stripes. Steven,
what I did, who I was, was never enough.

“From early on, there was this message continually running around in my head:
if I could just do this or accomplish this, Dad would finally be proud of me.
Eventually I did things not out of love for him, but to prove that I was worthy of his praise. It’s wired into us. A dad
becomes that barometer of worth for a kid—boy or girl. If we don’t get affirmation or acceptance, we can walk through life
grasping for it and demanding it out of almost everyone. People in authority don’t have a chance with us. We demand so much
out of them, trying to rewrite what we didn’t get. They’re always set up to fail us.

“So, I learned to never fail but to win… and then some. It caused me to blur the lines of integrity just to make sure I didn’t
lose my place. It drove me to be right at all costs. To see others as in my way or as enemies to be defeated. It eventually,
predictably, drove me to character failure.

“For decades I was certain he was my life issue. If I could just get him to change, to own, to understand. If I could learn
to not care about his criticisms; if I could finally achieve something that would once and for all settle the issue of my
worth… .

“But ultimately, he wasn’t my issue.
I
was my issue. I was bullying my way through life, trying to be enough to overcome another’s assessment of me. That’s what
Cynthia and Keith could see.

“Meagan isn’t that different from anyone else. She’s just another on an endless conveyor belt of those who’ve been trapped
into believing a lie about themselves.”

As he tells his own story, I see myself, I see Meagan, I see hundreds of others. Lies picked up when we’re young can stay
with us a lifetime.

I look over at Andy and shake my head.

He asks, “What?”

I answer, “Thanks. That’s all.”

“For what?”

“For being a good man. You really could have screwed me up. But you didn’t. You’re helping break some pretty deep patterns,
just by being who you said you were.”

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome, kid. It’s been a good ride.”

Andy starts up the Electra. And we’re off, rumbling slowly back down the hill. Once again I am aware of the feel of the leather
seat, the wind lifting my shirt. He pops a CD out of the player I recently had installed for him.

“I love these things!” he shouts to me over the wind and engine. “They’re so shiny! What’ll it be? B. B. King?”

I pull down the sun visor and grab U2’s
The Joshua Tree
out of the disc holder.

“This time I pick,” I tell him, handing him the CD and replacing the other.

He grins and takes a big puff off his cigar as the music starts up.

I love this. I hope these rides in this ridiculous giant boat never end.

(Saturday Morning, December 19)

Lindsey and I are awakened by a loud knock at the door. The clock says 6:22. I stumble downstairs and open the front door.
Hidden behind several grocery bags is—Andy.

“You gonna let me in, or should I make breakfast out here on the lawn?”

I am yet unable to form words, so I point him toward the kitchen.

Unpacking what looks like a cappuccino maker, he says, “I wasn’t sure you folks made coffee at home, so I took the liberty.
I used to think this whole overpriced steamed-coffee deal was a marketer’s gimmick. But if you haven’t savored a well-made
breve latte with a hint of cinnamon, well, children, put down the manna. We are about to cross over the Jordan!”

Several minutes later Lindsey shuffles into the kitchen. By now Andy is pouring juice.

“Good morning, Lindsey,” Andy says. “Is Jenny up yet?”

“Hello, Andy.” She walks over and gives him a hug. “Jennifer’s still asleep. Might I ask what we’re doing?”

“Well, I’m getting out of town for the holidays. It gets a little dicey this time of year for a widower. Lonely isn’t so lonely
if you’re in a place where you’re not supposed to have family. So, I mix it up each year. Palm Springs this time. But I didn’t
want to leave without saying Merry Christmas to one of my favorite families.

“My clan is originally from Norway,” he says as he opens the oven door. “This recipe for cherry streusel was handed down to
me from many generations back. I make it every Christmas. So this year I make it for you.”

Lindsey immediately understands the importance of the moment.

“Oh, Andy. Thank you.” She hugs him again.

Within minutes the two of them are bustling around like an old married couple, setting the table, folding fancy napkins, and
cooking up eggs and sausage. Eventually I’m invited to the table. They are already seated. Andy takes off his ball cap, clears
his throat, and asks, “May I?”

Lindsey answers, “We’d be honored, Andy.”

“Precious God,” he prays, “thanks for this. You are the giver of everything good. And You are giving the three of us really
good lives. You have given us Jesus. And so much has beautifully changed. I do not know where I would be without His love.”

He pauses a bit as though he’s imagining his life without God in it.

“And thanks for letting me meet Steven that night at Fenton’s. Thank You for letting me be part of this beautiful family.

“Anyway, we love You and thank You for letting Him come breathe our air, letting Him bring the broken home. Amen.”

Over the next hour, amid streusel and lattes, we replay how we got to this day. Lindsey recalls the day she was introduced
to Andy, laughing about her trendy fashion sunglasses that passed as vintage. We laugh about Bo’s. It’s the kind of unguarded
playfulness that was absent from our home for so long.

Eventually Andy asks, “So, Lindsey, how are you doing? I talk to Steven, but I want to know how you think things are going.
You and Steven.”

Lindsey turns from the kitchen counter, where she is cutting slices of streusel, and moves up behind me. She places her hands
on my shoulders, facing Andy across the table.

“That’s not an easy question to answer. In some ways it can be almost harder than it was before. I’m realizing I can set myself
up to believe I’m not ever going to get hurt again, that Steven is done with his anger. But he can still ramp up. Not nearly
as often or as bad. But when he does, because I’m opening up again, the hurt can feel almost worse than before. Does that
make sense?”

“Perfect sense.” Andy nods.

“But our relationship is so much better, in ways I never even counted on. It’s more real and alive and true.”

I reach up for her hand and squeeze it.

“You know my favorite moments? It’s when Steven catches himself getting wound up and he calls time-out. He’ll actually stop
the conversation and say something like, ‘This is about me right now, huh?’ And I’ll smile and say, ‘Well, yeah, maybe kind
of.’ And he’ll say, ‘I really think I had a point going there, and I’m pretty sure I thought I was right, but I’m going to
have to let it go for now. Thanks.’ ”

“Some of the time,” I add, “I’m stopping because of Jennifer. She and I have a signal, Andy. It’s really pretty amazing. She
doesn’t use it unless I’m starting to look like the Hulk.”

“Very cool, very cool,” Andy says as he leans back in his chair, deeply enjoying our reflections.

“Anyway,” Lindsey continues, “he just asks to hold me. In those moments, everything gets stronger. I gain hope and trust.
And he starts to believe he can live this way. And I’m learning to not take advantage of his vulnerability. I sort of did
early on. Andy, that’s when it becomes about me, huh?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Lindsey continues, “I can’t demand Steven to never fail again. I can’t control his every action, or I’ll become someone I
don’t like. And Steven will wither into a well-behaved, empty shell. And he has so much more to offer than being the ‘passive,
controlled guy.’ ”

“Lindsey’s also made some good friends at church,” I add. “And we’ve gotten close to several couples. We’re starting to let
them know about our struggles. I think that’s been a safety net for Lindsey.”

“This is the church at its best. See, if you don’t have the safety of those friends to air it out with, it’s really hard for
Steven to get healthy. Everything gets strange in the vacuum of privacy.”

Lindsey now wraps her arms more tightly around me and presses her head next to mine.

“Andy, I want you to know what else I see in my husband. I see courage. I’m realizing these issues didn’t all start with him.
This is a pattern that goes way back in the Kerner family. In his love for Jenny and me, he’s facing some really hard stuff.”

She sits down in the chair next to me and touches my face. “Steven, do you know that because you are risking to trust God
and others with you, that you are giving your daughter a healthier life? Did you know that? You can’t have any idea how much
that means to me. Jenny will get to grow up knowing what a good man looks like. How a healthy man faces his issues. She is
watching your humility. She is watching you let me love you. You know what?” She shakes her head in amazement. “Her children
will be healthier than us. And they will never know why. But I will, Steven. I will.”

A mischievous smile forms on Lindsey’s face.

“You know what I’d like?” she says, clapping her hands together like a young girl.

“I’d like you to ask me out on a date for tonight. You will take me to an extravagant restaurant, and we will eat a ridiculously
expensive meal. I will order their nicest glass of red wine. And we will embarrass other nearby couples with our obvious affection.
Then you will drive us home. I’ll light some candles, while you put on some romantic music. I will tell you how proud I am
of you. Then you will tell me how beautiful I look.”

She giggles. “You will do that part throughout the evening.”

Andy winks at me.

“Then you will thank me for hanging in there with you all these years. And then, once again, you will bring up the part about
how beautiful I look.”

Lindsey
is
beautiful. She was always attractive, but over these last six months she has become incredibly beautiful to me.

I stand and pull her up to me, taking her into my arms. “You know what I think I’d like us to do? We need to go out tonight,
to a really expensive restaurant. What do you think?”

Our faces inches from each other, she says, “That’s a great idea. I’d love to.”

Andy finally speaks. “Have you ever felt like you needed to be hosed off just listening to a couple plan a date?” He loosens
an imaginary tie and fans himself.

“You know what? I’ve got an idea. If you’d like, we can trade cars for a few days. It seems fitting. Steven, when we started
this journey, I told you that the Electra could take you to the places you needed to go. Right now it sounds like that might
be a romantic seaside hideaway somewhere up Highway 1.”

“Yes!” Lindsey shouts, throwing her arms around Andy.

“Plus,” he adds, “I’ll be driving the Mercedes. Folks in Palm Springs will stare at me tooling down the boulevard, wondering
which L.A. celebrity I am.”

Twenty minutes later I’m standing in the driveway holding the keys to a 1970 Buick Electra, while a homeless-looking man in
flip-flops and a Hawaiian shirt slides behind the wheel of my Mercedes.

He pulls away in my car, yelling loudly enough to wake all the neighbors, “Enjoy the Electra. I’ll be back in town early the
week after Christmas. Just drop her by my house on your way to work one day. Merry Christmas! Ho, ho, ho!”

By the time I turn back around from watching Lindsey’s reaction, he’s gone.

(Tuesday Morning, December 29)

I’m driving over to Andy’s house, sad to be giving up his car. It’s one thing to ride in a 1970 Buick Electra convertible;
it is something else all together to commandeer one. Talk about old school. Behind the giant steering wheel, with its loose
play and ridiculous turn radius, you can’t decide if you should round up some buddies and go rob a bank or pick up the homecoming
queen and drive her around a track.