It was 2:00 in the morning. My wife and I had been asleep for several hours, and the phone rang. Now, I don’t know about your house, but at my house, when the phone rings in the early morning hours, it usually means only one thing. Something terrible has happened this early morning. My wife and I had six teenagers, all on probation, and all foster kids living in our home. We also had a nanny living with us. In total, nine of us lived in a seventeen-hundred-square-foot home. The house we lived in was an old barn we’d bought and were remodeling. At the time, the only way to get upstairs was to go outside and use the exterior stairs at the back of the house. Upstairs lived our four teenage boys and our nanny. Downstairs were our two teenage girls, my wife and myself. The old barn, now a house, was located in the woods. The boys, being typical teenagers, had several bad habits. First, even though they were asked over and over again not to take food upstairs, all of them did. Second, I had asked them over and over again to make sure the door they used upstairs was closed because being in the woods meant a backyard full of forest creatures. I had seen mountain lions, bears, raccoons, skunks, and many other animals right out our back door. Keeping the doors closed was a good idea unless they wanted unwelcome visitors.
This morning, our phone rang, and in a groggy haze, my mind began preparing itself for whatever tragedy was on the other end. After all, I am a pastor, and these early morning phone calls are not usually good news. “Hello,” I said, “Will.” It was one of the boys from upstairs. “Yes,” I said, wondering what could be an emergency coming from upstairs, “I think there is a skunk under my bed.” “Say that again,” I blurted out. “I think there is a skunk under my bed.” By now, my wife was awake and extremely curious as to what the commotion could be. I turned to her and said, “Jimmy says he has a skunk in his room under his bed.” My immediate thought was that it had to be a cat. I’m sure it’s a cat. Skunks don’t live in houses, but cats do. So, I assured my wife that it was probably a cat and no big deal. I told her to go back to sleep while I went to get the cat out of the room.
Upstairs, I found all the boys outside on the deck waiting for me to take care of this skunk. I assured them it was a cat and tried to get them to go back to bed. They were not going back to bed. None of them were going back to bed. Even our nanny was up then and was not going back to bed either. Okay, I thought, let’s get this over with. I proceeded to the back bedroom where the “skunk” was supposed to be. When I arrived, Jimmy pointed to the bed and said, “Look at the back corner.” I pointed my flashlight in the corner under the bed and saw not a cat or even some delicate white-stripped skunk but a huge evil monster of a skunk. None of the foster parenting classes I’d ever taken offered a session on skunk removal.
Some of you may be asking why I didn’t call an exterminator. Some of us have to learn from our mistakes, and that night with the skunk was my turn to be educated. After seeing that it was a skunk and not the cat I’d been hoping for, I evacuated upstairs. The nanny, the boys, and myself all headed for the first floor of our home. If we left it alone, I felt like it would return home to the woods where skunks should be. So we all went downstairs and waited for the skunk to leave. We waited and waited, and waited, for two hours. By 4:00 am, I thought the skunk would have left, so I went back upstairs. Nope, the skunk was still there. Two hours being plenty of time, I decided it was time to take action, and I had come up with the perfect plan. I had decided to coax the skunk outside using a long pole. In my shed, I had a piece of plastic pipe that was about ten feet in length. I figured I could very gently start prodding the skunk outside. I knew that as I did this, there was a chance that the skunk might spray, so I had all the boys move everything out of the skunk’s intended exit path. We moved everything except the bed, where the skunk was under, and a dresser with a TV in the corner. The TV, one of those 32-inch console TVs from 1994, was too heavy to lift. Once the room was ready with everything that could be moved out of the way, I began to coax the skunk. Armed with my ten-foot-long pole, I gently push him toward the bedroom door.
I’m coaxing the skunk. The skunk and I are slowly moving across the bedroom. My plan is working! We get to the hallway, and everything is going as planned. The skunk is almost there. Ten more feet is the exterior door. When we get to the hall, the skunk takes off, running straight for the exit. I have done it!” I started thinking to myself, “I should be called a skunk whisperer.
Maybe I have just fallen into a new career. Who needs exterminators when you have Willy the Skunk Whisperer? I have done it! I have conquered the skunk.” What? The skunk has stopped. He is looking right at me. After a brief stare-down, the skunk starts running straight for me. The monster is running straight for me, “No,” I scream and jump back into the dresser holding the TV. The TV crashes to the ground. The huge, monstrous, fanged, bigger than anything I have ever seen skunk runs back under the bed. This time, it crawls into the box spring, not just under the bed. No more coaxing, the skunk had dug himself in, and he was not coming out.
In case you’re visualizing this as you read, let me assure you how well I handled that situation. I never lost my temper. I never uttered anything I should not have, no curse words, no frustration. I was a perfect angel throughout this entire event. If you believe that I have some beachfront property in Nebraska, I would like to sell it to you.
I reacted as you would expect someone to react upon finding a skunk in their house at 2:00 am. I was a wreck; it was now 4:30, we had barely slept, and we were dealing with a disaster. And there was still a skunk in the house.
More drastic measures now had to be taken. Jimmy and I decided to go into the room, pull the mattress off the bed, grab the box spring where the skunk had become fully entrenched, flip the box on its side to fit in the hallway, run it outside, and throw it off the deck. You might have an opinion on the quality of this plan, but I was hopeful. So, Jimmy and I went into the room and executed the plan flawlessly.
Unfortunately, the skunk was not a willing participant in our plan. As soon as we picked up the box spring, the skunk did what skunks do and started spraying. By the time we reached the deck and tossed the box spring, Jimmy, myself, and the entire upstairs was now engulfed in a fog of skunk spray. The skunk, having decided the box spring was home, no matter where it landed, stayed where he was. I was mad, upset, furious, bewildered, and had a hundred other negative emotions flooding me all at once. I was not in my right mind, and I decided revenge was now my next move. I went to my shed for some gasoline and poured it everywhere, intending to light the skunk on fire.
I am not a mind reader, but I bet you think that is horrible for me to have done. You are right! It was horrible. All I can say is it was 4:30 in the morning, and my thought process was not functioning correctly. I poured the gas on the box spring, lit the match, and I had a fire. A lot of fire. What a minute! That is too much fire. Oh my God, I have to get a hose!
For the animal lovers, relax. The skunk was not affected by this in any way. It calmly exited the box spring and ran off into the woods, where I assume he lived happily ever after. He even winked at me as he left. Okay, maybe he didn’t do that, but it sure felt like that as he walked off into the woods.
Unfortunately, I now had a large fire in my backyard, which left me sprinting for a garden hose. About 30 minutes later, I got the fire out. It was now around 5:00 am, and we all just needed to get some sleep. I decided to send the boys upstairs to get their pillows and bedding so they could sleep downstairs. The skunk smell was everywhere. We could tackle the cleanup tomorrow.
Since I consider myself a good father, I’m always looking for learning lessons. As I’ve said, we live in the woods, and I repeatedly told the boys to shut the back door. I had explained to them many times that wild animals live in the woods and would love to come into the nice, warm house. This seemed like the perfect teachable moment after what we had just been through. Before I sent them to get their things, I reminded the boys that this is why we don’t leave the doors open. I reminded them about the wild animals. I pointed to the backyard, now scorched by fire. This, this right here, is what I have been talking about.
With those parting thoughts, I sent them to get their things. A few minutes later, after they’d all made beds on the floor, I was lying down, tired but kind of satisfied because I had just turned a disaster into a teachable moment. As I was lying there congratulating myself on this great lesson they have undoubtedly learned, a thought went through my mind, “They just went upstairs to get their stuff. Is there any chance they left the back door open?”. “No way,” I thought. There was no chance they left the back door open, especially after all that had happened. Just to be sure, I better check. So, I got up confidently and went outside, knowing I would see the back door closed. As soon as I walked out, I looked up the stairs. Can you believe the back door was wide open? It was not a good night. I lost my last remaining grasp on calm, and the boys knew I was done.
Sometimes, fathering is a lot like finding a skunk in the house. It can be a disaster. All fathers fail. All parents fail. I have failed as a father, and so will you. Let’s face it: sometimes, I am the skunk in the house. Sometimes, my attitude is more offensive than any skunk I have ever come across. When you fail, learn to say you are sorry and mean it. Failure cannot be the focus, and you cannot let failure define who you are. You have to learn to work through whatever tragedy is before you and know that life will get better.
The skunk being in our house, as bad as it was, does not in any way define my time with those kids in our house. Those boys would have rather lived in that house with a skunk than not be in that home at all. They found a place, a father, a mother, and a family that loved them, and living with a skunk was not the focus.
Maybe you are not even a parent and just accidentally stumbled on this article. I don’t know what is happening with you right now. I don’t know what tragedy is before you or what you have to go through, but I can tell you it will get better. The skunk will leave your house, and you can move forward.
Yes, there will be cleanup involved. We had to strip the carpeting, the padding, and the texture from the walls and completely redo the upstairs area to get the smell of the skunk out of our house. It was a major pain to clean up, but we got it done. You will conquer whatever is before you. You have got this! How do I know you have got this? Because I am proof. In my life, I have faced tragedies and made mistakes. I have made plenty of mistakes, but I have kept moving forward. Failure only exists when we stop trying. I don’t know where you are when it comes to faith, but I believe in a God of endless chances. You might have made mistakes, but you can still change. Even if your kids are adults, change now. You can do this! The only real mistake is when we stop trying. Keep pushing forward. It is never too late.
If you want more of this, check out my book, POP Parenting in a Modern-Day World, which is available on Amazon. Or email me at [email protected]
This morning, our phone rang, and in a groggy haze, my mind began preparing itself for whatever tragedy was on the other end. After all, I am a pastor, and these early morning phone calls are not usually good news. “Hello,” I said, “Will.” It was one of the boys from upstairs. “Yes,” I said, wondering what could be an emergency coming from upstairs, “I think there is a skunk under my bed.” “Say that again,” I blurted out. “I think there is a skunk under my bed.” By now, my wife was awake and extremely curious as to what the commotion could be. I turned to her and said, “Jimmy says he has a skunk in his room under his bed.” My immediate thought was that it had to be a cat. I’m sure it’s a cat. Skunks don’t live in houses, but cats do. So, I assured my wife that it was probably a cat and no big deal. I told her to go back to sleep while I went to get the cat out of the room.
Upstairs, I found all the boys outside on the deck waiting for me to take care of this skunk. I assured them it was a cat and tried to get them to go back to bed. They were not going back to bed. None of them were going back to bed. Even our nanny was up then and was not going back to bed either. Okay, I thought, let’s get this over with. I proceeded to the back bedroom where the “skunk” was supposed to be. When I arrived, Jimmy pointed to the bed and said, “Look at the back corner.” I pointed my flashlight in the corner under the bed and saw not a cat or even some delicate white-stripped skunk but a huge evil monster of a skunk. None of the foster parenting classes I’d ever taken offered a session on skunk removal.
Some of you may be asking why I didn’t call an exterminator. Some of us have to learn from our mistakes, and that night with the skunk was my turn to be educated. After seeing that it was a skunk and not the cat I’d been hoping for, I evacuated upstairs. The nanny, the boys, and myself all headed for the first floor of our home. If we left it alone, I felt like it would return home to the woods where skunks should be. So we all went downstairs and waited for the skunk to leave. We waited and waited, and waited, for two hours. By 4:00 am, I thought the skunk would have left, so I went back upstairs. Nope, the skunk was still there. Two hours being plenty of time, I decided it was time to take action, and I had come up with the perfect plan. I had decided to coax the skunk outside using a long pole. In my shed, I had a piece of plastic pipe that was about ten feet in length. I figured I could very gently start prodding the skunk outside. I knew that as I did this, there was a chance that the skunk might spray, so I had all the boys move everything out of the skunk’s intended exit path. We moved everything except the bed, where the skunk was under, and a dresser with a TV in the corner. The TV, one of those 32-inch console TVs from 1994, was too heavy to lift. Once the room was ready with everything that could be moved out of the way, I began to coax the skunk. Armed with my ten-foot-long pole, I gently push him toward the bedroom door.
I’m coaxing the skunk. The skunk and I are slowly moving across the bedroom. My plan is working! We get to the hallway, and everything is going as planned. The skunk is almost there. Ten more feet is the exterior door. When we get to the hall, the skunk takes off, running straight for the exit. I have done it!” I started thinking to myself, “I should be called a skunk whisperer.
Maybe I have just fallen into a new career. Who needs exterminators when you have Willy the Skunk Whisperer? I have done it! I have conquered the skunk.” What? The skunk has stopped. He is looking right at me. After a brief stare-down, the skunk starts running straight for me. The monster is running straight for me, “No,” I scream and jump back into the dresser holding the TV. The TV crashes to the ground. The huge, monstrous, fanged, bigger than anything I have ever seen skunk runs back under the bed. This time, it crawls into the box spring, not just under the bed. No more coaxing, the skunk had dug himself in, and he was not coming out.
In case you’re visualizing this as you read, let me assure you how well I handled that situation. I never lost my temper. I never uttered anything I should not have, no curse words, no frustration. I was a perfect angel throughout this entire event. If you believe that I have some beachfront property in Nebraska, I would like to sell it to you.
I reacted as you would expect someone to react upon finding a skunk in their house at 2:00 am. I was a wreck; it was now 4:30, we had barely slept, and we were dealing with a disaster. And there was still a skunk in the house.
More drastic measures now had to be taken. Jimmy and I decided to go into the room, pull the mattress off the bed, grab the box spring where the skunk had become fully entrenched, flip the box on its side to fit in the hallway, run it outside, and throw it off the deck. You might have an opinion on the quality of this plan, but I was hopeful. So, Jimmy and I went into the room and executed the plan flawlessly.
Unfortunately, the skunk was not a willing participant in our plan. As soon as we picked up the box spring, the skunk did what skunks do and started spraying. By the time we reached the deck and tossed the box spring, Jimmy, myself, and the entire upstairs was now engulfed in a fog of skunk spray. The skunk, having decided the box spring was home, no matter where it landed, stayed where he was. I was mad, upset, furious, bewildered, and had a hundred other negative emotions flooding me all at once. I was not in my right mind, and I decided revenge was now my next move. I went to my shed for some gasoline and poured it everywhere, intending to light the skunk on fire.
I am not a mind reader, but I bet you think that is horrible for me to have done. You are right! It was horrible. All I can say is it was 4:30 in the morning, and my thought process was not functioning correctly. I poured the gas on the box spring, lit the match, and I had a fire. A lot of fire. What a minute! That is too much fire. Oh my God, I have to get a hose!
For the animal lovers, relax. The skunk was not affected by this in any way. It calmly exited the box spring and ran off into the woods, where I assume he lived happily ever after. He even winked at me as he left. Okay, maybe he didn’t do that, but it sure felt like that as he walked off into the woods.
Unfortunately, I now had a large fire in my backyard, which left me sprinting for a garden hose. About 30 minutes later, I got the fire out. It was now around 5:00 am, and we all just needed to get some sleep. I decided to send the boys upstairs to get their pillows and bedding so they could sleep downstairs. The skunk smell was everywhere. We could tackle the cleanup tomorrow.
Since I consider myself a good father, I’m always looking for learning lessons. As I’ve said, we live in the woods, and I repeatedly told the boys to shut the back door. I had explained to them many times that wild animals live in the woods and would love to come into the nice, warm house. This seemed like the perfect teachable moment after what we had just been through. Before I sent them to get their things, I reminded the boys that this is why we don’t leave the doors open. I reminded them about the wild animals. I pointed to the backyard, now scorched by fire. This, this right here, is what I have been talking about.
With those parting thoughts, I sent them to get their things. A few minutes later, after they’d all made beds on the floor, I was lying down, tired but kind of satisfied because I had just turned a disaster into a teachable moment. As I was lying there congratulating myself on this great lesson they have undoubtedly learned, a thought went through my mind, “They just went upstairs to get their stuff. Is there any chance they left the back door open?”. “No way,” I thought. There was no chance they left the back door open, especially after all that had happened. Just to be sure, I better check. So, I got up confidently and went outside, knowing I would see the back door closed. As soon as I walked out, I looked up the stairs. Can you believe the back door was wide open? It was not a good night. I lost my last remaining grasp on calm, and the boys knew I was done.
Sometimes, fathering is a lot like finding a skunk in the house. It can be a disaster. All fathers fail. All parents fail. I have failed as a father, and so will you. Let’s face it: sometimes, I am the skunk in the house. Sometimes, my attitude is more offensive than any skunk I have ever come across. When you fail, learn to say you are sorry and mean it. Failure cannot be the focus, and you cannot let failure define who you are. You have to learn to work through whatever tragedy is before you and know that life will get better.
The skunk being in our house, as bad as it was, does not in any way define my time with those kids in our house. Those boys would have rather lived in that house with a skunk than not be in that home at all. They found a place, a father, a mother, and a family that loved them, and living with a skunk was not the focus.
Maybe you are not even a parent and just accidentally stumbled on this article. I don’t know what is happening with you right now. I don’t know what tragedy is before you or what you have to go through, but I can tell you it will get better. The skunk will leave your house, and you can move forward.
Yes, there will be cleanup involved. We had to strip the carpeting, the padding, and the texture from the walls and completely redo the upstairs area to get the smell of the skunk out of our house. It was a major pain to clean up, but we got it done. You will conquer whatever is before you. You have got this! How do I know you have got this? Because I am proof. In my life, I have faced tragedies and made mistakes. I have made plenty of mistakes, but I have kept moving forward. Failure only exists when we stop trying. I don’t know where you are when it comes to faith, but I believe in a God of endless chances. You might have made mistakes, but you can still change. Even if your kids are adults, change now. You can do this! The only real mistake is when we stop trying. Keep pushing forward. It is never too late.
If you want more of this, check out my book, POP Parenting in a Modern-Day World, which is available on Amazon. Or email me at [email protected]
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