Father’s Day
Published June 19, 2011In my 20′s we’d have long conversations in the kitchen when my dad would ask me about what I was doing and thinking. After I wound down he’d say “This is what your 20′s are all about: smashing your ideals against the world until they break. Then what you have left over is real.”
He died before I turned 30 and I never asked him what was coming next.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
I’ve thought back to those moments many times over the years. I might have been explaining the reason I was a vegetarian or espousing why herbal medicine was better than anything else… but my father’s response was always the same: respectful, if somewhat amused, interest. He didn’t agree with or participate in my adventures but he seemed to vicariously enjoy my journey by talking about it and asking me questions.
Then his eyes would glaze over as he looked into and through me and he’d speak from a distance I couldn’t comprehend. Almost the same thing every time.
“I’m proud of you, son. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. This is what your 20′s is all about: smashing your ideals against the world until they break. Then what you have left over is real.”
I’m not going to revise history and fantasize my father into a Wise Elder – he was as flawed a human as any of us – but in those moments I could feel a depth of understanding, of perspective, that was greater than mine. These are the moments when I first recognized what an elder is.
He was right. I’m fortunate that our relationship was clear and strong enough that he knew I respected him, that I matured enough to see that he was right without taking offense or feeling diminished by it.
It was only when I approached 30 and he was already gone that I realized my loss in never asking him what my 30′s would be like. Or my 40′s.
Chances are he hadn’t really thought about it. Chances are that he never would unless I asked. Then he’d have to opportunity for another Elder Moment and synthesize his experience of life from a new perspective.
If only I had asked. Or if we’d had more time to sit on the kitchen counter, eat salt and vinegar potato chips and tell each other stories.
He was not a perfect human being but I miss him. Love you, dad. Happy Father’s Day.
The imprints our parents make on us never leave. Days like this one or moments that catch us unawares are like warm breath on a cold window revealing the fingerprinted messages from long ago. At times they are uncomfortable or mundane, but their poignancy lingers and makes us stop and take note of what that moment from the past means to us today. I love the tales of your father … he was a character of a man. Maybe this blog could start a new series to share.
I miss your father, too. He was always kind to me when the rest of the adults in my life often were not. Your house for those brief periods was a welcome refuge and I thank all of you for that.
Thanks, Christine. I think that’s the first time since he died that I’ve heard about him from someone outside the family. (Laura, you’re family.
) Being family we’re all painfully aware of the flaws even as we try not to focus on them. It’s really nice to hear your perspective – a wonderful father’s day gift to me.
Thanks, Anna.
Its like a breadcrumb trail, isn’t it? Moments, snapshots that make a collage, a new, larger image only visible with time and distance. In an odd way its that distance that makes it immediate again.
More dad stories? I can think of a few.