Turning the Picture Around

Whether you're a father or not, I'm hoping you will read the rest of this. In fact, whether or not you've had a father, have a father, like fathers, or think the whole idea of "fatherhood" is, well, a crock... I sense there’s something important for you in here.

And here's why: because I see most people making the same mistake my dad made with his life. Not just with how he played the father-role with me and with my siblings, but more importantly how he played his role in the world. I don't think he knew he had a role.

My dad was generally a good, honest man who thought his role was to do his professional work well, and to take care of the house and the finances at home. In fact, he was a bit enlightened for his generation (born in 1926) because he also felt somewhat responsible for taking care of my mom's health and her sense of security. You would have to have known my mother to grasp what a tall order that was! They're both gone now, but I find myself on this Father's Day reflecting on what my dad did for me and realizing how clueless he was in some ways about his own influence. And I suspect you and I are just as clueless, at least most of the time. If you don't think so, you must still be under 30 years of age. :)

Dad believed parenting was to be done by the mother. Unless the mother called the father in to "have a talk" with a wayward youngster (read: I got less than straight-As so I needed that lecture about the right path and wrong path in life). He had no clue about a child's physical, cognitive, emotional or spiritual needs. He certainly had no idea about his ability and responsibility to address those needs. He brought home the paycheck and then stayed out of the way. It was safer that way, and it was all he knew.

My main memory of my dad is him walking away while my mom, uhmm … “let me have it”. But that's not the whole picture, and, as I come to terms with it (which has taken decades), the other pictures are starting to come back into focus. It's like they were all stuck behind the one 8 X 10 of his failure to protect me. Here are some of the other snapshots, the ones I took out today in honor of Father's Day, and of my dad:

When I was little, I was frustrated because other kids seemed to know what they were good at and this helped them know what they would be when they grew up. I was good at a lot of things. That was no help! Finally, in sixth grade, Ms. Taylor came up with a Creative Writing exercise where we would pull an index card out of a little box and write a short story based on whatever title was typed on that index card. I remember two: "The Time Capsule" and "How the Turtle Got its Shell." Now, the story I wrote about the turtle could only have been written by someone who has been repeatedly mistreated, but nobody picked up on this at the time. Here is what's most important: my dad thought it was very good writing and he saved the story. For a child who never received any praise, this was HUGE. Maybe I was finally extra-good at something! Snap.

Zoom out a few years and I'm a depressed, over-achieving, ulcer-suffering, high school senior. One day, my mom and I walk into Dad's office during the work day. We never did this before, so I guess we must have been dropping something off... In any case, I meet his office manager for the first time and she almost squeals in delight - like a teeny-bopper meeting a rock star. "Ohhhh! It's YOU! Your dad is so proud of you!" WHAT?

"Yes, you're the editor of the high school paper, right? He brings in everything you write and he passes it around so we all get to read it. You're very good." Snap.

I'm still surprised they didn't have to call an ambulance crew to pick me up off the floor.

I was so shocked and confused and angry about his silence at home (when I so badly needed affirmation) that it has taken me lo these thirty years to realize how that moment drove me to keep on writing, keep on trying, keep on believing I had something to say.

So, uhm, thank you - Papi. Thank you for recognizing my little talent, thank you for being proud of me, thank you for sharing that joy with others even while you were simply unable to share it with me. I miss you.

And, for the rest of us who are still here... we never know what role we will play for the people who cross our paths. I don't even remember that office manager's name. But she was able to reveal something I needed to know. She’s the one who took the picture that I pulled out today, and I wish I could thank her. Instead, I hope this pays it forward..