While fixing and delivering breakfast in bed to the man who has been more of a father than a step-father to my four children, I thought about the FATHERS in my life ...
My relationship with my real father has always been complicated. He was the first difficult man I ever knew ... He had his own issues, a crummy childhood with an abusive, alcoholic father, my father felt best when he controlled his world and the people in it. I have never been easily controlled. From the moment I expressed independent thought, I was a challenge to him. I asked too many questions, pushed too many limits, broke too many rules. The more rules I broke, the more rules Dad created. I honored the rules that made sense and questioned the ones that didn't. He hated that and still doesn't like being questioned. He is a true Patriarch. He calls the shots.
I was the oldest of 10 children. With a crowd like that, being the oldest meant being the leader whether I wanted to be or not. I hated the words, "You need to be a good example to the younger children" but I accepted the duty most of the time. I didn't like feeling like the "third parent" ... but being a "protector" and a "guide" are as much a part of who I am now as "hazel eyes" or an "easy smile" ... Standing up to my father when I thought he was wrong or unfair conditioned me for all the other things that happened in my life that have been wrong or unfair. It planted strength deep in my spirit, tucking it away for moments when I needed it, and I have needed it. At those times when I showed the most strength or the most courage, my Mom would say, "You are so much like your Dad." We are alike. "Protector" and "Guide" can feel different than "Controlling Patriarch Ruler" to Dad and me but the actions can look the same to someone else. My Dad has mellowed with age. He has been disappointed by the outcomes of his advice ... and in recent years, he has even said, "I didn't know ..." when family crisis included legal battles or medical problems that exceeded the realm of Dad's experience. The words "I don't know" coming from a man who pretended to know everything for all those years couldn't have come easily.
Trying and wishing and hoping for being the "perfect daughter" ... for one day earning the "Daddy Seal of Approval" might have been the next generation of my own father trying and wishing and hoping for being the "perfect son" ... for one day earning the "Daddy Seal of Approval" too ... The feminine side of that coin is an easier one, if I only consider that it was okay for me to cry and a sin if Dad did. It was acceptable for me to go in search of myself ... to dissect the aspects of my personality, to ask questions, to admit confusion and weakness, to accept help from others when I lost my way in the search of me. My dad was trapped in the words, "BIG BOYS DON'T CRY" and "I AM ALWAYS RIGHT" and "NEVER QUESTION THE FATHER. I AM THE FATHER" and "MEN ARE STRONG AND MUST NEVER BE WEAK."
If Dad and I were surviving the same shipwreck in the same stormy sea, my Dad was the one who clung to a piece of floating debris and I am the one who leaves the wreck and swims to shore. The storm has mostly ended. The shore is in sight. My Dad is paddling on his float and I am still swimming toward shore. It remains to be seen who will have made the best choice.
But in between then and what will be, I have plenty of time to think about the other men who have been like fathers to me ...
I met the man I call Pop almost 25 years ago. He had four sons and I suppose in a way, I became the daughter he never had ... We had conversations about life that he would have had with his own daughter and I wished I could have had with my own father. We were all devastated when his wife (a second mom as well) got cancer. I got in the habit of calling every week or so to check on them, visited a few times to help him take care of her, and listened to him cry when she was gone. I kept calling. We kept talking through his life and mine, he told me how proud he was of me and I would tell him how proud I was of him. We encouraged each other, advised each other and listened to the happy stories, the sad stories and all the ones in between. Pop and his sons are all men's men. They're rough and tough and macho ... and again ... being men, they don't talk about the same things Pop and I talk about, because "MEN DON'T TALK ABOUT THOSE THINGS". I suppose where my own Father taught me strength, Pop taught me that even the toughest men feel very deeply about things they may never say out loud. I learned to understand men in the interactions between him and his sons. Sometimes, I just observed. Sometimes, I have been the feminine translator, the go-between. I always felt like I was doing what Mom (his wife) would have wanted me to.
There were four other men who were or nearly were my FATHER-IN-LAWs ... On this day, in another time, I would have honored them ... This morning, I thought of them too ...
I never met JL. Joey's Dad had passed away long before I ever met Joey. I have heard stories about him from Joey's family and from businessmen in town who knew him. I think I would have liked him. He was quite a character. He liked life and he liked having fun. One of my favorite stories is from a man who sold him insurance. JL told the insurance man he'd buy insurance from him if he'd beat JL arm wrestling! I don't think I ever heard of that business strategy, but the insurance salesman did beat him in arm wrestling and JL bought from him.
My relationship with my real father has always been complicated. He was the first difficult man I ever knew ... He had his own issues, a crummy childhood with an abusive, alcoholic father, my father felt best when he controlled his world and the people in it. I have never been easily controlled. From the moment I expressed independent thought, I was a challenge to him. I asked too many questions, pushed too many limits, broke too many rules. The more rules I broke, the more rules Dad created. I honored the rules that made sense and questioned the ones that didn't. He hated that and still doesn't like being questioned. He is a true Patriarch. He calls the shots.
I was the oldest of 10 children. With a crowd like that, being the oldest meant being the leader whether I wanted to be or not. I hated the words, "You need to be a good example to the younger children" but I accepted the duty most of the time. I didn't like feeling like the "third parent" ... but being a "protector" and a "guide" are as much a part of who I am now as "hazel eyes" or an "easy smile" ... Standing up to my father when I thought he was wrong or unfair conditioned me for all the other things that happened in my life that have been wrong or unfair. It planted strength deep in my spirit, tucking it away for moments when I needed it, and I have needed it. At those times when I showed the most strength or the most courage, my Mom would say, "You are so much like your Dad." We are alike. "Protector" and "Guide" can feel different than "Controlling Patriarch Ruler" to Dad and me but the actions can look the same to someone else. My Dad has mellowed with age. He has been disappointed by the outcomes of his advice ... and in recent years, he has even said, "I didn't know ..." when family crisis included legal battles or medical problems that exceeded the realm of Dad's experience. The words "I don't know" coming from a man who pretended to know everything for all those years couldn't have come easily.
Trying and wishing and hoping for being the "perfect daughter" ... for one day earning the "Daddy Seal of Approval" might have been the next generation of my own father trying and wishing and hoping for being the "perfect son" ... for one day earning the "Daddy Seal of Approval" too ... The feminine side of that coin is an easier one, if I only consider that it was okay for me to cry and a sin if Dad did. It was acceptable for me to go in search of myself ... to dissect the aspects of my personality, to ask questions, to admit confusion and weakness, to accept help from others when I lost my way in the search of me. My dad was trapped in the words, "BIG BOYS DON'T CRY" and "I AM ALWAYS RIGHT" and "NEVER QUESTION THE FATHER. I AM THE FATHER" and "MEN ARE STRONG AND MUST NEVER BE WEAK."
If Dad and I were surviving the same shipwreck in the same stormy sea, my Dad was the one who clung to a piece of floating debris and I am the one who leaves the wreck and swims to shore. The storm has mostly ended. The shore is in sight. My Dad is paddling on his float and I am still swimming toward shore. It remains to be seen who will have made the best choice.
But in between then and what will be, I have plenty of time to think about the other men who have been like fathers to me ...
I met the man I call Pop almost 25 years ago. He had four sons and I suppose in a way, I became the daughter he never had ... We had conversations about life that he would have had with his own daughter and I wished I could have had with my own father. We were all devastated when his wife (a second mom as well) got cancer. I got in the habit of calling every week or so to check on them, visited a few times to help him take care of her, and listened to him cry when she was gone. I kept calling. We kept talking through his life and mine, he told me how proud he was of me and I would tell him how proud I was of him. We encouraged each other, advised each other and listened to the happy stories, the sad stories and all the ones in between. Pop and his sons are all men's men. They're rough and tough and macho ... and again ... being men, they don't talk about the same things Pop and I talk about, because "MEN DON'T TALK ABOUT THOSE THINGS". I suppose where my own Father taught me strength, Pop taught me that even the toughest men feel very deeply about things they may never say out loud. I learned to understand men in the interactions between him and his sons. Sometimes, I just observed. Sometimes, I have been the feminine translator, the go-between. I always felt like I was doing what Mom (his wife) would have wanted me to.
There were four other men who were or nearly were my FATHER-IN-LAWs ... On this day, in another time, I would have honored them ... This morning, I thought of them too ...
I never met JL. Joey's Dad had passed away long before I ever met Joey. I have heard stories about him from Joey's family and from businessmen in town who knew him. I think I would have liked him. He was quite a character. He liked life and he liked having fun. One of my favorite stories is from a man who sold him insurance. JL told the insurance man he'd buy insurance from him if he'd beat JL arm wrestling! I don't think I ever heard of that business strategy, but the insurance salesman did beat him in arm wrestling and JL bought from him.
Phil was polished and professional. If I close my eyes, I see him in a business suit. He was a good man from a good family and it showed in everything he did. I don't think I ever heard a bad thing come from his mouth. He was kind to every one, no matter what their station in life was, he treated them with the same kindness. I loved his bear hugs.
Choc was a wild man till the day he died. I met him when he was almost 100 years old. He was full blooded Cherokee-Choctaw Indian. He had drunk his share of firewater and lived a whole lot of life before he got married and fathered 10 children. He was tall and strong, even in his 90s. Even when he was in the hospital toward the end of his life, he strode through the halls like a healthy man half his age. He didn't look old. He looked weathered. He was unusually handsome and bigger than life. I loved listening to his stories as much as he loved telling them. He LIVED the kind of life most of us will only read about. He left this world with me wishing I could have heard just one more story ...
I met Bennie Hugh after two brain tumors and some heart problems. I'll never know the man he was before that time, but I liked the man he was when I met him. He couldn't hear real well so he didn't always participate in conversation. I noticed when too many people were talking at once, he would just stare at the tv. My grandmother used to do that too. Pretending not to be interested was easier than admitting she couldn't hear. It was too much trouble to make us all speak louder, one at a time. It was enough to be with us. She would look around the room and smile occasionally and Bennie Hugh did the same thing. They would both laugh when other people laughed ... not always getting the joke but LOVING the laughter. But in spite of all that, he took the time to show me who he was. He showed me the things that mattered in his home ... the pieces of his history ... a picture of him in his uniform and his wife back in the 40s and said, "Isn't she beautiful?" ... not wasn't, but ISN'T ... They were a handsome couple, looking like they could have walked out of a scene from Casa Blanca. The love and pride he felt for his family and his son showed in his eyes. His whole manner said, "Welcome to my family. I'm glad you're here."
I met Bennie Hugh after two brain tumors and some heart problems. I'll never know the man he was before that time, but I liked the man he was when I met him. He couldn't hear real well so he didn't always participate in conversation. I noticed when too many people were talking at once, he would just stare at the tv. My grandmother used to do that too. Pretending not to be interested was easier than admitting she couldn't hear. It was too much trouble to make us all speak louder, one at a time. It was enough to be with us. She would look around the room and smile occasionally and Bennie Hugh did the same thing. They would both laugh when other people laughed ... not always getting the joke but LOVING the laughter. But in spite of all that, he took the time to show me who he was. He showed me the things that mattered in his home ... the pieces of his history ... a picture of him in his uniform and his wife back in the 40s and said, "Isn't she beautiful?" ... not wasn't, but ISN'T ... They were a handsome couple, looking like they could have walked out of a scene from Casa Blanca. The love and pride he felt for his family and his son showed in his eyes. His whole manner said, "Welcome to my family. I'm glad you're here."
Choc and Bennie Hugh were closer to my Grandpa's age than my father's age. My instant affection and comfort with them was probably because of Grandpa who was part of THE GREATEST GENERATION that Tom Brokaw wrote about,
"After talking to so many of them and reflecting on what they have meant in my own life, I now know that it is in those small ceremonies and quiet moments that this generation is appropriately honored. No fanfare is required. They've had their parades. They've heard the speeches. They know what they have accomplished, and they are proud. They will have their World War II memorial and their place in the ledgers of history, but no block of marble or elaborate edifice can equal their lives of sacrifice and achievement, duty and honor, as monuments to their time."
Grandpa Bill was a good man who worked hard all his life and always tried to do the right thing. He worked with famous politicians and big people in our state. He had awards and plaques and recognition, but he was a husband, father and grandfather FIRST, a farmer SECOND and the rest took care of itself. He taught me and all of us that it wasn't the plaques and awards that defined us. It was our families that mattered most because we mattered most to him and he showed it.
Grandpa Roy was a good man too, but he wrestled with alcohol most of his life. It made him moody and unpredictable. When he was happy, he was the most fun! When he was down, he was the meanest son-of-a-gun you could ever meet. I was his oldest granddaughter and he would always introduce me, not by my name, but as HIS OLDEST granddaughter. I lived across the street from him for a while so I got to know ALL his moods and learned to take them in stride. He visited me almost every day. I liked his visits. When he was happy, he'd stop by just to tell me a joke. When he was mad, he would stop by to tell me who he was mad at. He had a feud going with the old woman that lived next door to him. She was as crazy as Grandpa could be sometimes and they fought like children. In the summer, he would run over her flowers and she would pick his. In the winter, she would blow snow off her driveway into his on purpose and Grandpa would throw snowballs at her cat. For some reason, Grandpa would listen to me. Maybe, because I was HIS OLDEST granddaughter? Maybe, because he was making atonement for being so mean to my Dad? I don't know ... but I could always calm him down. Smoothing out the rough spots in the feud between two crazy people taught me a lot about making peace ... lol ...
My friend, Tillie, was part of that GREATEST GENERATION too. He passed away this spring and he has been on my mind this morning too. He was like Pop, a surrogate father because my own father was so far away. Tillie was a combination of so many of the men I have already mentioned ... always well dressed, always kind, always ready to hug, always happy to share a joke or story, and at almost 7 feet tall, BIGGER THAN LIFE! He was a good man and many times, his wisdom was the wisdom that guided me. He believed in the basic goodness of all people. He believed that everything would always turn out okay. He lived his life that way. He made me and everyone who knew him believers in the goodness of others and the eventual fairness of life. I miss him. Today wouldn't be Father's Day without honoring him too.
Joey never had children of his own, but he was there for mine. He taught them to drive, stayed up late with me and worried over them, did his best to provide for them, walked my daughters down the aisle, and is Papa Joey to all the grandkids. He was there in big ways and all the little ways in between ... and he didn't have to do any of those things. He wasn't obligated. They weren't really HIS children ... but then again, they were HIS children in all the ways that mattered most to the four of them.
To all the Fathers in my life and all the Fathers in your life ... HAPPY FATHERS DAY!
OH, MY PA-PA
Oh, my pa-pa, to me he was so wonderful
Oh, my pa-pa, to me he was so good
No one could be, so gentle and so lovable
Oh, my pa-pa, he always understood.
Gone are the days when he could take me on his knee
And with a smile he'd change my tears to laughter
Oh, my pa-pa, so funny, so adorable
Always the clown so funny in his way
Oh, my pa-pa, to me he was so wonderful
Deep in my heart I miss him so today.
"After talking to so many of them and reflecting on what they have meant in my own life, I now know that it is in those small ceremonies and quiet moments that this generation is appropriately honored. No fanfare is required. They've had their parades. They've heard the speeches. They know what they have accomplished, and they are proud. They will have their World War II memorial and their place in the ledgers of history, but no block of marble or elaborate edifice can equal their lives of sacrifice and achievement, duty and honor, as monuments to their time."
Grandpa Bill was a good man who worked hard all his life and always tried to do the right thing. He worked with famous politicians and big people in our state. He had awards and plaques and recognition, but he was a husband, father and grandfather FIRST, a farmer SECOND and the rest took care of itself. He taught me and all of us that it wasn't the plaques and awards that defined us. It was our families that mattered most because we mattered most to him and he showed it.
Grandpa Roy was a good man too, but he wrestled with alcohol most of his life. It made him moody and unpredictable. When he was happy, he was the most fun! When he was down, he was the meanest son-of-a-gun you could ever meet. I was his oldest granddaughter and he would always introduce me, not by my name, but as HIS OLDEST granddaughter. I lived across the street from him for a while so I got to know ALL his moods and learned to take them in stride. He visited me almost every day. I liked his visits. When he was happy, he'd stop by just to tell me a joke. When he was mad, he would stop by to tell me who he was mad at. He had a feud going with the old woman that lived next door to him. She was as crazy as Grandpa could be sometimes and they fought like children. In the summer, he would run over her flowers and she would pick his. In the winter, she would blow snow off her driveway into his on purpose and Grandpa would throw snowballs at her cat. For some reason, Grandpa would listen to me. Maybe, because I was HIS OLDEST granddaughter? Maybe, because he was making atonement for being so mean to my Dad? I don't know ... but I could always calm him down. Smoothing out the rough spots in the feud between two crazy people taught me a lot about making peace ... lol ...
My friend, Tillie, was part of that GREATEST GENERATION too. He passed away this spring and he has been on my mind this morning too. He was like Pop, a surrogate father because my own father was so far away. Tillie was a combination of so many of the men I have already mentioned ... always well dressed, always kind, always ready to hug, always happy to share a joke or story, and at almost 7 feet tall, BIGGER THAN LIFE! He was a good man and many times, his wisdom was the wisdom that guided me. He believed in the basic goodness of all people. He believed that everything would always turn out okay. He lived his life that way. He made me and everyone who knew him believers in the goodness of others and the eventual fairness of life. I miss him. Today wouldn't be Father's Day without honoring him too.
Joey never had children of his own, but he was there for mine. He taught them to drive, stayed up late with me and worried over them, did his best to provide for them, walked my daughters down the aisle, and is Papa Joey to all the grandkids. He was there in big ways and all the little ways in between ... and he didn't have to do any of those things. He wasn't obligated. They weren't really HIS children ... but then again, they were HIS children in all the ways that mattered most to the four of them.
To all the Fathers in my life and all the Fathers in your life ... HAPPY FATHERS DAY!
OH, MY PA-PA
Oh, my pa-pa, to me he was so wonderful
Oh, my pa-pa, to me he was so good
No one could be, so gentle and so lovable
Oh, my pa-pa, he always understood.
Gone are the days when he could take me on his knee
And with a smile he'd change my tears to laughter
Oh, my pa-pa, so funny, so adorable
Always the clown so funny in his way
Oh, my pa-pa, to me he was so wonderful
Deep in my heart I miss him so today.
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