This one's for you, Dad. I miss you.May 06 '01 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line Let your children know you love them. Tell them. Hug them. Show them by caring about what's going on in their life.
I had two Dads. No, I wasn't adopted. No, I didn't have a step-father. Those two Dads were the same man, at least they lived in the same body. But their personalities, their attitudes, and their impacts on my life, were as different as night and day. I promise I'll explain, but first I'll tell you what inspired me to write this today: Had he lived, today would have been my Dad's 66th birthday. Sadly, he died eleven years ago, just a couple of months past his 55th birthday. I miss him. Sometimes I miss him so much it hurts. Dad #1 was the Dad I grew up with. He worked hard and he worked long, always holding down a full-time job and either one or two part-time jobs, for most of my childhood. He had grown up poor, the fifth in a family with eight children, in a tiny coal-mining town in eastern Kentucky. He left Kentucky in his teens, without finishing high school, and moved to Pennsylvania to work in a tile factory. He sent most of his earnings home to his family in Kentucky until he married my Mom in 1956. Dad never got over being poor and I believe he worked so hard because that was his way of making sure my sister and I would not grow up poor. And we didn't grow up poor. We always had a home, plenty to eat, nice clothes to wear. We were never rich, but we never went hungry. Unfortunately, we hardly knew my Dad. He was home so little, and awake so few of the hours he was home, that most of my childhood memories don't include him. Of course I do have some fond ones and those are the memories I cherish. Memories of Saturday mornings spent shooting baskets at the high school while Mom worked in a grocery store top the list. He'd lift us up to the basket when we were too small to get the ball up that high, or too tired by the end of the morning, and reward us with a nickle for each basket. Dad wasn't interested in tradition or celebrations. It seems his family never celebrated birthdays until his youngest sibling was born - twelve years after my Dad's birth. Dad never attended school programs, even when my sister or I had a big part in it, and he never celebrated our birthdays. He didn't attend our graduations from high school or my graduation from college. He had no patience for that type of thing and it didn't matter to him if it was important to us. This Dad of mine had a nasty temper and a very short fuse. In looking back now, I suspect his fuse was shortened by exhaustion. I know my own fuse grows short when I'm over tired and I can only imagine how tired he must have stayed with the number of hours he worked. I lived in fear of my Dad, always afraid I would say or do something to set him off. He spanked, but it wasn't considered abuse back then. Even today I don't think he was physically abusive, although I've certainly not adopted his discipline methods in raising my own children. I never felt loved by my Dad back then. I think I felt like a burden, that if it were not for me and my sister, Dad might have had an easier life. Dad developed a drinking problem, despite total avoidance of alcohol in the first thirty years of his life, after his younger brother was murdered. That death hit him hard and he found solace in alcohol. His drinking destroyed our family for a number of years, contributing to my parent's divorce when I was twelve. They remarried a few years later, and for a while his drinking was less of a problem, but it wouldn't go away completely for a few more years. Fast forward from my childhood to early adult years to meet Dad #2: Our family had relocated from the west coast to the east coast and Dad made a lot of changes in his life. He no longer worked second and third jobs, for example, although seventy hour weeks at his regular job were not uncommon. But during those years, Dad and I got to know each other. Dad taught me some valuable lessons, lessons that have served me well. He taught me that I could do or be whatever I wanted if I was willing to work for it. He taught me I'd learn far more by listening than by talking, but that questioning what was presented was critical if you wanted to learn the right things. For a man who dropped out of high school, he was incredibly well read and self-educated. We loved to debate, with each of us taking turns playing devil's advocate when discussing a topic we shared an opinion on. He loved to tell jokes and I was often his best audience. When a local radio station had "Worst Joke Wednesday," I would often call him when I arrived at work and tell him all the bad jokes I'd heard on my way. Dad became one of my best friends. We shared common interests, similar political views, a love of music and story-telling, and when I was worried or sad it was always Dad that I could count on to help. My boyfriends, when he approved, were treated like the son he'd never had, and he and my Mom would sometimes double-date with us. We had fun together. In those years of my early adulthood, I learned that my Dad loved me. And he liked me, too. His friends would tell me of stories Dad had shared about me, beaming with pride over some little thing I had accomplished or sharing a joke I had told him. When Dad died I felt more loss than I could have ever imagined. I was pregnant with my first child, after eight years of marriage, and I know that my Dad was as excited about it as my husband and I were. It still hurts that my sons will never know their Grandfather - they would have loved him. Ready for the Advice Part? Fatherhood is a special role and a sacred responsibility. Whether you do it well or poorly, your children will be forever influenced. Children deserve to have their material needs met, but they also need to know this man who is central to their lives. Don't sacrifice time with your children in search of material things. They won't remember the things you gave them but they will remember the love and the time. If your child has an interest, take an interest yourself. So what if you don't like soccer, for example. If your daughter is playing soccer, go to the games and cheer for her and her team. You hate the violin but your son is taking lessons? Go to his recital. Yes, it will be painful but you don't have to let him know that. Be there for him. Some day your children will be adults. If they know you love them, and know you believe in them, you'll never find a more loyal or loving friend. Take care of your health. My Dad used to joke: "If I'd known this body was going to last so long I would have taken better care of it." It was funny when he was a 45 year old, overweight smoker trying to keep up with young men on a basketball court. It wasn't funny when, at the age of 55, he suffered a fatal heart attack. Although Dad #1 wouldn't have been a good grandfather, Dad #2, the Dad I lost eleven years ago, would have been perfect. How I wish he had taken better care of himself. My final bit of advice on fatherhood: Let your children know you love them. Tell them. Hug them. Show them by caring about what's going on in their life. Thanks for reading this. I don't often write essays but this year, on the day that would have been my Dad's birthday, I felt compelled to write. I hope it has touched you in some small way.  |
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