Father’s Day. It’s that day every year where we get all emotional about bonding over pulling that giant catfish, “The Old Man” we called him, from the lake after chasing him all summer or how your sturdy hand was placed on my shoulder after the game winning touchdown and the words “Son, today you’re a man.”were grumbled in my ear. It’s hard to get emotional about these things because they didn’t happen. I doubt they ever happened to anyone.
For me Father’s Day is about the relationship that started years ago that led to me having a father (that’s right we’re going to talk about two people making a baby-ewwww) and how my dad’s still guiding me along through my own bungling attempt at not killing, maiming or just misplacing my own kids.
Like most relationships between teenagers in the late 1960’s things got groovy fast. A proposal was made, wedding bells chimed, and a mother of the bride was wearing hot pants. There was a cultural revolution going on and there wasn’t any time to mess around. So the messing around began and about 12 months later I was born 15 days shy of being a 60’s baby (but I still get to tell my kids that I was born during the Vietnam War – it gives me some street cred – and technically I can use the phrase “Back in Nam”). But I digress. Looking back now at pictures of them arm in arm or sitting together on a couch as one or another relative said ‘say cheese’ before snapping a picture. I can see the sideways looks or the gentle laying of a hand across a knee that speaks of something deeper than just teenage lust. There were smiles and conversations passing between them without any words being spoken. If you know what to look for in those early photos you can see the beginning of a marriage that was going to last a long time. Those photos are like viewing a river before it cuts a deep valley.
So husband and wife and baby and for the purpose of this note,specifically father, were all together living the American Dream. If that dream was a barely twenty-something couple both in college working multiple jobs with no money and a new baby, then yes they were living it. As crazy as it seems I like to think they had a plan. I like to call it the “Band-Aid Removal” method of life management, just pull it all off quickly and hope it doesn’t hurt for very long. For those of us who have practiced this same method I’ll give you a second to stop laughing and dry your eyes.
Alas, life began to impose.
The stories are long and varied about overcoming the trials and tribulations of learning to share an intimate life with not only another adult but with a small rude house guest that regularly crapped himself and would puke on whatever clothing you were planning on wearing that day usually five minutes before you had to leave. Small things became big things and big things became resentments but the joy shared in each other’s company and the fact that I finally stopped pooping and throwing up on everything provided a grounding rod for perspective and things began to work out.
So life wasn’t easy but mom and dad had the right attitude and decided to do what families throughout the ages have done when the going gets tough. Suck it up and work on making things better. I’m sure compared to people living in the wilds of Africa or the Amazon basin our life was something to be looked up to,but for me I often felt the book “Where the Wild Things Are” was based on my room after the lights went out. It was probably just the six foot cockroaches rummaging through my stuff but still it was a little unsettling.
Graduations occurred. Jobs got better. Things became more stable. The babysitters seemed to smoke less or at least I didn’t have to hold their ashtrays anymore. We moved and then we moved again. Time became something that was in short supply as the race to make things better grew more hectic.
And this is where a lot of great relationships end or find a status quo that everyone accepts as the new normal. Pictures now contain smiles that wouldn’t convince a ‘B’ movie director of their authenticity and superlatives begin to fly as accusations of unfulfilled dreams are hurled back and forth.
It happens. Let’s not kid ourselves. Expectations, not infidelity or finances, kills marriages. We expect things to be a certain way and then BAM they’re not.
My family got through this. Sure they had to look at their significant other and say “Sure he wears black socks with sandals or what’s with those bell bottoms with the footprints all over them? But hey I can live with that because they meet my most important expectation, a loving partner.”
Doesn’t mean it was easy. Time was scarce around our house. We all still had 24 hours every day but it was being eaten away by commitments. It was magically disappearing before our very eyes. Be here then. This has to be done now. Drop this off by three. I can’t believe the kid did this to my suit five minutes before I have to leave. For my parents it was like a magic act where they had to juggle all of these commitments while others were continually being thrown into the mix. I still don’t know how they did it.
But the true magic of the situation was that I didn’t notice. I didn’t notice the juggling multiple jobs. I didn’t notice when belts got tightened so ends could meet. (To this day I still view‘Shit on a Shingle’ as a proper Sunday viddle) I didn’t notice when pride was swallowed and relatives were asked for help. I didn’t notice when their desire for something better for me took longer than they wanted to come about. I didn’t notice those things because I was too busy noticing the things that mattered.
I noticed the weekend trip to camp on the beach where the fog was thick like smoke in the morning. I noticed the cherry blossoms blooming in the parks of D.C. where we spent timeshowing relatives around town. I noticed riding on your shoulders as we hiked through the woods. I noticed that you took the time to play checkers with me despite my attention span being close to that of a hyperactive squirrel. And most of all I remember you taking a moment to sit and read with me after a long day. What I noticed most about my childhood was that both my mother and father took the time and effort to make sure I’d notice the important things.
As this Father’s Day rolls around I wanted you to know that all those things you did mattered and the stuff that you may have felt you didn’t get quite right, most likely I didn’t even notice.Thank you Dad.
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