Fathers Day - Revisited

Since Mom’s birthday is in May, and Dad’s is in June—aligning with Mothers and Fathers Day, respectively—my thoughts always turn to them in those months.  With both of them gone now, it is a way in which I keep their memories alive.  

My father was what you might call ‘old school’.  He could be pretty strict, and held the family to the same high standards he kept for himself.  His beliefs and attitudes reflected his growing up in the rough and tumble world of Hoquiam, a logging town on the Washington coast.  He was tough; he knew how to use his fists, having been a varsity boxer in high school, and later in the Navy.  

But ‘old school’ also meant much more to Dad than toughness and standards.  He wasn’t one to easily spout niceties like ‘I love you’, but he knew how to show it when the chips were down.  

One weekend, my buddy and I hitchhiked to the coast, to camp on the sand dunes at Honeyman State Park, near Florence Oregon.  We had a great time, but got a late start coming home, and got stuck just east of town in the little unincorporated community of Cushman (more a wide spot in the road than a community).  Traffic on the highway was down to just about nothing, and around 11:30 in the evening, it started raining.  The prospects of a ride in the middle of the night for two soaking wet teenage boys and their soaking wet backpacks were less than bleak.  

We kept trying until almost 1 a.m., taking shelter in a phone booth during the long breaks between oncoming cars.  In retrospect, it’s bizarre that there was a phone booth there, in the middle of nowhere, but there was.  Finally, we decided to swallow our pride and call my Dad.  Once he was clear on exactly where we were, he told us to just stay right there – he was on his way.  

It was about an hour later when he showed up.  He pulled over on the gravel shoulder next to us, got out, opened the trunk, put our backpacks in the trunk, and let us in.  On the drive home, he asked us how the weekend had been, and generally made small talk with us.  There were no recriminations, or any expressions that we had inconvenienced him by getting him up in the middle of the night for a two-hour drive to bring us home.  He knew that we knew we had fucked up … there was no need for him to reinforce the lesson.  What was unspoken was his relief to know that we were safe, and his clear sense that it was his duty to keep us that way.  

I may be letting myself off the hook to say this, but I think he actually was glad to be right where he was, and was maybe a little bit proud to know that I knew I could count on him.  

It was years later, when I became a father myself, that I discovered another dimension to this.  Fatherhood came late to me, and I am grateful for every minute of it – so much so that some things that might seem unpleasant, or off-putting in a different context, just triggered gratitude.  On a number of occasions when Madeleine was in her tweens, and early teens, she would get so angry with me that she would start crying, and yelling that she hated me, and that I was the ‘worst father in the world’.  Sometimes I knew that I had done or said something to trigger this; other times it was just a mystery.  I don’t dispute that conclusion – I am no judge of my ranking among the fathers of the world.  But beneath her words, I heard a plea, ‘I am totally overwhelmed by life, my surroundings, the changes happening in my body, and to my friendships, and I just need to scream!  I know that however I take it out on you, you will respond with respect, and will keep loving me.’  I remember, even in the moment, how glad I was to be there – to be a point of stability for this incredible young woman, at a time when everything else in her life was in disarray; showing her that wherever she flies off to as she copes with life – I will remain moored, and will be there when she is ready.  

I don’t think anybody would accuse me of being ‘old school’, but when I remember the intensity, then the hugs we shared a little later, when the  moment had passed … I think I know my father just a little better.  

Why I shouldn't Smoke Pot

After the bonfire, I came in, thinking I might have some sort of meaningful, pithy remark for my friends to embellish with their brilliance.  

I really don't even remember the context of this phrase, but I started wondering how I might weave in the term 'multivariate stochastic' into a sentence or paragraph about trying to figure out where we are as a society, and where we might be heading.  

Yeah, I might have to either consult the thesaurus before I post, or just skip the edibles. 

Nowhere Else I'd Rather Be

My thoughts often turn to my beautiful kid, her dreams, and the excellent fortune I have enjoyed to play a small role in her becoming the fine adult she is.  

When Maddie was around three or four years old, some of the other parents of her classmates talked about how they had gotten the bedtime process down to a well-oiled machine … bath, tuck-in, read a story, hug-and-kiss, and then leave until morning!  I found that prospect very appealing, and suggested it to her mother, with whom I alternated bedtime duties.  

Cindy hated the idea.  She said that at bedtime, Maddie would open up and talk about whatever was on her mind, and continue to talk, even as she began to sleep, and entered a dream state.  Cindy said that she was learning more about our daughter in those moments than at any other time, and that I was missing out by focusing on wherever else it was that I’d rather be.  

Those words stung, but I took them to heart.  Of course that’s where I wanted to be … or was it?  

Since Cindy had no intention of truncating the bedtime experience on her nights, I wasn’t going to on my nights either.  The rewards of taking Cindy’s advice began very soon.  When Maddie knew she had my attention, she would relax and tell me stories, or ask me to tell her ‘Maddie Stories’, many of which starred ‘Super-Maddie’ who used her powers to rescue people, put bad guys in their place, or just generally make our town a better place to live.  We always began Maddie stories with the introduction, ‘Once upon a time, there was a beautiful little blonde-haired girl named Maddie, who lived in a big white house at …’ followed by our address - in the hope she would commit our address to memory - just in case.  

Very soon, I realized that there really was nowhere else I’d rather be than right there, learning from, sharing, and just loving and bonding with my kid.  

In her teens, Maddie began to pull away, as kids are meant to do as they gain independence.  After her mother and I divorced, during my weeks, we would often just talk about the things we needed to cover to stay on top of household and school responsibilities, and not chat a whole lot other than that.  I didn’t know whether to perceive this as emotional distance, or just her need for quiet processing time.  In either case, it would have been poor manners for me to intrude.  I wasn’t really able to draw her out, but I  assumed hopefully that everything was fine.  It helped a lot to see that when she would have friends over, they would sometimes also just share space quietly, texting on their phones; not always chatting with one another.  

Maddie and I streamed a lot of online television in those days; I came to know shows like Parks and Recreation, Monk, Psych, The Office, and other series that I had missed when they were broadcast, since I don’t watch much commercial television.  We didn’t talk much while we were watching - but once in a while, Maddie would have something she needed to talk through.  Sometimes, once she started, she could go on for a long time … like a burst dam.  Young women in their teen years go through a special kind of hell with their friends and schoolmates, and I was privy to some of the worst of it.  She wasn’t looking for a clueless middle-aged man to solve her problems, so I did my best to not propose too many solutions.  She just needed me to listen; truly, I was privileged to be right there.  

Later in high school, and into college, Madeleine has known she could count on me for occasional advice on papers, applications, and other academic stuff.  She will still sometimes come over, and we’ll just quietly stream an episode or two of a favorite show, and I am now confident that it is not distance; it is a form of bonding that we continue to share.  I sometimes call it ‘overlapping auras’, or ‘parallel play’.  Within those moments, she will occasionally ask me to pause what we’re watching, and she will hold forth—sometimes pretty extensively—about something that’s on her mind.  I will listen, occasionally provide a little feedback, but I try to never preach, or pretend that I have an answer which she is not soliciting.  

I hope that, as life goes on, we can continue to do this in one form or another - however it evolves.  

Cindy knows how grateful I am for her life-affirming advice encouraging me to take the time at bedtime, to listen to our beautiful daughter, and come to know her.  Madeleine really has become one of the deepest, brightest, most interesting people I know, and one of my dearest friends - in addition to being the light of my life.  I am enriched by knowing her mind, and am grateful that she chooses to open it to me.  No matter when, or where we are when she wants to talk to me, she knows there is absolutely nowhere else I’d rather be.  

I HATE YOU ... and I need a hug

I HATE YOU ... and I need a hug

When your child gets in your face, and screams, "I hate you!   You're the worst Dad in the World!", there are at least two possibilities; She may be right, and you may be the worst Dad in the World.  

The other possibility is that—whether, in the moment she feels that she means what she says—she may really be saying, "I'm completely overwhelmed by the world, by my life, and everything happening around me – and don't know how to handle it.  You are a safe zone; I know I can scream anything at you, and you will absorb it and still be there for me.” 

Maybe it was arrogance on my part, but I always assumed it was the latter of these, and tried to respond accordingly.  I can’t claim that it never got to me, or that I never responded like another child – but the assumption that I would still be there when calm was restored was a safe bet, and absolute core of the father I have always hoped to be.  The world is awash with unsafe zones; I was, and remain honored to be, a protective harbor.