Wouldn’t It Be Nice
I have great hopes for myself when it comes to fathering. Even though my daughters are 13 and 9, and I have been in the employ of fatherhood for as many years, I often feel like I’m still in training-still waiting to turn from a frustrated, impatient, reactive, capital D Dad that people mostly, out of fear, listen to, to an understanding, compassionate, thoughtful, capital F Father who everyone loves and rallies around because of their essential wonderfulness. I have a feeling I may get there. If I do, I have my own father to thank for it.
Although he doesn’t remember it as such, my father has always been the Father I have eyes on becoming. His memory is much sharper across those moments he felt he was overly sharp with us which I guess is how memories work but completely unfair to reality-at least how reality exists for me. My own memories are punctuated with examples of love, patience and understanding-so strong that a blueprint, however often I choose to look through it, is stamped on me.
My father is convinced he punished us too severely. This from a man who’s highest level of condemnation was sentencing my 5 to 15 year old self to the Red Rug Room; a sunny stretch of floor and wall and window in our old home where, after tormenting my brother, sister or upsetting the family balance in one way or another, I was forced to read the Metro/Region section of The Boston Sunday Globe and listen to Gordon Lightfoot, The Beach Boys and Bill Cosby albums; a far cry from the switch, I assure you.
My father remembers losing his temper, missing dinners, not ‘being there’ and being negative. I remember him standing, suited, at each of my high school baseball games, leaving work early 3 days a week to be each one. I remember him driving to Providence and Villanova and Seton Hall and St. Johns, Flying to Miami and Stanford and Texas to watch me play in college. I never really thought about what it took for him to be there or what he had to give up in the process. I just remember how important it was to see him in the stands, how infrequently I told him that and how slow I was to realize that it was really love, and not his gas efficient 1985 Chevette, that drove him there.
I remember family dinners where, instead of screeching at me for refusing to eat beef burgundy and creamed corn, he waited me out. Sometimes for hours- giving me time to stuff my pockets with partially chewed meats and soupy corn. This also gave me time, on occasion, to sneak into the Red Rug Room so I could empty my pockets into Mom’s Belleek China where the booty would lay undiscovered for months. It wasn’t until much later, when my mother busted out the Beleek to impress her friends, that the decaying protein and kernel residue gave me away. While I must have been punished for this, I don’t remember my father suggesting I finish Beef Burgundy again.
I don’t remember much in the way of negativity either. My Dad was the president of bank in and around the Boston area in the 80’s and 90’s and lost his job when the FDIC, fresh off a tear of bank closings resulting from excessive risk and insufficient restraint from supervisory authorities (sound familiar?), came in and, in odd celebratory fashion, chained him to his desk. These were tough times for the family and both I and my sister and new husband moved back home, for a time, to help meet the ends. My father, though emasculated, never let the dark set in. He was always upbeat, always appreciative, and always positive-at least in front of those that needed to see that side of him. Sometimes I really try and remember my Father being negative about something. I simply can’t.
As he’s become a Grandfather, my Father continues to refine the blueprint. Whether he’s wedging his 6’4 frame into a 4 year olds desk to play school with my daughter, dancing with anyone possessing the courage to have him or introducing himself to women of all ages as, “Mr. Wright, you know, that guy your Mother said you’d always eventually meet.”, my father never misses an opportunity to show me, through action, how a family leader is supposed to act. With grace and patience and humility, never taking yourself too seriously, always being there, always listening and with the first notes of the Pet Sounds album always playing in the background.