My dad died more than 30 years ago. But it’s Father’s Day, and of course, I think of him on Father’s Day. Present or not, our parents are part of us.
My dad and I were never close, but we were beginning to get to know each other when he was in his fifties and newly remarried, shortly before his death. This morning, as I thought of him, my perspective was different from the usual.
The usual is this: what I missed, my wish that he had been part of my life, the view from me and my need for him.
In particular, I wonder what my childhood would have been like if he had been home more, home to protect me from my mother’s behavioral excesses. Her rages. Her criticism.
And of course, when Father’s Day rolls around each year and I miss my dad, I also miss the idea of him, what he might have been to my sons, as a grandfather.
I was married three years after my dad’s death, and consequently, my children only had the benefit of whatever stories and photographs I could share. There are all too few of each, and I have written of this subject previously.
As was the case with many households in the 1960s, the primary parent was my mother. My dad was working (or golfing), not home much, and not very “present” when he was. Expectations, fortunately, are different these days.
It was only after my parents divorced (when I was an adult), and my dad was beginning his “second chapter” with a new wife, that he wanted involvement in my world. Tragically, we had such a short time to get to know each other before the accident that took his life. Nonetheless, as an “adult child of divorce” at a time when a parent’s gray divorce was fairly uncommon, I appreciated his efforts to reach out. And to my mother’s chagrin, I welcomed them.
Yesterday I enjoyed the pleasure of a surprise visit from one of my sons. He was passing through the town where I live, and though he had only a few hours — I knew he was going out of his way to stop — those hours were lovely. The fact that I can know both of my children as adults – even if by phone and only the occasional visit – is a gift.
And so this morning, what I realize is that my father never had that pleasure. He never got to know me. Not me as a child, not me as a teen or young adult, and not me as a fully formed individual raising my boys or in the years that have followed.
What remains, for me, is a sort of ache, a yearning for what might have been, a presence of absence. And a single Polaroid of the two of us more than 30 years ago on the last day that I saw him alive. It was Father’s Day. We were both smiling. His arm was around me. We were spending the day together with his dad. It was a good day.
I am glad that we now live in a time when fathers are encouraged, even expected to participate in the upbringing of their children. I am happy to see single fathers engaged in their children’s lives. As much as my own post-divorce life was fraught with guerilla warfare (for years), I am glad that my sons have a relationship with their dad. It is certainly more of a relationship than I had with mine.
There is only so much grieving to be done when you miss someone, terribly. When you miss the opportunities lost. When you feel the empty spot in so many years where there should have been good memories. It seems to me that the answer is to hang on to the good memories we do have, not to repeat our parents’ mistakes if we can possibly help it, and to live as many positive moments as we can — now — with those we love.
Wishing a happy day to the dads out there, and to everyone, wishing you warm memories of your fathers.
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Thanks for sharing your story of your relationship with your father. It resonated. I experienced distant and downright crunchy relationships with both my genetic parents which bothered me for years. I considered how different my life might have been had those bonds been closer and more positive. Lately, I’ve found solace in realizing I didn’t perpetuate the story of parental disconnect. In many ways, I am the mother to my children I always wanted, and that has been a source of healing. They are grown now and I’m glad to say I have strong relationships with them. Of course I’m a little too helpful and involved sometimes . . . but I’m working to let go of that too. But the love I have for them is defining. That bond of love and desire to be helpful has provided me purpose and meaning and I give it freely without expectation.
Thanks so much for commenting, Sherry. As you said “I am the mother to my children I always wanted…” I do think that our parents’ models of parenting can serve us, even if those models are problematic. In many ways, I made sure to not do what my mother did. The relationship I have with my kids is very different (in a good way) as a result.
I know what you mean about purpose, too. But once you’re in empty nest, what compares (favorably) to that purpose? Thoughts?
I appreciate that you wrote and shared this today. There are difficult thoughts and challenging emotions to own, even more to share in such a public space.
Have you read Adult Children of parental Alienation Syndrome, Breaking the Ties That Bind written by Amy J.L. Baker c 2007?
Introduction page states “This book is dedicated to the adult children of parental alienation syndrome and their targeted parents, may they find their way back to each other.”
I came across this book in 2015 and today I pulled it out of if’s carefully stowed away place with all my yellow highlights and handwritten notes that are for no one’s eyes, but mine. I think I might get more insight now that some time has passed and I’m in a different stage of life.
Thank you for writing the depths of our souls.
I haven’t read that specific source, but I have done some reading in the past on the subject of parental alienation, which is a very serious issue. That wasn’t the case in my own situation, relative to my children, though my mother certainly spent a considerable amount of time disparaging my father to me over the course of many years. It is a very damaging process and sometimes backfires. Thanks for bringing it up, and for the kind words.
This is very touching. The societal norms of the ’60s were a raw deal for everybody. Men missed out on relationships with their kids, women were second-class citizens, racism was rampant. I don’t understand those who are nostalgic for it.
Even if you didn’t get much time with him, you at least have some good memories.
I suspect your sons enjoy your company as much as you enjoy theirs.
MY DAD was like YOUR FATHER,,,, just NOT AROUND MUCH. MY parents divorced when I was 12.
I was afraid of my FATHER.
Terrible thing to say But now that I think back SO TRUE!
HOW TERRIFIC THE SON CAME BY!!!!!!!
XX