Dearest Dad,
I curse you for giving me a name with an apostrophe. But I thank you for trying to be a decent dad. Having been a parent for 28 years now, I know this is no picnic.
Well, sometimes it is, I guess, like when Gretta and Nate called me from the car yesterday and told me they’re engaged. We all screamed and cried and they told me the story of how it happened and even though they’ve been together for a bunch of years now, everything felt new and different.
In the same week when Coco graduated and started her movement out and away, I’m gaining another daughter!
That’s parenting stuff that rocks the world.
I know you have tried. I’ve seen it. Like every kid, there were many times I wanted you to try harder, but like every parent, I know how hard it is to show up fully for your kids. Because of all the demons we all take with us from childhood. I didn’t know your parents but I’ve seen pictures. They did not look like happy people. I’m pretty sure your childhood wasn’t terrific. Maybe not even good.
The thing I know now is that the seminole moment in any adulthood is when one forgives their parents for all of their shortcomings, acknowledging the challenging nature of life and digging deep into the truth that we are all screwed up, each in our own special way. I stopped wishing you were something you could not and would not ever be and I accepted you the way you are. It’s the most liberating choice we can make as grown-ups.
Also, I have come across an interesting concept in my studies in the nature of life and after-life that suggests that we all choose our parents before we come here. Our parents and the timing and place of our return to the earth-bound experience.
If that’s true then the onus is on me. And the inquiry is then into why I have needed you and not why didn’t you [fill in blank with every time I felt disappointed].
Why did I pick a dad like you?
It’s a game changer.
Instead of why have you never told me you’re proud of me, why didn’t you show up more in my life, why can’t you tell us kids that you love us? The question becomes what resources do I have within myself that allow me to thrive in life without a lot of parental feedback?
It takes anger and sorrow and regret off the table and puts curiosity and inquiry there instead.
You did what you could and I have taken it from there. That’s the way evolution is supposed to work. I tell my kids how much I love them and how proud I am of them all the time. I show up in every way and as often as I possibly can. I have taken stock of the many parenting styles and parent/child relationships I’ve observed in my lifetime and tried to modify my behavior accordingly.
I have not been fantastic. I have made many, many terrible choices. I’ve tried to acknowledge them and apologize to my kids for them. I have encouraged my kids to name the ways they were traumatized by me so we can talk about it, deal with it and move into a new day.
I believe this is how it works. I also know now that we are all on a solo journey through this place, each on our own personal path of spiritual evolution. So though you and I might be related, we are also each in our own unique space in terms of how far our souls have journeyed to get here. I trust that you are where you are supposed to be right now and that that may or may not have anything to do with me.
Dad, I always thought you were distant, uncaring, but one time I was walking behind you and Mom. We were heading into a restaurant, someone we knew had died and we had traveled together for the service. I watched you reach over and take Mom’s hand. That moment stays burned into my brain. It seemed unlike you to show affection, but I know that it’s just that you didn’t have much training. I know, if only from the photos, that your mom and dad didn’t show you how that’s done.
You stayed tethered to a job you didn’t much like because you felt a responsibility to care for your family. You get high marks for that. You coached Little League, and I loved, loved being the scorekeeper, sitting in the dugout with everyone, filling out all those little boxes, chewing bubblegum.
You taught us all how to ski. This might be your greatest legacy. The love of this magnificent sport has stayed strong in my kids, who have all built lives around ski culture.
Us kids often joke that if you leave Dad alone with anything long enough he’ll turn it into wood. It’s funny but it’s also cool. You are a relentless tinkerer, always tweaking and re-inventing. You redesigned the golf club and made it out of wood! Who does that?!
You and Mom are not the most resourced people I know but your generosity is limitless. You give what you have, freely. I have known many people of far greater wealth than you whose help comes with a thousand strings attached and a truckload of insanity. You have never not taken me in; you have never said no when I needed help. You have never expected anything in return.
At 84 you’re in good health and good shape. You ride your bike, play golf, lift weights. You are a model for how to live a simple life of moderation. I respect you for this. Your mind is sharp. I can ask you anything about what’s happening in the world today and you can explain it. You understand things from an historical perspective. I admire you for that.
You and mom have stayed married now for sixty years and even though I would like you to be kinder and gentler to her, I have seen how you two care for each other when one of you is sick or recovering from some procedure and it tells me about the depth of your love. For this I am grateful.
I know you can’t say it, and that’s OK. I know you have done your best. You’re a good dad, Dad. Happy Father’s Day.
Love,
Mis
Oof. Yes. I feel this to my core.
You’re so brave to write this for us to read. Thank you.
Congratulations to Nate and Gretta!