My Dad and I were never close.
Nope, not even close to close.
We were acquaintances who happened to live under the same roof for 16 years. Ghosts treading the same floors in different dimensions.
I’ve spent many years feeling bitterness and resentment towards the man who housed, fed and clothed me.
There was no abuse … sure, the occasional routine spanking – it was still the era of spare the rod and spoil the child – no, my beef with my father was benign neglect.
He never joined in with my mother at my school events, attended my hockey games, or helped with delivering my newspapers when the snow was deep the way Mom did. He never helped with my homework or joined me in making little plastic car and airplane models, never threw a baseball my way. He didn’t teach me how to drive or tell me that one day I’d have to shave hair from the edges of my ears (really?!?).
I think that many of us harbour some ill feelings towards at least one of our parents.
It’s pretty amazing that these childhood feelings can linger for decades afterwards, which perhaps helps me understand why we prosecute war criminals and sexual predators (yes, YOU Harvey W.) many years after the acts occurred. The hurts stick to you like flypaper.
In the early winter of 1974 I was on a French class school trip to Quebec City … what joyous fun and freedom it was for a 16 year old to share a hotel room with two buddies in a “foreign” city…
… to experience the Quebec Winter Carnival, taste the frozen maple taffy, cavort with Bonhomme Carnaval, eat filet mignon in an historic old restaurant, and sip French wine (yes, underaged!) with classmates from long plastic canes designed to secretly tote alcohol.
And there were girls on the trip! Even more, there were teenage girls in the Quebec streets who spoke… French! Oh Mon Dieu…
Then the phone rang in my hotel room and the fun ended all too soon.
Only a few months after my Mom’s unexpected death, my Dad had been diagnosed with acute leukemia and was being aggressively treated in hospital with nasty chemo chemicals to combat the blood cancer. There were yeast sores all through his mouth and he could barely drink. The chemotherapy designed to save him was brutal and life threatening all on its own.
The voice on the phone said that he was dwindling – quickly – and I should perhaps book a train ticket and return home ASAP if I wanted to say a final goodbye.
I “bravely-in-a-boys-don’t-cry-sort-of-way” held back any tears and began packing and lamenting the end of my teenage frolic en francais.
Shortly after I received another phone call… Larry, don’t worry, he probably isn’t as bad as we first thought, he should survive the next couple of days. Stay there and enjoy your time in Quebec.
Right.
Turns out my Dad survived the chemo (and leukemia) and lived another reasonably healthy 7 years.
And you might think that we became close (or closer) as a result of his illness and the near-death experience, but we didn’t. The big chill remained. The Hollywood happy ending never occurred in real life.
But. Over many years I’ve let the bitter taste dissipate. Melt and absorb back into the universe. It becomes so dilute that it can’t do any harm anymore.
I’m not perfect. I’ve realized that I’m a product of my upbringing and environment and so was my Dad. In his shoes: with his parents, school, and life experiences, would I be any different? I don’t know.
My Dad wasn’t a bad guy. In many ways, he was a good fellow, just not a good Dad to me.
I will never totally understand the man he was, but I understand now through my own life history how a life is molded and shaped … how diamond is often imperfectly formed over time from coal through heat and pressure.
You might say I’ve grown a tiny bit … which is really a synonym for older and … wait for it …
WISE?
WISDOM?
Maybe?
Feb 16, 2020 @ 08:48:03
Thanks for sharing this part of your life journey Larry….mine was quite different……I had a demonstrative loving mom and a dad a bit more non-engaged but loving “in his own way”….much different later in life though….he always gives me hugs when we see each other now. I also appreciate that he was the product of his upbringing….two Scottish immigrant parents who settled in Quebec in the mid-late 1920s. Plus……he was Royal Canadian Navy pilot and he was gone “on maneuvers” sometimes for several months at a time when I was a young lad.
I think the most important sentence in your blog post is this: “But. Over many years I’ve let the bitter taste dissipate. Melt and absorb back into the universe. It becomes so dilute that it can’t do any harm anymore.”….if one holds on to the sadness, disappointment, anger, jealousy, resentment, etc etc etc it can totally dominate one’s life and dictate one’s fate in life……you obviously did not let that happen……bravo….you have always been engaged in life with a wonderful joie de vivre and have always been a friendly, outgoing fellow always willing to give of yourself for others. I bet you were a VERY different father to your kids than your dad was to you……geesh if your kids had half the fun with you as I did during our YK years they had more than their fare share of happiness, joy and laughs (minus the intoxicating spirits of course)…..😁
Keep up the great blogging pal.
Peace
Jim
Feb 18, 2020 @ 15:31:18
I’ve met both of your parents James and they are gracious, lovely people. You should be proud of them just as they should be VERY proud of you! It would be fun to post some Yellowknife pics of you (and us) on this blog… everyone could see just how fun and crazy you were (are)!! Your laughter resonates inside my head… Thanks Jimmy!!
Feb 16, 2020 @ 22:15:55
Wow, thanks for sharing that Larry. Your words really struck a chord with me today. It is amazing the amount of baggage we can carry forward in our lives instead of just letting go. I have found that as I get older I have had to unpack those bags, ones at a time and examine each item inside before I can discard them. Some are painful to examine. I won’t share them in your blog. Each thing has left a mark on my life…sometimes for the better and sometimes not so much. However, I guess they are all part of the little pieces that make me who I am. Those regrets and hurts from the past all had their purpose I guess.
I have always seen you as a very involved and loving parent. You turned negatives from your past into positives in your parenting skills. Good on ya.
Feb 18, 2020 @ 15:33:40
Thanks Joan…. no matter how poor our memory seems to become with passing years, there are still some sharp and vivid memories that will never fade away and continue to be a part of who we are. Thanks so much for your kind comments Joan. I appreciate your words…
Feb 20, 2020 @ 15:53:13
I’m sorry you have had this experience Larry.I was one of nine children and adored my father who had the knack of making each if us believe we were his favourite. Howver it was my mother who worked her fingers to the bone to give us the opportunities she didn’t have.
Your father must have had some positive influence in your developent because you are an amazing,positive,vibrant person.This didn’t happen in a vacuum. We are the sum of all our influences and experiences, so your dad is a factor, however small or unintentional, in molding you to the fine man you have grown into.
Feb 21, 2020 @ 16:02:12
Yes Florence you are right that my father had some positive influence and I appreciate that you find the Silver Lining(s) that can be difficult to see sometimes. Thanks for YOUR positive influence and wisdom too! I appreciate your thoughts greatly…