Father's Day

 

Here's an interesting book for fathers: In Search of Fatherhood: A Mother Lode of Wisdom from the World of Daughterhood by Kevin Renner.  Inspired by his relationship with his own daughters, he interviewed some 50 women from around the world on ways their lives were influenced, for better or worse, by their fathers.

As reported by Jennifer Willis for The Oregonian, he asked questions such as:  What do I have left to teach my daughters as a father?  What will they long for that they didn’t get from me?  Although his quest involved women and daughters, I think it applies to children of both sex, particularly as I have both a son and a daughter.

While Renner heard painful stories of abuse and abandonment, he also heard stories of wonderful fatherhood.  He saw how the the father-child story can set up the entirety of a child’s life.

One of three things happens:  A child truly gets the "long straw.”...a father who is attentive and emotionally engaged, the kind of father that we would wish for everyone.  Or the child may pull the  “short straw,” in which he or she is abandoned , abused, and damaged in very significant ways.  In the middle is a child whose father was present physically, but distant due to alcohol, work or other addictions, was very attentive yet harsh, or was simply not present due to death, war or imprisonment.

It's unlikely that any father would consciously say, I'm going to give my child the “short straw."

Renner learned that small things make a big difference, and children have memories about little things that say, “You’re important.  You’re desirable. You matter. I value you.  You are valuable.” Even if they never heard the words, “I love you.” 

 I asked my own children, what is your most memorable memory of your father? David remembered an incident at the dinner table.  I, the mother, was trying to get everyone to stop mumbling speak distinctly.  “Imagine you’re dining with the Queen of England,” I said.  To which my husband, Larry responded, with a growl, expanded his chest and cried out,  “I’m the Incredible Hulk,”  as his shirt ripped open and buttons flew everywhere.   So much for royal dining conversation. Humor and fun were important.

David also remembered when Larry would go out of his way to make sure his son had experiences he wanted.  David very much craved to go to a rock concert, so Larry took him to a local club when he was around 15.  Larry stayed in the background so David could go upfront where the action was.

David began chatting with a couple sitting at one of the tables, and they offered him some weed.  He politely said “No, thanks." Then Larry drifted by to say “Hi.”  "Who's that Dude?" they wanted to know, to which David responded:  “Oh, that’s my Dad.”  They didn’t offer him any more weed, with the helicopter parent hovering.

Diana remembers a train trip we took in Holland on one of our European jaunts.  We had reserved seats in a compartment on a train, and when we got there, a man was sitting in one of our seats, the window seat.  Dad pointed  this out to the man, who wouldn’t budge.  There were still other seats in the compartment, he said brusquely.  Diana said she was somewhat ashamed, that someone would speak to her Dad that way. 

But, she said, Dad defused the situation.  Instead of being confrontational, he offered a cup of coffee to the man.  And then in true journalist fashion, began asking him questions...where was he going, was he going to work, and so forth.  And instead of a “suckie” trip, says Diana, with people resentful, angry, or sitting in silence, we connected with an interesting European man and had a fabulous trip.  She says she remembers that incident when faced with a dramatic or potentially confrontational  situation, and looks for ways to make the connection, human to human, the way her father did that day.

In terms of Kevin Renner’s book, I would conclude that my kids got the “long straw,” a father who is attentive and emotionally engaged.... the kind of father that we would wish for everybody in the world.  

For myself, my own father was caring, but emotionally distant. He was from Sweden, tended to be stoic, and relied on our mother to be the "family switchboard." We three children (I have two brothers) knew he was proud of us because she told us so. I don't recall any in-depth conversations with Father, but many with Mother. Still, he took care of us in the important ways, and we had a solid upbringing. Our straw was in the upper-middle range.

About six months before he died, he and Mother made their last cross-country visit to my family in California. He must have known that death was not far off. At the door, as he was leaving, he turned and shook my hand, and said: "It was nice knowing you."

That was a wonderful moment for both of us...his way of saying, "I love you." It's one of my fondest memories of him.

And so it is