Conference quark::mennotes-v1

    Being curious as to why you are asking this question, I'd answer no to
    just about every question you answered.  My father is/was an alcoholic
    all of my life.  My mother, bless her soul, died at 51 because of the
    pain she endoured for all those years of marriage to this man.
    
    What did he teach me - not to drink.  He was a prime negative example. 
    I grew up fast and am just now able to go back and relive mny childhood
    with a beautiful son to share it with ...

re:            <<< Note 578.0 by ASDG::FOSTER "Think: LAWN CHAIRS!" >>>
                     -< As Sons: Talking about Fathers... >-

>    MEN: How do you feel about your father? 
    
    >What do you think of him as a
>    person, a father, a role model? Was he a good husband? Did that have
>    impact on you?
    
    I am 50 years old, now...my father died ten years ago.  But, I
    appreciate you for asking these questions...as I really enjoy thinking
    back to my dad.
    
    My father and my mother were divorced when I was four.  I lived with
    mom 'till age 9, then with dad until I was 15, then back to mom.  I
    remember my dad as a really stern man.  Perhaps stern isn't the right
    choice of words... he was strict, he was a disciplinarian, and he was very,
    very "macho".  He had a "role" to play in life, and so did my mother,
    and then my step-mother.  And so did his children.  If you were able to
    play by his rules, and fit into his roles, you got along well, but,
    otherwise, he was quite intolerant.  Sometimes I fit.  Sometimes I
    didn't.  
    
    Was he a good role-model?  In some ways, yes.  He taught me
    that honesty was important.  He taught me about integrity.  But, I was
    an adult before I realized that his own life was, in some respects, a
    lie, and that he'd not been honest with himself.  In fact, I learned
    how to be less than honest with myself from him, I suppose.  I was
    middle-aged before I became really happy with myself.
    
    My dad was probably as happy as he knew how to be.  And he was probably
    the best husband to his second wife as he was able.  I know that SHE
    loved him, and as often as I visit her now (she lives nearby) she still
    seems to (even though she recently found another man to love).  Dad was
    too young to be a "good" husband to my mother... they were very
    different people.  Both parents found a better life in their second
    marriages, as I have.
    
    I think my dad was a pretty good dad.  He took time to be a scout with
    me, and to camp, and to talk to.  He demanded my best.  He was
    intolerant of failings, and sometimes that really frustrated me, and
    others.  I know some people hated him for that.  And I know some who
    loved him.  He was smart, and technical, and taught me what he could,
    when I'd let him.
    
    But, when I was a kid, I mostly didn't appreciate what he did for me.
    I'd have sworn he was the worst dad around!  
    
    When I became a man, and lived on my own, my dad and I became friends
    again.  It seemed funny to me, and I often commented to others, that
    dad and I were better friends after I moved away than before.
    
    When he was dying... from cancer... I flew to Boston, from Texas, to be
    with him.  I arrived at the hospital only hours before he died.  I was
    the last person he recognized and spoke to.  Then he passed away, as
    peacefully as one can in those circumstances, and he and I both had 
    that final visit where you can whisper all those things we wish we'd
    said for years.  It was a wonderfully special moment that I will always
    cherish.
    
    I love you, dad...  and I wish my children could have known you better.
    
    tony
    
    

    My father was also an alcoholic. Though never a mean or nasty drunk, he
    was completely unavailable as a father for most of my life. By the time
    I left the house at 18, I had pretty well written him off as useless
    and worthless. I didn't so much as exchange a word with him for about
    12 years.
    
    The drinking (and smoking) took a steady toll on him and he began to
    spend lots of time in hospitals when I was about 30. My reaction was
    basically "Good, you SOB. You are finally getting what you deserve!"
    
    About 10 years ago, he somehow got involved with AA and effected what
    amounted to a total restructuring of his life. Unfortunately, my own
    bitterness prevented me from seeing it. I was convinced that it was
    just a matter of time before he slipped back into the old habits again.
    
    Well, to make a long story short, he never did take another drink. Even
    though he spent the whole time fighting with cancers and had plenty of
    reason to give up. I was fortunate to be able to spend some time with
    him before he died two years ago. I guess it is not possible to really
    overlook those lost years and the emotional scars they caused, or the
    way that they continue to affect my life and my relationship with my
    own family. But I think I also learned a lot about determination and
    courage and, most of all, that "its too late for me to change now" is
    the most feeble of excuses.
    
    The sad part is that I had just enough time to learn what it might have
    been like to have him for a father when he died. If nothing else, he
    has totally change my perspective on what is important and how little
    time we all have to address those things. For that, I am very grateful
    to him.
    
      

    	My father died when I was 22. I remember him as a man with many
    friends and a family who loved him. I can't ever remember anyone saying
    anything negative about him. He seemed to have touched a great many
    people in his life.
    
    	He showed me that there was no shame in being poor. That being a
    gentleman was always necessary regardless of circumstances. That being
    a man was less important than being a decent human being. He rarely
    complained and laughed often. He was always positive. Before he died,
    we talked long about us and life. He worried about me going back to VN,
    but he was extremely proud of the fact that I was in the military. 
    
    	It kills me that he never got to see any of his grandchildren. It
    was the one thing he hoped he could live long enough to do. The hole he
    left 19 years ago has gotten smaller, but it will never close.
    
    Ken  

My father and I never got along too well.  We lived in totally different
worlds, and couldn't cope inside the others' too well.  He was a decent guy,
inflexible, repetitious, friendly, with great social skills, no trace of tact
or guile whatsoever, hardworking, distant, honest, with a wicked wit.  He had a
hard life growing up during the depression, and was pushing 40 when I was born. 
The cultural gulf between us was huge to say the least.  As a teenager, I saw
him as a pawn of the establishment, but basically good man, a little screwed
up. I never wanted to be anything like this alien guy.  Who does?
I never thought the old man was a good role model, but he was.  He was a fine
husband to my mother.  I rarely dreamt of talking to him person to person.
Saying "I love you" was totally out of the question.  Neither of us ever
overtly expressed any affection to the other, but there was also never any
doubt that it was there.  The one time I was sure he was going to kill me
for a childhood stunt, he laughed so hard, I thought I'd never figure it out.
Now I knowhe saw a glimpse of himself in me.  The thing he tried hardest to
teach me was the value of a higher education (he graduated high school).  Life
did it instead.
As I left the house and had a family of my own, he and I warmed tremendously. 
My wife and kids and I were a great source of joy for the old man.  I began to
see some of the factors that made him like he was, and began to have compassion
for how he got there.  We got friendlier.
Now it's years later.  He died in his sleep about 12 years ago.  I'm 37. 
Looking at his life now, my respect for him has skyrocketed.  He overcame so
incredibly much.  He bore the scars, deep ones, but wore them privately, not
publicly. He overcame his father's alcoholism and mistreatment, the death of
his mother when he was 14, the suicides of two sisters and a cousin he loved,
the pressures of the company he spent his life supporting kicking him in the
teeth in his 64th year.  He rarely if ever took anything out on us kids, and
for that, I give him tremendous credit.  His times of internal struggle were
spent in a chair, smoking a pipe, looking like he was reading the paper. He was
a real survivor, and noble in a quiet way.  He lived for little kids and
babies.  All the arguments about Vietnam fade, not because they weren't there,
but because they don't mean anything. I remember the pleasure of skating and
ice fishing on winter Sundays, and the endless ice creams.  He lives on in my
memory in the most loving ways, especially when I see the parts of him in 
my brother and sisters.
	Tom

    
      My father died when I was 12 yrs old, 12 yrs ago. He was an alcoholic
    who got really violent when he was drunk. He had a Jekyl & Hyde
    personality. He used to go out and get drunk almost every night after
    work and come home and beat up my mother. When he wasn`t drunk, he was
    the best father in the world. He used to bring me and my brother to
    ballgames,fishing,used to build us tree houses to play in, etc. His
    drinking got so bad that I used to be ashamed to be seen with him. He
    used to go to my little league & pop warner games drunk and would
    embarrass me to the point where I would walk to the car after the game
    about 50 ft in front of him so no one would think he was my father. He
    lost his license twice for drunk driving but would not quit drinking.
    He was a very stubborn man and the drinking is what finally lead to his
    death at the age of 40.
    
    Was he a good role model?? Yes and No. Before he really turned into an
    alcohlic a few yrs before he died, he used to be my hero. I really
    looked up to him and he showed me a lot and taught me a lot of lessons.
    Once he started really drinking a lot, I kinda pitied him watching him
    come home drunk and falling on his face and my image of him completely
    changed and I didn`t get along with him that well and was ashamed to be
    seen anywhere in public with him.
    
    What lesson did I learn?? I learned how drinking too much could totally
    destroy a persons life physically and mentally. I took it really hard 
    when my dad died and learned a valuable lesson about what too much 
    drinking can do to a person.
    
    Scott
    
    
                                                  

 My father is a wonderful man. He is a very good father, an excellent husband,
and an ethical businessman. I cannot begin to describe how important he has been 
in my life.

 Today we are pretty close, but there are some subjects which we don't 
communicate well due to his strong beliefs and my unwillingness to challenge
him. 

 He is extremely supportive of me- both on a personal basis and even financial
if need be. When my wife was laid off, he immediately took me aside and told
me that if we ran into problems to let him know. He also gave us the money
for the downpayment on our condo when my wife and I were first together and
looking for a place we could buy back when real estate prices were obscene,
with a "you can pay me back when you sell" agreement.

 My father is a very principled man. He is more religious than I am, and is
a true Christian (as opposed to those that think that going to church for
an hour a week is a subsitute for living a Christian life.) He is quite even
tempered, and when he does blow up he gets over it very quickly. He is not
a teetotaller, but he hasn't caught a buzz since I was in high school. He
drinks wine frequently and has an occasional drink, but that's about it.

 When I was growing up I learned a great deal about work ethic from my dad. He
had positioned himself to become self-employed someday, and when the opportunity
arose he took the risk. He went to the family and solicited investments-
alot of people were counting on him to make it work. He did, and everyone
has profited from his risk taking. When he bought his business, (and before)
times were very lean for us. But by the time I got out of high school, he
was able to pay for my college education (which they had been saving for since I
was born and had borrowed to by the business). Going to a high priced school
like WPI without any financial assistance is a pretty steep bill, but my dad
paid for it without complaint and was happy for me when I got my first job. My
dad put ALOT of hours into the business when it was a fledgling company. I
saw his example of hard work and the payoff. He hired me for awhile- he was
definitely the most difficult boss to please I've ever had.

 My father is also a very fair person. Even though he is opinionated about
many things, he always is willing to listen to an intellectual argument. You
can convince him if you base your arguments on facts and reason. He is careful
not to leap to conclusions, helped, no doubt, by my brothers' often one sided
descriptions of our altercations when growing up. :-)

 My dad didn't make me want to rebel very much. I wanted to get an earring
when I was a senior in high school, but he was adamant against it. He said,
"Go ahead and get an earring, but you can pay for college." So I've never had an
earring, except for one day this past january when I borrowed a magnetic one
and wore it to the Christmas party for my dad's business. What a great joke. :-)

 I love my father very much and tell him so. And he tells me so and shows me
as well. We even kiss on the lips sometimes.(which is apparently a big deal
in some quarters.) I love to see my dad with my daughter...

 The Doctah

My father is an alcoholic.  He's 64 years old.  He is currently living
in state-subsidized housing in my hometown, after being homeless for a 
few years.

When I was a freshman in high school, my father had a collapsed lung 
and went into DTs (alcohol withdrawal, pink elephants coming out of 
the walls).  That began a 5 year, hellish period in which my mother 
took control of all family finance and stripped my father of just 
about any substantive role in the family.  He was an income check.

When I was a freshman in college, my parents divorced, and I cut off 
all contact with him.  It wasn't difficult, he never attempted to 
contact me (with the exception of one dinner in 1984 that was arranged 
by a girlfriend he had; whe wanted to reunite the family).

My father was (and is) emotionally crippled, selfish, deceitful, and
lazy.  (And I am clearly my father's son, though it may not look like
it on the surface.)  He was a poor husband to my mother, as far as I
can tell.  He abdicated his responsibilities, she picked them up (took
a management job that she didn't want to make more money after he'd
been "layed off" for the 4th time in 10 years; took over the family
finances), and then he blamed her for being a controling b*tch. 

He was a computer operator.  When I was young, I swore that I would 
not go into anything that my parents did (computers and the medical 
profession).  So much for childhood predictions!  Dad began working 
with computers in the early seventies and consistently refused to go 
into programming (knowing what I know now, how could he have been so 
foolish?).  We think (though can't prove) that the continual layoffs 
during our childhood (I have a younger brother and sister) were 
probably firings because of drinking.  Our whole family was in heavy 
denial ("he has bad circulation in his legs, so he wobbles a bit," 
"his dentures need fixing, that's why he slurs his speech," "he works 
really hard, so who can blame him for falling asleep in his chair at 
night").  We didn't face his alcoholism--and our role in it--until he 
was hospitalized.  

I honestly can't remember a lot about my dad.  The overriding 
feeling/memory of him was embarrassment.  He didn't dress well, he 
told corny jokes, he didn't talk to me much, we never went anywhere 
together (even when he was an Assistant Scoutmaster, he hung out with 
the adults, and I hung out with the kids).  Do you know the feeling of 
someone in a group of people who is really a jerk, and that people 
laugh nervously out of politeness and merely tolerate the person?  My 
father is one of those people.  I have a painful memory of another 
adult Scout leader making a crack to me, implying that my father was a 
bum; I thought to myself, "Okay, asshole, but you found that out by 
hanging out in the same dive bars as he does; you're no better."

I would say that the biggest thing that my father gave me was a huge 
push away from him.  My own masculinity and the men I fall in love 
with tend to be Anti-Dad (not thin, not clean shaven, blue collar), 
although I am alarmed at things that I am doing that are beginning to 
resemble dad (hanging around in bars a lot, basing a lot of my ego on 
sex, disconnecting emotionally).  They say if you run away from 
something hard enough, you end up running right smack into it.

I don't remember dad ever teaching me anything.  I don't remember him 
ever having long talks with me about anything other than sports teams.
I learned about the birds and bees (mom), shaving (mom and myself), basketball 
(playgrounds), camping (Scoutmaster), girls (college buddies), boys 
(myself), politics (mom, friends, college, myself) without him.

I remember him falling asleep in his chair a lot.  I remember him 
interrupting my brother and I in the backyard when we played 
basketball (he wanted to show us his "old fashioned" set shot).  I 
remember him joking with us about growing a mustache/beard, and my 
mother would sqeal, and we would cheer on dad (it was a regular 
routine when we were little).  

I remember him tickling us and scratching his face stubble on our
bellies and backs and necks.  It was vaguely sexual in its sensuality,
which I liked, but I _hated_ the power dynamic going on there.  He
would pin one of us to the floor and tickle us, while the other kids
would try to "rescue" the one pinned to the floor.  It was the only 
time he ever touched us; he didn't kiss or hug (not even mom, in front 
of us).  I have distinct memories of the time that he--without a 
word--refused my goodnight kiss and solemnly held out his hand for a 
handshake.

In the later years, my highschool/college years, just before he left 
mom, I remember him attempting to connect with me.  He tried it by 
telling graphically sexual stories.  I'm not sure what he was trying 
to do; in hindsight, it might have been that barroom, "I'm a stud" 
kind of bragging and bonding.  He told a bizarre story of a stripper 
he saw in Korea and what she did with a snake; during our dinner in 
1984, he made a point to tell me how many times he and his girlfriend 
"did it" and how mom never did it that many times with him.  What was 
really odd is that I remember the look on his face when he told those 
stories.  It wasn't the look of a braggart or a dirty old man.  It was 
the face of a man who was grasping at straws, desperate to connect 
with me.  And I didn't let him in, I couldn't figure out how.

I have learned to live my live--from a very early age--without my
father.  (All of the adult males in my family were basket cases:
alcoholic, physically abusive, drug addicted, retarded, and impaired
from a stroke). He has no money.  I do not respect his views or how he
lives his life (though I cannot condemn him, these days).  I would not
follow his advice (actually, he doesn't offer it). 

I love my father, but I would be hard pressed to tell you what that 
means.  I am convinced that he loves me, though is totally unable to 
express it.  I have not been able to tell my dad to his face that I 
love him, but I am able to sign my letters to him with "Love."

Last Thanksgiving, I finally went to visit my dad.  It went okay, I 
guess.  (It was bizarre finding my dad in his favorite bar, buying him 
a few drinks, having him show me off to the 3pm patrons, and talking 
"bar talk" with him.)  When I'm with him, I feel totally disconnected 
from him; I long for understanding, but I can't get a sense for what 
he enjoys in life (maybe nothing?).  The ony indication of "love" for 
me is a wide-eyed stare that he gives me once in a while; there's 
something going on deep down in there, but I can't get at it; he has 
spent 60 years hiding it away.

I was appalled at the condition of his room; it was threadbare and had
roaches.  I bought him a comforter, a blanket, and some roach motels. 
I also went back to visit him at Christmas and wrote him a letter for
his birthday this February. 

In one sense, it's pathetic that I have to push myself to buy my dad a 
comforter, to visit him on major holidays, and to write to him on his 
birthday.  But, after ten years of silently raging against him, those 
were big steps for me.  I'm trying.  I want to be better about it.  
And I don't expect to get anything out of it, directly, from him.

I was watching the movie "The Long Walk Home."  In the film, there is 
a very inconsequential scene in which a father comes home from work, 
and his family is at the dinner table.  When the littlest boy jumps up 
from the table to run to his father, my heart leapt with joy and 
shouted, "Daddy!"  

There is still so much "driving" me around issues that I have with my 
Father.  Most of my love life can be described as me trying to be 
accepted by men whom I think my dad should have been.  And I have yet 
to take a close look at what being a man means to me.

[It's not only a loaded topic for me, but each question pushed a 
particularly volatile button.  It feels good to "talk" about it, 
though.  And this is nothing that I haven't already been talking about 
to close friends and to my men's core-group members.]

Oy!


						--Gerry

    
    My father was *also* an alcoholic.  He was in the Army and I guess he
    came by it naturally....but I resented it....in fact I hated it.  My
    mother died when I was 16....a tough time and a time I seemed to need
    her most.  When that happened, I decided to *do* for myself and did.
    I have come to relize that my mother "protected" me from my Dad so when
    she wasn't there anymore, I had to hide.  Atough time I would rather
    forget.
    
    Dave

    I am very lucky. My father was a splendid combination of "old" and
    "new" values, and the result was a truly remarkable man.
    
    He embodied many of the traits that are traditionally valued in men. 
    He was firm but not bullying,  opinionated but fair, principled but not
    self-righteous, hard-working but not a workaholic. He had a slightly
    aloof manner, but it bespoke dignity rather than coldness. His manners
    were almost courtly -- for example, he always rose when a woman
    entered, and never in my life did we pass through a door but that he
    held it for my mother and all the children, passing through last. These
    values would have identified him as many people's ideal of a man in his
    generation (born 1916), but, as admirable as they may be, would have
    been values that could have been found in many happy and well-adjusted
    men of that era. And with just the wrong emphasis, these values slip
    toward an unpleasant machismo.
    
    What made him especially wonderful was that he was not confined to
    society's definition of his role as a man. He applied the above-cited
    values almost universally, not just in the way that a strong man was
    "supposed" to apply them.  So, for him, vacuuming the house and doing
    the diapers (this is the '50s, mind you) was simply work to be done and
    was no more or no less valuable than felling firewood or putting a new
    roof on the house. (The happy result of this is that my brothers and I,
    in learning to do housework and care for our younger siblings never
    learned that it was "women's work" until that idea would have seemed
    absurd. And this has profoundly set me apart from most of my
    contemporaries with respect to my relationship with my wife and
    children and the issues that arise in running a household.)
    
    He was tall, strong, and trim, and a decorated WWII veteran, but I
    never saw him lift his hand against a soul.
    
    Educated at Princeton, and from a family that had known wealth, he
    became a carpenter, a builder, and then a teacher -- later principal --
    of a vocational school, and he despised those who looked down on manual
    labor or trade or who thought that money was a chief goal in life.
    
    Most people who knew him more than casually loved him, as we saw when
    he died suddently at 58.  Most who didn't know him so well deeply
    respected him, as you do someone who is a bit of a loner and who seems
    to hold himself to somewhat higher standards than you do yourself, but
    without being obnoxious.   
    
    Respect is, of course, the key.  He really believed -- even if he never
    expressed it -- that everyone is worthy of respect, and that most will
    rise to meet the respect you offer. In school, the toughest kids loved
    him the most, and to this day (17 years after his death) I still hear
    heartful tributes to him (most recently at my 25th high school
    reunion).  On the other hand, if you truly showed that you were deeply
    dishonorable, his scorn knew no bounds.
    
    He seldom "played", or engaged in traditional "Dad and I go fishing"
    activities with his six kids.  And he seldom rested. Relaxation for him
    was working on the house, the garden, cutting firewood in the woods. 
    But he was home and with us in a way that I gather many fathers
    weren't.  Home by five (for cocktails, with lemonade for the kids!), 
    and on weekends. And he was playful and funny and affectionate and
    interested in everything we did, even if he seldom if ever expressed
    his emotions openly.  
    
    He included us in everything he did, so I, at least, can't really
    separate working around the house from relaxing. He took us with him on
    errands and chores and estimates (he built a house every summer), and
    he hired my brothers and I, and kids from high school, to work with him
    on the houses he built. 
    
    Again, respect is the key.  He made assumptions about our maturity and
    what we could handle, and gave us the opportunity to try. He didn't
    push, and if we couldn't handle something, okay.  A small example: in
    the third grade I read through the whole Hardy Boys series -- a 1930's
    set my uncle had left in our house.  I was sick for three days in the
    fourth grade. The first day I read the very last Hardy Boys we had. The 
    second day I read some book about a ghost ship (sort of a flying
    Dutchman story - it was 332 pages, which was what I was most interested
    in!). That evening he came in and I told him I didn't know what to
    read. He went to a bookcase, shuffled around for a while, and brought
    me back Herman Wouk's The Caine Mutiny.  And I read it.
    
    My parent's main social activity (6 kids and no money) was having two
    or three couples over for drinks once in a while on Friday or Saturday
    evening.  As kids, we were perfectly welcome to hang around and
    listen, even to contribute if called on or if we had a pertinent
    observation.  Such talk!  Nothing profound, but talk about
    politics, and schools, and small-town life delivered with wit and humor
    and opinion for a couple of hours.  I loved nothing better than to run
    drinks for the guests or throw another log on the fire.
    
     Enough. You get the picture.  And then there's my mother!....no less
    remarkable, if very different. And, fortunately, still alive, if still
    deeply lovelorn 17 years after my father's death.
    
    Kit

    My recollections of dad:
    
    Born in 1900, 44 years old when I was born. 
    
    The good points:
    
    His wit and humor, always loved entertaining extended family and
    enjoyed their companionship.
    
    The Provider Role: took his responsibility to provide for his family
    very seriously, and always did.  We weren't rich, but through hard
    word and thrift, enjoyed some luxuries, a summer home, boats, private
    schools (parochial).
    
    His spirituality:  not much of a church goer, but practiced the
    "golden rule" in countless unnoticed and unspoken ways
    
    His fidelity to mom: never strayed left or right, honored marriage
    vows with true faithfullness, and in that example taught me that
    there is great comfort, peace of mind, family stability and safety 
    in marital fidelity.
                                              
    Service to others: took great relish in doing countless "good deeds"
    for others; some simple acts like sharing his catch of fish with
    neighbors, some great. He would see a job needing to be done and
    just go and do it without any fanfare.
    
    Hardwork and dedication to employer: worked for one company for
    40+ years and despite their trying to force him out at age 63 (to
    avoid paying his retirement) took several demotions to preserve
    his job so that I could finish my college education without having
    a large student loan to pay off. I am ever grateful for his sacrificing
    his ego for my benefit.
    
    WEAK POINTS:
    
    A true example of his generation:  Father as provider, bring home
    the bacon and  let mom do the nurturing
    
    Not enough love openly demonstrated: I needed open displays of affection.
     He didn't/couldn't do it.
                          
    Little character moulding:  I would have liked dad to train me more
    in the "manly character" area.  Instead he left it to institutions
    like church, schools, scouts, etc. to do it.
    
    Bottom line: I love him for his gifts to me. I feel his influence
    still. He did the best he could with what he knew or was given. I
    often wonder what my kids will think of their dad.  A scary thought.
    I hope I measure up to their expectations.
    

    
    
    On January 29th, my father then 54, had an anurism (sp) in his brain
    "leak".  He has been through 2 major brain surgeries.  The first
    was a complete disaster, and my family an I were told he was going
    to die.
    
    My father is a very tough man and has recovered fairly well. 
    Doctors now say he's in that 1% catagory of those that survive and
    are doing well.  His second surgery to "clip" the anurism went well
    and we are now on the long, long road to recovery.
    
    
    I mention the above because it was this event that caused me to examine
    in great detail my relationship with my father.
    
    When we were kids (I have a sister) Dad worked very hard to provide
    what he though we needed.  At the time I resented this, thinking
    (as a selfish child often does) that this does *me* no good.  I
    was dead wrong.  I really did not realize the help and guidence my
    Dad gave me until my own son was about 2. As kids Dad rarely said 
    "I Love You" to either of us.  To my mother this was said often.
    After I entered the Army in 75, we talked much more often.  It seemed
    easier on the phone than face to face.  It was this period in my
    life that I actually became friends with my Dad.  We now tell each
    other that special phrase "I Love You" all the time.
    
    My Dad also taught me a strong work ethic.  To take responsibility
    and see that responsibility through.  To this I am eternally greatfull.
    
    Dad has been the rock of our family, and while we live 1500 miles
    apart we call each other often.  He is the only person I have ever
    been able to talk freely to.  He never judges (now) and always has
    had an open mind.  I hope I can have this kind of relationship with
    my own children.  My ideals are high here, but Dad is a good role
    model.
    
    We know that some brain dammage has been done by the first surgery,
    but we do not know how much.  I pray to God his mind and memory are
    still there.  Dad, I Love You.
    
    ..gene
    

    In his 30s and 40s, my dad looked, dressed, talked, and acted exactly
    like Randy Quaid (cf. "Parents").  In his 50s and 60s, my dad looks,
    etc., exactly like Jonathan Winters.
    
    I haven't been able to bring myself to watch "Davis Rules",
    Ray

    My father and I are very different in personalities and interests. I am
    warm outgoing and interested in engineering. My father is a
    semi-recluse and business oriented.  We did not get along well. When I
    turned 18 I was briskly ushered into the military and basically have
    not been home since, except for occasional visits.  I do love my
    father and as he is in his mid 70's there is not too much time
    left to enjoy one another.  Unfortunately its a one sided equation.
    He is quite happy with semi annual visits (although he lives only 80
    miles away) I would like monthly visits.  I suppose I shouldn't
    complain as I see many people complain about how dependant and
    demanding their parents are.
    
    Now that he has a grandson (my son) I see him acting toward his
    grandson in similiar ways to the way he acted toward me.... largely
    disinterested.  Semi annual or annual visits from his grandson are
    more than adequate in frequency.  Although he claims to love his 
    grandson I think actions talk louder than words.   The wasted
    opportunites (from MY perspective, not his) make me very sad.  I guess
    his sense of values are VERY different from mine.  
    
    I am attempting NOT to repeat the mistakes he made with me with my son.
    
    Jeff
    

    <<How do you feel about your father? What do you think of him as a
    <<person, a father, a role model? Was he a good husband? Did that have
    <<impact on you?
   
	My Dad is a pretty quiet guy. Even tempered, doesn't,
	always hear so well, and sometimes, gets lost in his own world.

	You have to be patient when explaining things to him, he's not
	the best listener you could find to talk to.  

	As a person, he's a easily very likeable guy, pretty witty, and
	at times, halrious, with out intending to even be amusing.

	Accroding to my Mom, he was the best husband.. 

	As a father, since I've no other father to compare him to, he's a 
	great Dad.  He's got a heart as big as the grand canyon, and it
	breaks easy when something happens to one his kids, or grandkids.

	Impact ?  Yes..  all of it..

    <<Today: is he someone you can talk to freely? Is he someone you can
    <<confide in? Is he someone whom you can get support from, i.e. financial
    <<or personal? Is he someone whose advice you would respect and follow?
    <<Is he someone whose judgement you trust?
    
	We talk quite a bit.  We only live a few miles from him.  He and Mom
	still own the house I grew up in, so 'home' is never-ever
	far away.  He's always ready to offer financial help, even when you
	don't want it,  personal support, you can talk to him, maybe he'll give
	you his advice, and leave it at that, but he'll always ask later
	on, what turned out, or what happened.  
	
	I guess I'm a lot like him, at least that's what my wife tells me,
	(and it's not meant as a rub.. she love's him probably almost
	as much as she loves her own dad..) and usually draw the conclusion 
	his advice gives me...  Given that I trust his judgement immensly.

    <<As you were growing up: What did you learn from him? What did he teach
    <<you directly? Indirectly? Is there anything you decided not to do
    <<because he did it himself? Did he make you want to rebel?
    
	I learned: Stability, responsibility.  Major decisions I made in my
	life, I think, I really made on my own.  I never wanted to rebel
	against him.  He was always too kind and too good to me for those
	emotions to stirr up.

    <<Do you love your father? Can you tell him you love him? Do you think he
    <<loves you? Has he ever told you, or shown you to your satisfaction?

	Yes, yes, yes, yes.

	A few years back, his health wasn't all that good.  Had a very
	rare form of enemia (sp?)  At first they tought it may be
	Lukemia, but thank God, it wasn't.  I realized that I'd never
	told him I loved him, or how much he's meant to me over the years.

	I did one day, he got choked up, and returned the sentiment.

	All things considered, he's a great friend of mine.  A lot of
	fun to watch hockey games with, go golfing with, take rides 
	in the country with, do house improvement projects with, or,,, 

		just talk with...

    This is a good set of questions.
    
    Both of my parents are emotionally distant personalities, and my
    mother and father are a good deal alike as people.
    
    I have very mixed feelings about my father, because he wasn't much of
    a role model for me. He gave me very little example of how to be in
    the world. On the other hand, I do feel that he loves me in his way,
    although there is no direct expression of it, and has certainly 
    helped me financially in the past, which his way of expressing support.
    
    I can't talk to him freely about anything personal, because he is
    so out of touch with his own feelings, and it just wasn't done in
    men of his generation and background. Neither of my parents are
    expressive in this regard.
    
    His advice on things other than personal things I would listen to
    conditionally. He can be quite a cynical individual, and although
    he is very intelligent, he often has some strong opinions in areas
    that he has little knowledge. He is a politically liberal, although
    he has some odd conservative streaks in him, which is a quality that
    I share.
    
    I learned very little from him about being a man in the world. He was
    so reserved, as is my mother. I can't remember any physical affection
    from him, or my mother, as a child. I never saw my parents fight; the 
    most I could see was a certain tenseness. I never saw my parents solve
    a problem, or negotiate a solution of some kind. Conflict was to be
    avoided. I ended up with very little knowledge of how men relate to
    women in this world, which caused me many problems in my early adult
    relationships. This non-emotional upbringing led me to be quite out
    of touch with my own feelings.
    
    It seemed that things just sort of happened in this world; the only
    important idea was to be nice, in my family, and the world would
    take care of you. This was a pretty dangerous message to get as a
    kid.
    
    I never saw my father work hard, although he held some good jobs, with
    a fairly high level of responsibilty, so it did not seem that hard work
    was a value, although intelligence certainly was. 
    
    I never recieved any instruction in how to handle financial matters,
    or other advice of a practical nature. 
    
    Wit was valued, and there was endless sparring that went on around 
    the dinner table. I developed a sharp wit, and didn't recognize the 
    hostility involved there for a long time.
    
    So, all in all, it is a mixed bag. I inititated a phone relationship
    where we talk once a week, as it was getting to the point where
    I would only talk to my parents two or three times a year. The
    conversation is usually superficial, though, and I'm not ready to
    break new ground there yet until I settle some things within myself.
    My brothers and sister also have an uneasy realationship with my
    parents, although among the siblings we really don't agree on exactly
    what the problems are.
    
    I can't believe I wrote this much....
    
    -roger
    
    
    

    My father was violent, obnoxious, uniformly critical, and selfish. He
    treated his children like employees, putting us to work before we were
    capable. Nothing was ever good enough. He was crazy-making, setting
    traps to assure that we'd find ourselves in the wrong and subject to
    beatings.
    
    In his old age, he's small and weak and rather pathetic. His interests
    range from television to television. During my rare visits, there's
    little we can discuss because I'm NOT a TV watcher. Now that I'm bigger
    than he is, the old patterns don't work and we haven't learned any new
    way to relate except a sort of cease-fire civility. I don't think I'd
    know him if my mother wasn't there to bring me around once in a while.
    
    I observe others with GOOD relationships with their Dads (and read the
    replies to this topic) and I'm filled with sadness and a child's sense
    that IT'S NOT FAIR. At times in the past, I've actively, knowlingly
    sought a father-substitute, never with much success. I don't think this
    will ever "get better."
    
    I'm not a father in my own right, but I approximate it to various
    degrees with my wife's three daughters. I concientiously avoid treating
    the girls the way my father treated us, e.g. I'm always delighted to
    observe ANY reason for praising the girls and telling them I'm proud.
    My reward is step-daughters who are comfortable with me, who insult me
    in good humor without fear. Fear is STILL my predominant feeling toward
    my father, despite his feebleness.
    
    To his credit, my father was a faithful husband, a good provider, NOT a
    substance abuser. He DID teach us to value education, family life, and
    work. My life works quite well. Whatever success I have in personal
    relationships, however, arises from deliberate decisions to NOT be like
    my father. He has lived 74 years and can count his friends on the thumb
    of one hand (my mother!).
    
    I wonder how I'll feel when he finally leaves this veil of tears.
    
    - Hoyt

>    MEN: How do you feel about your father? What do you think of him as a
>    person, a father, a role model? Was he a good husband? Did that have
>    impact on you?

    His role as a husband had no influence as my mom did when I was young
    but his role as a parent had a lot of influence. I have some mixed
    feelings about my Dad. I love him but he wasn't always easy to live
    with. When my Mom died he buried himself in his work (by his own
    admission). So he wasn't always there for us. Still he worked very
    hard to provide for his four kids. He worked extra jobs to send up
    to summer camp out of the city. He sent us to the best schools he
    could afford. This meant we spent some time in public and some time
    in private schools. We got a good education. The three of us who
    went to college had our ways paid. On a clergymen's salary that took
    a lot of extra work. And I believe him when he says he was glad to do
    it.

    In many ways he was a great role model. He had and has a dedication
    to serving others that I have great respect for. That has led 
    directly to my own involvement in politics. 

>    Today: is he someone you can talk to freely? Is he someone you can
>    confide in? Is he someone whom you can get support from, i.e. financial
>    or personal? Is he someone whose advice you would respect and follow?
>    Is he someone whose judgement you trust?

    I can talk a lot more freely now then I used to. I wasn't close to
    him as a kid. Now we seem to have a lot more in common and in fact
    have more in common the the brother who was his favorite as a kid.
    I still don't confide in him that much. Except about money and he
    continues to be there in that area. Though I try not to ask. I do
    respect his advise and judgment but not with the total awe I had
    as a kid. This is better I think.

>    As you were growing up: What did you learn from him? What did he teach
>    you directly? Indirectly? Is there anything you decided not to do
>    because he did it himself? Did he make you want to rebel?

    I learned a ton from him. As I got older I became interested in things
    that he was interested in. I wound up being the babysitter for the
    two youngest (I was eldest) and as my reward he took me along
    sometimes. A couple of time a month he took me to the local Democratic
    club and afterwards to the Chinese restaurant with the big shots. I
    learned politics from some of the highest ranking state legislators
    in NY at the time. Also judges, lawyers and the occasional other
    elected official. He also took me to some fancy dinners where as a
    young teenager I learned proper table manners and how to make small
    talk with adults. And learn from people most kids only saw on TV.

    Afterwards Dad would fill me in on the things I missed. Between the
    lines as it were. Filling my son in on grown up things is something
    I try to do as well.

    He taught me how to walk (a long story). He taught me how to listen
    and how to watch people. He taught me how to serve and how to lead.
    Both by example. He taught me to think for myself.

    I've decided to do a lot differently as a father. Not because he
    did things that way but because I didn't like their effect on me.
    Most of the changes Dad agrees with me on. He's learned too. That
    he continues to learn is something I hope to emulate. Last year
    at 65 he decided he wanted to play the guitar. He bought a book and
    a guitar. A couple of months later he was playing in church.

>    Do you love your father? Can you tell him you love him? Do you think he
>    loves you? Has he ever told you, or shown you to your satisfaction?

    I love him a lot and tell him so. He tells me he loves me and while
    I didn't always believe him I do now. I wish he's said it a bit more
    when I was a kid. That's one thing I'm doing differently with my son
    who hears that I love him daily. (At least)

    		Alfred (proud to be named for his father)

My father has had a profound positive effect on me.  He lives about forty
miles from me and I call him about once a week and see him a couple of
times a month.  He and my mother have been married for 54 years.

When I was in high school about the only thing he did that bugged me was
give me crap about my hair.  When I was in college I showed up on my 'putt'
with a ponytail.  I told him as long as he gave me crap I would keep it.
He vowed never to kid me about it.  I eventually cut it.

My father was and is Catholic.  He sent me to Catholic schools and made me
go to Mass every Sunday.  He then gave me a book called 'Urantia' which is
basically about as anti-Catholic as you can get.  We studied this book and
spent many evenings talking about Metaphysics.

He was the most fair person I have ever known.  He taught me respect for
myself and others and showed me how to love myself and others.  He has
never let me down.

He taught me how to re-load shells and hunt, how to tie flys and throw a
football.  He taught me how to fight and when to fight.  He showed me
affection in thousands of different ways.  He taught me how to question
everything and when teachers in school (Nuns and Priests) told him I
wasn't a conformist he took me out for ice cream.

Yes I love my father.  No I don't tell him very often.  That's not our way.
He told me once that if the only time someone knows you love them is when
you tell them, you probably don't.  He said if you can find words that
adequately describe your love for someone, you probably don't really love
them.

While I don't ask him for financial support (he would give it to me I just
don't ask) I do ask him about corporate politics.  He has some good
insights.  I respect his opinion as he respects mine.  We don't agree on
everything but the older I get the more we agree on.  If someone told me I
was just like my father I would take that as a compliment.

patrick

Hmmmm.....Great topic!

Dad died in '73, nearly 18 years ago. I was 28 then so I was back to 
thinking he knew at least a few things in life..... 8^)

I really did love him, but don't think I expressed it well as I got older, 
at least not verbally. He clearly loved both us kids and Mom, and worked 
hard to provide for us aswell as he could. He taught me a lot, everything 
from manners to common sense to building skills to laughing at himself for 
dumb things that go wrong. 

I have thought of him many times in 18 years and wish I could ask him a 
few more questions and talk a while longer. For those of you who have told 
of painful childhoods and abusive or alcoholic fathers and did not have a 
good rapport with him, sympathies.

I hope I can be as good a dad to my son, now 20, as dad was to me. I think 
we are headed there, but you really need to get his opinion! 8^)

PS: I have a really good relationship with my daughter, 15, also. Ditto on 
the second opinion...

    Vic 

    My father and I are estranged. I haven't spoken more than three
    sentences to him at a time in over 15 years.
    
    I don't want to talk about it.
    
    	-- Charles

    My father was 43 when I was born, and died when I was 18, in my
    freshman year in college, when I had thought I'd be able to reinitiate
    a relationship with him.  I think I've been searching for him ever
    since.
    
    He'd been through an awful time - in WWI, through a major battle (most
    of his men killed), the 1919 flu, a nervous breakdown, then the slow
    death of his wife, and then alcoholism, with his daughter (my
    half-sister, she would have been) reacting crazily and dying young, and
    by the time I knew him he was unemployed (for a time), sober, and
    depressed.  My fondest memory is as a 7 year old standing next to him
    picking blackberries among the thorns and bees, sort of proud to be
    able to hang in there.  He was distant, and a gentleman, was firm, gave
    us chores to do, and I loved that part.  Early in his life he had been
    an adventurer, and could not relate well to this little mama's boy his
    second wife had wrested control of, away from him.  I think he and I both
    deserved better, but I'm not blaming anyone.
           

My father will turn 70 this year.  He just retired a couple of years ago.  Ever
since I can remember, he worked and owned his TV repair and sales shop.  He was
a hard worker putting in six days a week, 11 hours per day.  He grew up in hard
times, the depression, going to Europe during WWII, etc.  

As a boy, he farmed.  I remember him saying that he use to plow with a mule
pulling his plow.  I think he earned 10 or 25 cents a day, as I recall the
story.  Life was hard, but yet simple.  

I don't remember him ever taking a "real" vacation.  He worked by day, came
home in the evening, and either worked outside in the yard a bit, or just
rested.  He'd eat supper, sit in his easy chair and read the paper, watch TV,
and usually fall asleep.  He'd wake up about 10PM and go to bed.  He didn't
have any hobbies... no time for them.  The next day was a repeat, except for
Sunday when he'd go to church.  He's always been involved in the Baptist
church.

For a man with an 8th grade education, he did well in business.  Not many
people today with lots of educations can boast that.  He made a good living for
a family of five.  My mom helped out at the shop from time to time, but never
had to take on a full time job.  That's very rare for today.  He put my brother
and sister through college.  They both have master degrees.  I was sort of
expected to follow in the TV business for some reason.  Maybe cuz I wasn't
going to college and I had worked with him during summers and after high
school.  But I didn't want that life.  My Dad gave up much to make his shop
run successfully.  I saw him as a slave to it.  I hope he didn't feel that way.

I can only remember my Dad spanking him once.  We were playing and I called him
a liar.  He had started into another room and turned to pick me up.  I thought
we were still playing... but I soon realized we were not.  I'll tell you
this... I never called my father a liar again.

He did like to fish, but didn't go much.  I have fished with him on several
occasions.  Since he's retired, he goes more now and has a bass boat.  I visit
in the summer and fish with him.  But one scene that sticks out in my mind, is
when I was in the first grade, and five years old, my mom let me stay home one
day and go fishing with my Dad.  We had no boat.  We went to a little place
called "Yellow Creek" and stood on the bank.  He wasn't too good at casting
then, (he's learned now), and I could hardly throw my line in the water.  We
only caught some small bluegill.  But ya know, that day always meant a lot to
me and I don't guess I'll ever forget it.  I was happy doing something with my
Dad.  I don't remember much about the day, but I remember being with him on the
bank of that creek, and catching a few fish.

Now, I've been in Colorado for about twelve and a half years.  I don't get to
see him much.  One day, I'll really regret that.  I do now.  But I'm stuck here
because my "X" has custody of my son, and I can't leave him.  My Dad is in
Tennessee, nearly 1300 miles away.  It hurts being so far away from family.
I don't like to think about it.

My father is an honest man.  He was a good provider and a good husband to my
mom.  I never saw him abuse her, nor did he swear in front of us kids, (well,
not hard swear words that I use).  He believes in God, and I can remember him
saying a prayer on his knees by his bed.  We differ on many things, including
God, but I reckon we agree on more than we disagree on.  In general, my Dad has
a good heart.  He's old fashioned.  But maybe that's the way to be.  I'm not so
sure we're heading in the right direction today...

During my divorce, my Dad drove to Colorado more than once to be with me.  He
has always been in my corner when I needed help.  He has always helped me with
money problems when I needed it.  He's a Grandpa, as I'm the only one of his
children to father another.  He's a good Grandpa too, and loves his grandson
very much.

I feel I can talk to him, although I don't want to take my problems to him and
make myself more of a burden than I've been.  I respect his advice, and listen
to his words.  In the end, I have to go with my own judgement.  

What can I say?  I love and respect my Dad.  I know he loves me.

db

I hadn't read this file in a while, and have just had a great time reading this
topic...   I have a great father, and, as I first learned during my divorce,
(and substantiated here), I did NOT have a normal family, but a far, far, above
normal one...   (I have an equally super mother, but this is about dad).   I
truly feel sorry for the multitudes that did not have a 'good' father.  And I
want to thank everyone for sharing - truly a great byproduct of this faceless,
yet somehow personal, communications medium we call Notes.  Hopefully, I can
add something that someone else can enjoy as much...

Growing up, my dad was ALWAYS working...  He started as a bank teller, and
after 35 years with the same bank, became a branch president.  (More about that
later...)  He went to school for THIRTEEN YEARS nights to get his bachelors and
masters degrees from Northeastern.  I am amazed, as I try to launch my own
company while working here, dating, playing fantasy sports, and socializing,
how he still had time for his family.  I now know that his weekly schedule was
something like, 7-5 at work, school until 11 three nights a week, but on those
other two nights he ALWAYS spent with us until we went to bed (then he'd study
until he went to bed).  On the weekends, he was either working around the
house, studying, or doing something with the family.  Every vacation from when
I was 2 until I was in college was spent with the family.  He never seemed to
do anything for himself - but I now realize that being with his family and
caring for his home - his castle - did, and still does, bring him joy.

We never, ever, had any money growing up (I know now), but we never knew it
then.  We ALWAYS, without fail, got the 'number one thing' on our Christmas
list, even after last years number one reduced itself to another dust collector
on the toy shelf a year later.  Every summer, we'd take the family vacation,
which was always to a campground somewhere...  We had our favorite lakes in
New Hampshire, but also saw the Amish country, Cooperstown (Hall of Fame, for
me), the eastern seaboard down to Florida, and the Canadian border cities - all
together, camping as a family.  We also went to Sox games (as he did with his
dad years before), Pops concerts (his love of music is another inheritance), 
Camping shows (got Hawk's picture and autograph in '67 at the Camping and
Trailer show :-), Museum of Science, Aquarium, Freedom Trail - you name a
family event in New England, and we've probably done it...  How they afforded
it, I'll never know...  Well, yes I do: because my mom scrimped and saved and
bargain hunted, repaired and did without for our entire childhood...

My father is a very affectionate man, and for this I thank him profusely.  He
always showed daily affection toward my mom, and I know this is why I am a very
affectionate man in my relationships with women.  We went through that typical
teenage period where you couldn't show affection toward the old man, but now
always embrace, yes, complete with a bear hug and a peck on the cheek, when we
meet.  I feel good about being able to do that without thinking that I'm being
"unmasculine" when I do it, and he is obviously the reason why.  My ability to
shed tears at sad occassions (or joyful ones - I must be getting old :-) is 
also certainly a by-product of his teachings.

I very rarely saw my dad get angry, but when he did, you KNEW you did something
VERY wrong.  I laugh now when I think of his clenched fists, jaw jutting
forward, and complete disbelief on his face - as if to say "How you could BE so
stupid" - I laugh because of the self-control it had to take not to beat us
senseless :-)  My parents did slap us occassionally, but only with hand to
butt.  I saw my parents have a real argument once - who knows what ridiculously
small event must have triggered it, but we were camping, and I'll always 
remember my mother storming off to the ocean just as dinner was being served,
and having my father try to coerce the two kids to eat their hot dogs through
their tears, then finally going off after her.  My brother and I were old
enough to wonder 'do you think they're going to get a divorce', and got up the
courage to follow dad and see where he went.  We snuck up behind the rocks
lining the shore and peeked over to see my dad sitting on a rock with his arm 
around my mom, and we knew everything would be all right.  Having now been
married for four years, (happily, at least I was) and now divorced, I know that
a large part of my stability in life is due to my parent's ability to talk,
work together, and compromise, in order to stay married, and provide a loving,
stable home for their two sons.

My dad ALWAYS helped my mom around the house.  He was always early for
everything (something else I learned), and mom was always late (BTW, no doubt
due to getting us kids presentable for the babysitter), and I have a
lasting image of him, dressed in suit and tie, with an apron over the suit,
washing the dinner dishes while he waited for mom to get ready to go out.
He also vaccuumed, did windows - basically, anything that needed doing...
One time I asked him why, as I must have learned it was "woman's work", and he
replied that he and mom were in a partnership, and a big part of their job
together was keeping the house nice, as well as raise their kids - and if he
had time, and she didn't, then he'd do it...   This was a lesson I failed to
learn until I myself became married, and I now feel somewhat guilty about not
helping my parents around the house when I was young (another lasting image of
enjoying a Red Sox game while Dad mowed the lawn - but in my defense, I had
allergies - and I also learned that Dad LIKES creating the symmetry of a fresh
mowed lawn - and I think I can relate, as it is immediate payback, so rare in
the corporate world.)

Speaking of which, my father is now 56 years old, and unemployed.  The new
management at his bank cleaned house, and had no place for a man that missed
probably half a dozen days of work due to illness in the 35 years he worked
there, devoting half his life to that stinking corporation. His dignity,
optomism, and determination to launch a new career are proof that he is still
teaching me (although I hope not to use that knowledge via DEC's  "Big
Vacation" policy :-).

In short, these few words don't come close to conveying the respect, love, and
admiration I have for my old man - and how much I hope, if I am able to someday
marry again and become a father, that I would be like him.  

But a telling example of our relationship is that I have an extra ticket for
Monday's Sox game, and, as he is not working, we are going to go to the 11 AM
Patriot's Day Sox game, and then go over to the Marathon, just like he did with
my brother and I over 20 years ago (and like his father did with him over 40
years ago!).  The difference: I'm taking him this time (and, we can share  a
couple of beers...)

To close, while writing this, I had a great idea that will help express my
appreciation, and one that you might be able to use too:

I'm going to print this note out (and perhaps this whole topic), and give it 
to him for father's day...

Happy Fathers Day, Dad...

Love,

Dave

    My bio-father died when I was a boy of 6 years. He died on Christmas
    day coming home from his fathers funeral. I remember only a few things
    of that time about him. He was an inventer, held a patten on the
    balanced turn table, (remember them cd fans?) and the remote control
    transmitter. Patten time ran out, rest is history. 
    
    	
    Remember a ranch house on the edge of a corn field in southern Ill. And
    a highway some distance near the horizon. A tornado marching across the
    corn field. Looking like scenes form Oz. Me sitting in a sand box
    watching the funnel lifting corn and dirt into the air. Lifting a car
    from the highway. An strong arm grasping me around the waist, lifting
    me into the air, and running to the celar.
    
    I think the next time of this error was my mom explaining to me that
    my dad wasn't coming home for Christmas. Then my mom flipping coins in
    her parents formal diningroom. Heads eastcoast, tails west.
    
    What can I say about someone that I hardly knew? Like having a part of
    you life errased. Knowing that they were there, and you are here.
    Looking at old photos of faces that you don't remember execpt being
    told that was you, in another form called a young child, standing next
    to a black and white figure called dad.
    
    George

    
     My Dad is a tale of two very different people..I was third in a
    family of nine children(6 boys 3 girls)..In ny earliest memories
    I remember my Dad as  my hero,always fighting for a good cause or
    something. My Dad was an engineer and a preacher..He helped to
    establish the first NAACP in a small town in Indiana..When he
    was'nt working or fighting the good fight he would take me and
    the rest of my brothers on "Adventures".We used to go on long
    hikes in Grass Valley California up Bear Creek river..Along the
    way to the spot where there was a train wreck and you could still
    see the Boxcars in the water, my Father would explain how he
    felt about the world and science..It was great to be with him
    then, he would wrestle with all the boys and pretend like we
    had overpowered him and hence he had to cough up the bucks to
    buy his freedom (Ice cream was the going price for one Dads Freedom).
    
      But all good things must come to an end it seems..I don't know
    if it was the stress of work and having 9 mouths to feed but
    suddenly no more wrestling,no more BS Sessions with the boys.Eventually
    he and I were at each others throats day and night..I  guess in 
    reflection I could have tried to be more loving and understanding
    towards him,but he just seemed insane to me..His crusades to save
    the world seemed to almost become a paranoid delusion..He spent
    ten thousand dollars building a Geodesic(sp) dome to produce
    food because he was certain there was going to be an energy crunch
    in 1978 and food prices would go crazy..This was the first of many
    bizzarre projects that led to his partial financial downfall..It
    got so bad that you couldn't talk to him about new cars for sale
    without it turning into a bizzare conversation about the up and
    coming doom and gloom..I miss what I call my first Dad.I was so
    proud to have an engineer/Dad that got in touch with his kids
    and explained the mysteries of the Universe..Now when I call
    home and he heres my voice its as simple as"Hi David hang on I'l
    get your Mother"..
    
    David

    My father had a heart attack early in 1980, and a stroke
    later that year, which left him partially paralyzed (though
    he did not lose his speech).  My mother cared for him until
    she died in 1988.  He lived with one of my sisters for
    18 months after that, and when that became difficult for
    both of them, he moved into a nursing home last year.
    He seems to have adjusted well, and apart from occasional
    roommate difficulties, he's in better health and spirits than
    a year ago.  I take him out on weekends, for lunch and for
    a drive, if he's in the mood.  I've gotten to know him
    better in the past couple of years, and I have a better
    understanding and appreciation for him than I ever had.
    
    When I was growing up, I was closer to my mother, we shared
    the same interests.  My Dad was a blue-collar worker, left
    school after the 8th grade to help support his widowed mother, 
    entered the Army in 1942 (WWII is the biggest even of his life),
    and married in 1947, at age 30.  I was a bookish child, and
    did well in school.  Both my parents were proud of my
    accomplishments, but because I wasn't interested in sports,
    I felt something of a failure to my Dad. He did his best
    to do the father/son thing, playing catch, installing
    a basketball hoop, buying me a catcher's mit and tennis
    racket, and having me caddy for him.  Nothing much
    came of these activities except resentment on my part.
    But he also took us to the beach when we were young, and
    took me to the movies as I got older. He was and is a good man.  
    He took care of us (my two sisters and I) when Mom was sick;
    he went to church every Sunday; he helped friends and family
    when he was needed; he worked hard, and took classes through work 
    to advance himself.  Though he didn't have a formal education, 
    he kept up with current events and was/is knowledgeable on a lot 
    of subjects.  He taught me some basic car and home repair that has
    come in handy over the years.  He taught me to be
    thrifty and make things last.  On the down side, he
    was and is a worrier, a trait I've inherited.  Although at times I
    think he's been intimidated by my education, I know
    he's proud of my achievements.
    
    We had our share of disagreements in the past, mostly when
    I was a teenager.  When I had a Beatle haircut, he complained
    about it. When I got wire-frame glasses, he had a fit, saying
    I looked like a hippie (I reminded him of that recently, he'd
    forgotten, but he apologized!).  Now I realize what a pain
    I was back then, and how good he really was.
    
    I am still reserved with him about my inner thoughts and
    feelings.  As others have described, we were not an emotional
    family, everything was in tight control.  I'm lucky my
    Dad was not abusive in any way, I'm grateful for that.
    Looking back, he did his best as a father, and it was as good
    as most, and better than many.  So now, when he tells
    stories about being in Panama or Germany during the War,
    stories I've heard before, I listen again. I laugh at
    his jokes (not always, but usually, pretty bad).  He likes to
    talk, and I'm glad to listen, even if it's mostly just chatter.
    When I leave him at the nursing home, I make it a point to say "Love
    you!"  It's sometimes awkward, but I'm glad I say it.
    
    Richard