My Father - A Father's Day Nonfiction

My Father

(Disclaimer: I am going to share some personal information in here, it is not meant to paint my father as a bad man, on the contrary, it is to paint my own experiences of gradually coming to the understanding of my father as a whole human being. Thank you.)

I don't often talk about him as shaping me, for many years growing up I wanted to be anyone but him. This sounds harsh, but you must understand I was a rash tornado of curiosity, and my father was constantly trying to bring me to heel. I'd make messes, refuse helping when something seemed ridiculous, I was insubordinate, and against everything my father thought a child should be. It wasn't always down right being disrespectful, in my older childhood years, it would rotate in that direction. It was born out of a constant realization that the wrath of my father seemed unearned, especially in comparison to my older brother. As a child you don't understand the contraptions that make us human, you don't see your father as a human being. He is authority, he is the end and the beginning, to a child your parent is God, or your authority figures are God. A God with the power to spank you, to take your toys away, to sit you in a corner, and to assault you with verbal tirades. My God, my father, did these things, and many times were not unjustified. I would lie if I said I didn't push buttons on purpose, or take my mother's side (I would say more often than not she was right) and these were constant reminders of his domain not being respected.

If this is painting my father as some sort of monster, I apologize, I am trying to articulate what I felt like in the midst of it. What it felt like to have my father present himself as a sweet and patient and helpful member of his Church community, and then to turn around and take out his frustrations on his family. One of the key things that made me resent him growing up, but not always, but often enough. For if any one were to talk about him outside of our circle it was nothing but admiration and compliment, and that was irritating because it constantly painted the grievances as never occurring and my own animosity as unwarranted and unfair.

Of course I was judged growing up for being disrespectful, lazy, and too-curious. But they didn't see the father that I saw at home. A father that often seemed tyrannical to a child, but also soft and sweet, which made the moments of division seem that much more pronounced.

Many people speak of never having seen there father cry, or show emotions. I did not have this issue. My father cried during sad films, he reacted emotionally to things on screen and to this day, if a particular evil character does something heinous he simply says emotionally, "He's so mean," I often don't respond that mean is on the lower ladder of terribleness because my fathers inflection supports this. He was eager to provide for us, and it sometimes felt like "buying our love" but he was proud to be able to get us things, because of his life not being able to have things. Even after a particular rough shouting match, even an hour after, he would still be excited for us to receive a present. He was proud of being a father, in that very clear and basic sense, being a provider, a protector.

No one in my immediate experience worked as hard as my father. For 40 years at the same factory job. Fearful of ever calling in sick, and regretted when he had to. He believed in working hard and doing what he had to do to keep a roof over our heads, and giving us a life better than his own. For years the one thing I would tell people that my father gave to me was a clear picture of what hard work looked like, on what family loyalty looked like. Even despite my talking-back, he loved me unconditionally, and still does. He's since apologized for his outburst, understanding that I received the brunt of them, and me understanding that I had never made it easy, but I always respected his work-ethic.

What always felt hurtful though with his tiredness of it all, his agitation at work related events and people, his anger at unfair moments in his life that involved loosing money, or feeling betrayed by people, what felt hurtful was that when he felt these ways, it was his home that received the anger. This also instilled in me that I didn't want to take things out on my family that had nothing to do with them. This is what happened, and was his go to excuse, "I'm just upset about this, or I'm upset about that," the this's and the that's were seldom directly about us.

Even though he was quick to anger, my father (and mother) were never the "best" disciplinarians. They were often criticized for being too soft on us, not using the rod often enough, by people who would use the rod far too often. To this day I don't know how i would be a better person had my dad decided to paddle me more, and spank me beyond what  he already did (though he stopped spanking probably by the time I was eight). My older brother and I in all honesty, on reflection, especially my older brother though, were good kids. We liked being home, we liked being with each other, we liked being a family.

On the rare occasions that we got to do family trips, which were not often, and were often not far, hanging out with dad was great, when he wasn't beaten down, and upset about work, and able to just enjoy having fun with his kids. And eventually his son and daughter that he would get to do it all over again, and those started out great too. (My father has always been great with small children, from infants into probably 8 or 9 years of age, before talking back, and independent thinking grabs too hard).

There was a period probably 17 to 20, where I regrettably will admit I hated my father. He was always at odds with my mom, believing what the church told him that he was the head of the house hold and should be obeyed. He took any questioning as an attack on his authority. But he was often and still is often wrong. This instilled in me another lesson, men are not perfect, and are no better than women in positions of life. I earned his anger for siding constantly with my mother, who was often right about a lot of things, but who was overturned because she was wife, and husband must be obeyed.

But, what I came to understand and what kept me, fortunately from hating my father anymore was the realization that he was a human being. For years he was embarrassed because he was, in his own words "stupid." My father is illiterate, he cannot read very well, hasn't been able to and has missed opportunities at work because he couldn't pass written tests on his own, though he knew how to do the job. This caused a lot of strain.

Consider, that when he was born, as a twin, he had lost oxygen to his brain, which was obviously detrimental. Causing him to have developmental drawbacks. Also consider that in the 50s and 60s, when he grew up, child psychology was young or non-existent, the accepted educational diagnosis for learning disabilities was that if you had them, you were stunted, and stuck, and there was no way for you to continue your education, or improve yourself, thus it was a waste of time to teach you in a traditional way. There were no helpful programs for children with learning disabilities, so he was grouped in one catch-all special education program, and given no chance to learn.

That he blamed himself for this for years, and people made fun of him for years, for not being educated enough, broke my heart when I realized it, that I understood that my father, was emotionally stunted, but he had persisted anyways. That he had kept his job, kept his family, while feeling less than human, that was impressive. But always he felt sorry for himself, felt broken, and destroyed. I began to understand how my talking back, or being smarter than him, and trying to show it as a child would feel like an insult to him. I do not excuse his behavior, but I understood it better. Through no fault of his own, society, work, community deemed him broken, and busted, and I blame all of that, than himself completely for what I grew up with.

To point out though, I was not beaten, I was not perfect, my childhood was primarily very good. We were poor but we were fine, stress was always around but we lived, we had a home, and we were mainly a happy family. And that was because of my father. One of his commands growing up is that he didn't want me to be him, he didn't want me to end up in the factory life where work consumed him, and spit him back out. That was one of the things he didn't want. He beamed with pride, still does when I would write, when I would succeed. He pushed me to get educated, to go to college. And he welcomed me into his home, without pushing me out when I faltered, and delayed this dream.

My father, and my mother supported me. Even when they probably shouldn't have, at least according to the creeds of being American. The professed power of individualism's shadow is the shaming of those who should seek help. My beliefs and understanding of the world are shaped by my personal experiences growing up, even if my political direction differs from my parents, they don't realize my upbringing shapes my politics, if they were so retrospective, they might change political points of view too, and i keep trying, but that's a whole other matter.

I write this for you dad, and I hope you don't get embarrassed for sharing our life together out loud. The bad parts and the good. These are what make us human. You are not a broken man, and you have done well for yourself. You are not stupid for you were not given the chance or support to better yourself as a child. I am proud of you for coming out of your heartbreak, because I know without the knowledge and understanding that I am awarded in education, and in being given perspectives, that you have had to deal with your own way of getting out of your depression. I can't imagine how hard it is, when a whole world was closed off to you to understand and educate yourself, I can't imagine how lonely it is. But you shouldn't feel like you failed. As much as I still have some hard-feelings about you from our history, I am glad that my education has allowed me to understand you more. I love you, happy father's day. You did good. We are good.