It’s Fathers Day on Sunday. And I’m writing this in advance so that all those fathers out there can see it and appreciate it in advance of their (and my) day. Well, that, and I’m taking tomorrow off. After the week that was, I’m entitled to some down time.
Fatherhood is something you can’t appreciate until you become one. I suppose that’s stating the obvious, but it’s true. As a kid, you look on your father in all the normal ways: role model, authority figure, source of money and advice, caregiver, and someone to play with. And here’s the great thing: that never changes.
Growing up, I thought I’d had a pretty unconventional childhood. On weekends, while other kids and their families were going to amusement parks, we were going on drives to see old buildings. I practically grew up in libraries, and figured out how to use card catalogs effectively by the time I was in third grade. As far as entertainment went, I was raised on Masterpiece Theatre, Nature, and most other PBS shows, as that was what was on the black and white TV at home during the few hours each week that it was actually on. Heck, we didn’t even get a color TV until I was 12. Food-wise, though that was mom’s domain, my diet was pretty wildly varied, and the New Year’s feast of oyster stew and escargots was a highlight of winter break that I would happily talk about to my friends as they looked on with puzzled faces. As a kid, I’d look at all that and think it was pretty strange because most of my friends didn’t have the same experiences.
But I’ve learned through my own parenting that it’s the core stuff that stays the same from generation to generation, and the minor details are what you make up as you go along. That’s what parenting is–doing what you feel is right for your family and kids. Who you are makes up a lot of what that parenting model becomes. And it’s those unique experiences that I had as a child that helped make me what I am.
I’ve had some great fathers in my life. Both my grandfathers have been excellent. Newt, who always seemed to revel in the time he had with Julie and I, seemed laid back but always willing to do what he felt he needed to do for us. He tried, oh, how he tried, to get me into fishing. But it’s just not in me, and frankly, I’d go with him those summer days just because we’d have an afternoon together, and he’d start telling stories that never seemed to come out otherwise.
Willie is a non-stop wonder, who with boundless energy was always able to keep himself and all of his grandkids busy simultaneously. He’s the tinkerer, the engineer, the man afraid of nothing. The man who gave me an 11×17 electron microscope photo of a cancer cell when I was in elementary school. He has lived his life with abandon, seemingly acting like this one might be his last, so he’d better cram it with all the experiences he can.
Grandpa Newt has been gone for quite a while now, and there are times that I wonder what my adult relationship with him would have been because even as a kid, we had some great conversations. But Willie’s still here, slowed down with age, but he’s still maintaining the mode of having two speeds in life: on and off.
My father is the quintessential professor. Always researching, always writing, always digging into something that happened years ago. There are times that I wonder how he came from his father, Newt. Their personalities are very similar, but set dad down with a book, and he’ll be there for hours. My grandfather seemingly couldn’t sit still: there was always something for him to do. I’ve learned a lot from my dad: how to research, and by that, I mean asking the same question different ways so that you find all of the possible answers. That has served me well in a career where it seems half of my time is spent researching in Google.I got a great deal of curiosity from both of my parents, but it seems that dad is the poster child for always asking the question “what’s that?” Then seeking the answer on his own.
I think I got my desire for mechanical skill from him, and by that I mean that I really want to be able to take things apart and fix them, but while I have the rudimentary skills needed to complete most tasks, it’s the finer points I’m missing. And that’s where I usually stop caring–it would take too much effort to figure out how to do something requiring more effort.
I got some of my oddball sense of humor from my dad, who seems to have gotten quite a bit of it from his father, who was king of the off-color jokes. There’s his creativity, which I wish I had more of: I have the desire to draw, but simply can’t get my brain and hands to read from the same script when it comes to that. Thankfully, Patrick seems to have picked that up. He revels in my creativity, always showing interest in the story ideas I’m cranking out. So he’s one of the distinct people I write for when I do it.
I’m lucky. I know that. I’m almost 40, and I’ve still got a grandfather and my father. I can reach either just by sending an e-mail or picking up the phone. And Newt? Well, I can always reach him by just looking deep inside myself. He’s still there, sitting in his chair in his living room, laughing that restrained, but completely heartfelt laugh at seeing his grandkids having a good time.
Here’s hoping that I’m half the father to my kids that mine has been to me. I’ve got some great role models, but still need to learn my own path.
Wishing my best to all you fathers out there.
See you Monday.
