I Do Not Know My Father...

This is not a "Daddy Dearest" memorandum or a polemic against my Dad. I am trying to assess how he and I got to this place in our lives with some honest reflection about our relationship situation. So, here goes...

Dennis has been my father for 59+ years. I spent the first 18 years of my life with him and Mom. After that, I was home with them off and on again after that until I was 22. In that time, I never knew need. I was cared for in terms of necessity in the best way. I always had what I needed and most of what I wanted. The only thing that I was ever missing was relationship, most especially with my father. As I look back at those years now, I wonder at what happened. It seems like from my birth, Dad and I were always at odds, maybe even in competition, and I do not know what for. Mom's attention? Approval from Mom and grandparents? I don't know.

Dad has never been one to share things with me. Emotions and feelings were not something he did when he was with me. It could be that he was unable to do them  or he thought they were unmanly and did not want me to get sissified. If that was the intent, it obviously did not work :) Maybe he only ever shared with Mom. He is epileptic and emotions and stress would sometimes drive his seizures. He just never expressed things like approval, love or concern to his son - me. He never even tried to build any kind of real relationship with me. I was always my mothers problem or something for my grandparents to deal with. There was either something too intense for him about me or he just resented me. Maybe both. Nevertheless, he upheld his material, and to a certain extent, his spiritual responsibilities. He did teach me a few things for which I am eternally grateful. It's those things that bind us today.

Love for my mother. I know how much he loved her. Even when I was in high school I would come home late to find them lying on the couch together making out. It was more like they were in high school. Even when they argued with each other, you could feel the love. I never had any doubt about his love for her.

The value of a good knot. I remember when he taught me how to tie my shoes. I was between 3 and 4 years old. We were moving from Bonderant to Des Moines. I'm not sure where Mom was, but we were at the house in Bonderant and I was running around the house like a wild man with untied tennis shoes. We sat down on the floor of the near empty house together and over and over again, he showed me what to do to keep my shoes tied. He held my hands in his as we made the shoe strings do their thing. By the end of that day, I could tie my shoes like a champ. Since that time, I have had the privilege of tying his sneakers many times. He also taught me what I call the universal fisherman's knot for tying hooks and lures to your fishing line. It's kind of a backward hangman's noose. Fishing is something we did together and without Mom for the most part. Sometimes Gramps was in attendance, but fishing is what we did together. They were not always pleasant trips, but it was, as they say, quality time. I always looked forward to them in spite of some of the unpleasantness that might occur. Let me just say that sometimes we were equally disagreeable. Then there was the knot of knots. When I began wearing the occasional tie to church or social occasions it was always a clip on. I graduated finally to a man's tie and he showed me the double Windsor knot. It was quite stylish in the 70's to sport a double Windsor on your paisley tie. Now I can tie a perfect neck knot with my eyes closed. Knots are invaluable tools, I'm tellin you.

The ability to do hard work and do it well. Dennis was a bit of a perfectionist with a touch of OCD. There was only one correct way to do any task...his way. I admired the time he would spend in his struggle to make it , whatever it was, just right. But when I would come up with a way to achieve the same result with a labor saving, time saving method, I was just being lazy. We were both relentless in our efforts to finish our work with quality results. We just disagreed on methodology. Perhaps the whole thing amounted to him wanting his son to do it the way he always did it. Innovation was not his style. Following his prescribed method was what it was all about. One does not mow the lawn to get it over with. One mows the lawn to mow the lawn. He was, in many ways, very Zen.

Faithfulness. He loved the church and I am certain he loves Jesus. It was evidenced by his attendance and participation in things at church. He taught the 5th grade boys. He taught Sunday night youth group for the same ages. He was a deacon and served on the board at church. He and Mom also ran the bus program when we had a church bus. There are people at our church today that came up through that program. He just never shared his faith with me beyond what we did at church. To this day, I still do not know if he had a favorite scripture or a favorite hymn or song. We seldom prayed at home even at mealtime. We certainly never had devotions before bed. The whole thing would have been way too intimate for him to deal with. In some ways, he always lacked depth at home that he would show in other places.      

Stubbornness. This is a two edged sword in the world of personality traits. When it is abused it becomes a refusal to admit one is wrong; it's a prideful tool of the adversary. When it is used appropriately, it becomes a virtue; an unbending desire to do or follow what is right and moral. Dad has always had the confidence that he is right....about everything. Me too. The problem is - was - will always be that we are not always right. Hence the dilemma. Dad and I could not both be right about an issue unless we were in agreement. Agreement did not happen much. Nonetheless, the stubbornness that I learned from him has made me strong and resilient in matters of morality and life decisions even as it has made me self righteous on many occasions and even weak.

These are a few things I learned from my father. As I was typing them out, I realized something. I know him better than I thought I did. I know him because much of what he is is in me. For good or ill, I am my father's child.

He inadvertantly helped me learn about God's grace too, but that will have to wait for another time.