Men, tell me about your father

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
61

My story seems like some of those above, in that my father was a good father in the important ways, but I never felt particularly close to him. My father is very hard-working and disciplined. He grew up poor – he lived in a house without an indoor bathroom until he was a teenager, which seems mind-boggling to me. He was one of seven children living on a small rural farm. In later life, it’s occurred to me that I know almost nothing about his childhood, and looking back I suspect that it wasn’t a very warm or loving environment. His parents did not seem to value education, but despite this, he put himself through school, eventually earning a Ph.D.

He’s a virtuous person. I’ve never known him to lie, cheat, or steal. He rarely curses. He’s unfailingly polite. He’s very much a “play by the rules” kind of person. As a child I thought this made him boring, but the older I get the more I respect his virtues, and have to concede that in many ways he is my better.

He provided for our family very well. We weren’t wealthy, but we never had to go without anything we really needed, and he paid for all of our college educations.

However, we’ve never been close. We’re very different people. I was extremely shy, and he is fairly outgoing. He’s athletic, and I was terrible at sports as a child, and avoided them. I devoured books, and I never knew my dad to read a book for pleasure (he educated himself for career reasons, and displayed no intellectual curiosity that I could see). He is extremely pragmatic and practical, and I was an imaginative and fanciful child. My dad was not an emotionally demonstrative person with anyone, but when it came to me, I think he was just baffled. I could never escape the feeling that I wasn’t the kind of son he’d wanted. (He never said such a thing, and never would; we just seemed unable to connect.)

Some of these “lessons” have symbolic value that is hard to explain. My dad has Parkinson’s now, and is losing his fine motor skills. I was visiting a few months ago, and he was having trouble tying his necktie, so I helped him. He was standing in the bathroom in front of the mirror, and I was standing behind him, reaching around to tie his tie (because that’s the only way I can do it – it’s all muscle memory). Suddenly it hit me that this was the exact reversal of how my dad had taught me to to do this as a child; I was the one standing in front of the mirror, watching him reach around from behind and tie the tie. At that moment, I decided that I would always tie my ties in precisely this way (as opposed to other kinds of knots).

62

He’s old and sick now. Due to both his illness and the medications he takes, he’s alseep or in a world of his own most of the time.
He spent a nearly 50 year career in law enforcement and 35 years in the Army Reserve as well. He was, and is, one of the most physically fearless men I ever knew. He taught me that there is no point in being afraid when what must be done must be done.
He has a generous heart. He taught me that possessions are just junk, that they will never, ever make a person happy, and so I ought not get attached to them or succumb to greed for them.
He taught me to take care of my own. He always saw to his wife and kids before himself.
He taught me to drive, to shoot, to use hand tools, and other generally accepted skill of the mid-twentieth century man. He didn’t want his sons to be effette or ineffectual.
He remains my hero.

63

They really do, IMO. As I posted elsewhere, I’ve read of tribes where they initiate men. In one culture, each man cuts himself and bleeds into a bowl. Then the boy drinks from it to become a man. Kind of makes our rituals look like a booger, but hey, we have to have something.

I can add others…

  1. He never* taught me to drive
  2. He never told me about the birds and bees
  3. He never** took me camping or fishing
  4. He never taught me how to throw a ball (older brothers—had help on that one)

*One lesson only, I think. It wasn’t that I had done so badly but rather, that he was usually working when it was time for me to practice.

**Actually he did once but it was pretty late in my formative years…when I had discovered girls and was less interested than I would have been when I was younger.

He did watch some of my little league games; he’d sit in the car and watch a few innings, but then he’d have to go to work. He was probably listening to the radio, maybe doing a crossword; the next day he didn’t say anything about it.

He never saw the point of school, dropping out from 8th grade in 1935 or so, but I loved high school and graduated, then graduated college with honors. He read a lot and was really smart—and I wish he’d transferred some of his skill for fixing cars and houses to me. His generation, or SES maybe, valued strength over smarts I guess, so the praise (if it came…I don’t remember but think it must have) was probably meager and faint.

64

My father loves me and my sister very much. He had two kids and has often said he’d wished he had more because he enjoyed having us so much. He taught me more things than I can count of can be bothered to type out. He was and is devoted to his children, and he is absolutely crazy about my daughter, his only grandchild.

He was badly abused by his father, and I think has lived his life resolved to be nothing like that. He dropped out of high school, got a job in a factory, and later went to university part time as a mature student, graduating, becoming an executive, and eventually starting his own company, which he sold for more than enough money to retire on. Everything he did he did to try to better his family’s lot in life and he succeeded. And he still tells me I should make sure I don’t work too much and should spend lots of time with my Small One.

65

I am 34, and respect my father more than any other man I can think of.

He was born the youngest of 14 children to a share cropper in rural Alabama (little place called Hamilton Crossroads about 20 minutes outside of Troy, AL). He got his first pair of shoes when he was 13. I’ve seen the “houses” they grew up in and they look like the sheds behind my house where I keep my tools. He joined the rest of his family in the cotton fields when he was 4 years old. He met my mother when he was 10 and she was 8 (this year will be 40 years they’ve been married). He dropped out of school in the 9th grade and joined the Navy at age 16 (my grandad lied on his paperwork to get him in). He served 8 years as a torpedoman on a destroyer and then moved to Tyler, TX. While working 2 jobs, to support his family…and me on the way, he attended college in Tyler and got his Associates of Computer Science. He is currently planning to retire next year from a very large bank as a VP of IT.

Along with the other things he taught me (how to shave, throw a ball, how to drive, being respectful…etc.), the most important thing, to me, that he taught me was that with hard work and motivation, you can do damn near anything and overcome almost any obstacle in your way.

I love my father very much.

66

My parents are seperated. I spent alternate weekends with Dad, but we never did anything particularly father-sonish. I think he taught me to ride a bike. My stepdad either. Except teaching me to swim. He tried taking me out for car lessons but after one I refused to do it with him again :slight_smile: I’m not sure if either tried, but I would have shot down any birds and the bees talks. Step dad did tell me some interesting stories from his life. And took me on walks.

My aunt on the other hand, took me to my first rock concert and my first bar :slight_smile:

I do kind of wish someone had taught me more home ec kind of stuff - laundry, cooking, money management, etc.

67

Wow, I love reading everyone’s stories. I’m a daddy’s girl myself, and I miss him a lot. (I should add that he’s not dead, I’ve just moved far away and neither of us can afford to visit very often.) To everyone who’s shared: thank you, very much.

68

Sounds like a spinoff thread: “Women, tell me about your fathers.”

69

My father had been a sickly child. Like his older brother (whom he wasn’t especially close to) he was in the seminary, training to become a priest, but decided he didn’t want to become one and left, then meeting and marrying my mother. My uncle also eventually left the priesthood to get married.

I only found out much later in life that for the early part of my childhood my father was a functioning alcoholic. He (apparently) kept his job but would drive around with a bottle of whiskey under the front seat of the car (he had a long commute). It apparently wasn’t unusual for him to be in a drunken stupor in the evenings or weekends.

I was a middle child, the oldest boy. My brother who is only 18 months younger than me was himself very sick when he was born and was at death’s door for most of the first year of his life. My mother was often at the hospital with him, leaving me and my sister to be cared for by my father.

Some of my earliest memories are of strife with him. There was no abuse per se but I just remember being unhappy often. In retrospect the pattern of our relationships were a common one in families of alcoholics, my sister was the goody two shoes who tried to do everything right for parental approval, my brother was the sickly baby, and I was the rebellious middle child who fought my father’s self-imposed alcholic isolation and felt abandoned by my mother.

As far as I can tell my father stopped drinking when I was in my early teens. To this day I have no idea how he did it (AA or what) and he has never, ever, spoken about it. But the pattern of our relationship had been set: strife, arguments, disagreements. I rarely sought his approval because I was often angry with him, I was not going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know I cared what he thought about me.

(This only slowly started to change as I was in my teens and both my parents helped me with some problems I had with school. It took me a very, very long time to beleive they were on my side because I was so used to not depending on them.)

My father did take us to several professional baseball games, watched us play Little League and was pretty involved in our Scouting activities, especially as I got older. He also took us camping and fishing and stuff, but it was often obvious he wasn’t interested for himself, he was just taking us because we wanted to go and he had difficulty hiding his irritation (most of my memories like this are from the period he drank).

He probably did teach me to tie a tie at some point, but shaving I figured out for myself (I didn’t start shaving regularly until I was away at college). We never had “The Talk”, I learned the birds and the bees from a kid’s book we had that covered the subject, also from Judy Blume and sex ed. at school.

He rarely played with us, physical activities and exercise were emphatically not his thing. He was very good at helping us with our homework, and was a good provider financially.

We are closer now but it is impossible I think to really make up lost opportunities. The early years of my life formed who I am, and consequently how I relate to him (and my mother). It is no accident that of all their children I went to college furthest away, and live furthest away now.

When my own son was born I resolved that I would do my damnedest to make sure he and I had a much closer relationship. He and I play and do stuff often, I help him with his homework, talk to him about school, friends, or whatever. I often make his meals for him. I make sure I am never drunk or otherwise emotionally unavailable and let him know in as many ways I can that he is a high priority in my life, and that I am proud of him.

70

That hits the nail on the head for me. Although I wanted to be close to my dad, it was too late by the time he came back into my life. I only have the most fragmented memories of the years prior to his leaving, and while they were enough to stoke the fire of wanting to know him and who he was, in the end they couldn’t sustain a true bond after so much time had passed. Those years before you become a teenager are the years when you bond the most, and if you toss those away, that’s it. You can’t get them back, and you can’t make a relationship out of thin air. Blood may be thicker than water but absence can dilute it’s strength.

71

I never went through a “longing for a father” phase. I guess just living in a big family, there were plenty of distractions…and he was there, physically.

Back in 1990, I got a call that he and my mom were in a bad car accident. If the other car had been going 5 mph faster or if they arrived at the intersection half a second earlier, it would have probably been fatal—that kind of thing.

So I called the hospital room, he answered, and the first words out of my mouth were, “I love you, dad.” Funny, that wasn’t in the script of questions I had mentally lined up. But the accident was one of those that brings you out of the mundane, makes you come straight down to earth, makes you realize that a life can end in an instant, and then there will be no more chances.

He replied, in a kind of bland voice, “Oh, uh, yeah. Well, here’s your mother,” and handed the phone to her. I think from that moment, I let go of any possibility.

72

You might classify it as a metaphor.

Each by itself is not a big deal, but in may case it is a microcosm of my relationship with my Dad. When I was very young, he left for work at 6 am. Came home at 8 pm. Weekends he played golf, or did home repair and couldn’t be bothered with me. He was in my life, just a never part of my life.
“Cat’s in the Cradle”

73

First off, as many times before, I’m woefully late to a discussion. Sorry to summon a zombie thread (?)

Reading up on people’s fathers is extremely interesting, as I feel I have no father even though he’s lived in the same apartment as me for the first 20 years of my life.

My father came from a very poor, dysfunctional, abusive “family” (lack of food, beatings, witnessing mom getting beaten etc.). AFAIK, he’s been battling serious mental issues for all his adult life. At any rate, he’s a highly passive, distant, moody, irritable person I was afraid of throughout my childhood, contempted through my adolescence, and now in my 30’s that I’ve begun to accept him, his mental state has deteriorated: he’s attacked my mother twice, been wheeled to an asylum by police etc. For years I thought that however lousy a father he was, at least he was never physically violent like his step"father" had been. Now even that one’s busted.

My father was a religious teetotaller, but at the same time completely unable to provide for or relate to his children. His scary demeanor (he was always very angry, it seemed) made me actively avoid him as a child. Later on, his tremendous lack of manliness (if he’s taught me something it’s: don’t work unless you absolutely have to, don’t participate in household chores or your children’s lives, spend your little money on things you personally want, reading (irrelevant to income) books in bed all day long is a fine way to spend one’s time, physical exertion is to be avoided at all times), as well as his off-the-wall physical appearance made me feel ashamed of him. I’ve never had a meaningful discussion or even a fleeting feeling of bonding with my father.

I haven’t been taught how to throw a ball, how to ‘fit in’ with groups of men (sporting events etc.), how to drive a car, how to pick up dates, how to shave, how to fend for myself, how to study, how to work, how to set goals and achieve them etc. etc. I can only wonder how much of my past loner/loser ways came from nature vs. nurture. Now, as a father myself, I go by the rule: “don’t do anything like your father did”, and I seem to be doing all right.

74

I forgot something important.

My Dad did all the right Dad things - working hard, supporting us, so on and so forth - but he also, for as long as I can remember, took every opportunity he could to tell me he loves me. He still does, in fact, and will sometimes call just to tell me that. That means a lot, and has heavily informed the way I treat my family.

75

Mine was soft-spoken, not very forthcoming with details about his life (he was 46 before I was born) or maybe I wasn’t inquisitive. Anyway, he died when I was 17, and going through a bad rebellious period, so there’s a lot I wish I knew about him that I’ll never know.

He had been orphaned even younger than I had been, and I know nothing about his upbringing or family. He liked to wake up early (so I do I now) and read for hours by early light, though he had to drop out of school before his teens. I think he’d be (alone among my relatives, including me) proud of what I do for a living. The unversity I teach at is a couple of blocks from the restaurant he owned when he died, where I worked as a boy, so I often pass his old storefront and think about him.

76

Without going into too much details, we were never that close to begin with, and my teenager crisis drove us even further away from each other. I still see him a number of times each month when I eat with them, but we get on each other’s nerves very fast - we’re both very intense people. So we basically ignore each other as best we can, I guess.

Which is fine by me, I’m not especially fond of the guy.
We’ve never had anything in common, interests-wise nor philosophy-wise, and besides he’s hardly ever really there - not in a physical sense, but he always seems to be somewhere else in his head, thinking about his work, or his best friends’ restorated of an old car, or his horse or oG knows what. Never really understood him, and he damn sure never understood me.

I sometimes feel like I’m something of a disappointment to him, but…shrug

I do owe him for indirectly introducing me to Jacques Brel and Georges Brassens though.

77

My dad divorced my mom when I was in my early teens, and moved several hours away.

When I was young, my dad had anger management problems and would explode into a rage under the slightest provocation. Its embarassing to admit that this trait rubbed off on me, because I subconciously learned that an effective way to get some people to cater to you is to act peevish and hostile for no reason.

He would bounce back and forth between flipping out at me for something stupid, and ‘apologizing’ for it by taking me out somewhere fun. This was really confusing to me; as a kid I wanted so badly to feel ‘close’ to my dad but I was absolutely terrified of him. As I got older, I learned that he had drug problems when I was a kid, but had one of those personalities that made it so it never completely caught up with him responsibility-wise.

I don’t remember if he taught me to tie a tie (I know my mom’s boyfriend did, but to be honest I was so hopeless that I don’t think anyone could have caught me). He did teach me to tie knots and we went to baseball games, which I enjoyed even though I’m not into sports. We also went sailing. One of my fondest memories of him as a kid was when my great-grandmother died. He pulled me out of school that day to go sailing with him :smiley: . He was quite a wallflower and seeing an old 8mm film of a family get together shows him sitting alone, not talking to anyone. When the camera zooms in on him, he gives it a middle finger :dubious:

Nowadays, my dad is in his fifties, living with a new family. Illness and injury have rendered him rather immobile, and he spends most of his time in his living room watching TV. Medication (either for pain or mood swings) have rendered him extremely mellow, and he is a strange shell of the man he used to be.

78

Nothing I do will ever make him happy.
I can’t grasp his decision-making process.
He will not accept kindness, gifts, or the smallest demonstration of love from me. But he will from my sister, & my niece.
I will never understand him.
All I can do is try not to make the kind of fuss that bothers him.

79

My father committed suicide when I was 2. I have no memory of him at all. He was apparently quite ill, with what was most likely some form of stomach or other cancer and severely depressed. I don’t know many specifics, as it was just never talked about when I was growing up. One day he took a 45 and shot himself in the head in the parlor of our house.

I know his side of the family blamed my mom, and thus my sisters and I never had much to do with them, to the point where I couldn’t tell you the names of my uncles wives or their kids.

Only my fathers sister and her family were at all close to us, and her husband, my uncle Pat, was probably the closest thing to a father I ever had. I discovered in my late teens that he and my mom had been having an affair on-off for years.
He was in Law Enforcement for years, and was the first person for whom I learned about shooting and hunting and self-defense.

I’m 40 now and mom and the grandparents have all been gone at least 15 years. He’s the last “parental figure” left to me. I haven’t spoken to him for over 6 years, and never told him what he meant to me growing up.

80

Fix that.

Xmas is good for such things.