Instinct and Improv
The Following entry was written by Laid off dad. Laid off dad also writes for The Blogfathers:
June 18 will be my fifth Father’s Day, which means my older son will soon be old enough to attend kindergarten. It’ll be tough sending him off to school full time, because his first day will officially start the inexorable erosion of my influence in his life. The effect will be subtle at first. Refusals will morph into backtalk, then sass, then stinging rebuke, then vitriolic door-slamming, and in 10 years my transformation from primary playmate to the World’s Lamest Dorkweed will be complete.
If history is any guide, it will be another 10 years before he comes around again and decides that maybe I’m not a blithering idiot after all. When that happens, what sort of adult will he be? Will he be a man, or a guy? Will he be principled? Will he be self-assured? Or will he be suckered into buying a razor with 18 blades in it?
I have no idea, and worse still I have to admit that, when it comes to raising kids, I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. As far as I know, something I’ve already done has condemned my boy to life as an obnoxious prick. Or maybe I’m the obnoxious prick, and he’s spent his formative years learning from the master.
Whenever I get caught in an eddy of angst like this, I feel better when I consider my dad’s example, and how he managed to raise his boys against some long odds. Not that I’m ragging on my dad’s dad. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Grandpa was my first best friend, and for 10 years he and Grandma lived across the street from us. He and I spent hours together, putting golf balls and stuffing our faces with breadsticks and ginger ale right before dinner. (Mom loved that.) When I think back on it, his attentiveness was probably an attempt to atone for the time he spent away from his family, when his sons were young. Grandpa was the president of a small family business that kept him at work around 15 hours a day. He was usually up and out before Dad awoke and didn’t return until long after Dad was asleep. Even though Grandpa was technically around, there wasn’t a lot of time for all that wonderfully clichéd father-son bonding you see in beer commercials. So when Dad went off and procreated with the girl next door (seriously), he didn’t have much to go on.
Dad is a gentle man, in every sense of the phrase. He seldom raises his voice, and I can count the number of times he has cursed on one hand. (Once, he said shit and goddammit in the same sentence, and I braced for the Apocalypse.) I’m more of a hothead who could send both kids to college with funds from the Swear Jar, and many times I’ve wondered how he resists speaking out in certain situations. He has always been content to let his actions speak for him. He worked hard to make a life for his family, and to balance that with as much hands-on fathering as he could stand muster.
When I wanted to join Little League, Dad bought me a glove and let me pitch to him (and his creaky knees) for hours. He and I built a workbench in the basement, and he showed me how to use every tool on the pegboard. When I joined a Boy Scout troop in the next town over, he signed on as an Assistant Scoutmaster to help ease my transition into unknown territory.
Then came the College Decision.
My father, uncle, and grandfather all attended College X, and for as long as I could remember I assumed I’d go there, too. I had visited many times during reunion weekends, and as he showed me around he clearly reveled in the idea of his son retracing his footsteps. For my part, I liked the idea of continuing the tradition, of being a part of what would become a three-generation legacy.
When I was a junior, though, I visited my best friend, who had graduated a year earlier and matriculated at University Y. I loved it right away, and I knew I had a tough decision to make. Dad knew I was conflicted, and he could have easily launched a hard-core marketing campaign. Instead, he somehow stayed neutral while I dithered and agonized for weeks. Suddenly the epiphany came: If I chose Dad’s school, I was choosing it for him, but if I chose the university, I was choosing it for me. Ultimately, it was my job to choose my college experience. I screwed up the courage and told him I would turn down his alma mater’s acceptance, and he was incredibly supportive—even though I had just punched him in the gut.
Four years later, my family came down to college for Homecoming, and my dad got the chance to see the life I had built for myself at the school I chose. He raised his Scotch, looked me in the eye, and said I had made the right decision. He was proud of me. Even now, almost two decades later, I think of how much that meant to me, and all the hair on my forearms goes rigid. (Trust me, that’s saying something. I’ve got enough arm hair to contribute to Locks of Love.)
Thanks, Dad, for that moment, one of many that made fatherhood one of my primary ambitions. When it comes to raising children, we’re all groping around in the dark. But I learned a lot from you, enough to know that you can be a great father without always having all the answers. You can get sometimes get by with instinct and improv. And a willingness to let your kids think you’re a blithering idiot for a while.
Comments
This is a great piece! Happy Father's Day to you... and to your Dad and Grandpa. You've laid the foundation, whether you become Dorkweed or not, and that matters!
Posted by: Marie | June 15, 2006 9:33 AM
Great essay! Sounds like you've got a terrific foundation to build on.
Hey wait a sec...what's wrong with an 18 blade razor??
Posted by: Buzz | June 15, 2006 10:07 AM
Wow! That was a very touching post! Well, hate to be all cliche here but "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree", right?!
Posted by: Waya | June 16, 2006 2:03 PM
What a touching essay. Happy Father's day.
Posted by: Rose | June 16, 2006 6:02 PM
I really enjoyed your post. I also find myself wondering what sorts of things I may have already done to mess up my children, despite all the effort and good intentions made daily. I think our kids are very resilient, so whatever "mistakes" we make here and there do not discount all the great things we do daily. And the fact that we parents even worry about that stuff shows we're most likely on the right track. Happy Father's Day!
Posted by: Kristen | June 16, 2006 8:55 PM
That is some good stuff LOD... Promise me you modern Dads won't get soooo sensitived up as to completely trash the tense affections of the Dads of yore. With all the hugging and actualization I do get a bit freaked that no 'modern' kids will experience the gravity of this sort of approval.
ya think?
Posted by: mo-wo | June 19, 2006 10:26 PM
Ah, fathers. We care so much what they think and still live life our own ways. What a moving article... you sound like a wonderful father yourself.
Posted by: Jocelyn Milici | June 21, 2006 8:41 PM