Father's Day
June 2020
My sweet daddy was born in 1912, and I’ve celebrated about thirty father’s days without his jovial presence. It seems impossible that it’s been that long since he sat in his big brown lounger chair in Memphis and made silly jokes like “you’d be hot too if you just came out of the oven.” From that spot he proudly checked off the completed chores he’d listed on a Walls’ Automotive “scratch” pad in his crooked and belabored handwriting. In that lounger he liked to take one of his famous naps or to reminisce. Too late I began to ask him about his memories.
Somehow he and all his family outlasted the 1918 Flu; in fact, all thirteen siblings survived on that dirt-poor Mississippi farm, shouldering the endless work, and being fed from the hard, dry garden. They were a wild and rowdy bunch, most of them (and their offsprings) pranksters and, in the southern tradition, fine storytellers.
When asked, even recently, about our dads -- “what was he like?” -- the answers go something like this:
“He was a fire chief”
“He was a church deacon”
“He was a rural mail carrier”
“He drank too much”
For my dad or my uncles: “He owned a service station.”
Men, when I was a child, were identified by their work and ability to provide for their families. We recognized their sacrifices; saw what workaholics (or alcoholics) were created from that need for security. Too late for me to ask about those sacrifices or to find out if there were personal yearnings never allowed expression.
My dad overcame a lack of education and an abusive father to offer my sisters and me a more stable and comfortable life than he knew. More importantly, though, I watched his daily choices reveal how he valued honesty and service to others, given cheerfully, no strings attached.
This holiday I also have immense admiration for my son and his generation of fathers. I’m impressed with their hands-on caregiving. Did they learn such loving attentiveness from their fathers and grandfathers? Perhaps these modern dads are the result of generations of behavioral evolution, of paternity leave, and are fully formed as a new notion of fatherhood. Hopefully they learned from their wives, too, and even a thing or two from their flawed mothers. Mostly I believe it has grown out of their insights and open hearts. I’m deeply proud of you, Soren.
For some of you, this may be a sad Father’s Day because of the loss of dads or grandpas. We’re all poorer due to the generational erasures. These are fitting words from The Vexations by Caitlin Horrocks:*
“I imagine myself moving through and beyond them, the gathered generations, a little like walking through a closet of fur coats. They brush my cheeks, my arms, they gather round, gather me up. They are soft and heavy, with a smell of something that was once animal and alive, but isn’t any longer.”
As survivors it’s our privilege to celebrate our daddies, those passed on as well as those thankfully around for this day. Let us honor this intricate lineage for the strengths and vulnerabilities they instilled in us.
* I loved this book of historical fiction about Erik Satie. It is beautifully written and will sweep you away.