Thanks Dad – Heroes
November 25, 2010, By David Wright 3 comments
I slammed my bedroom door shut, locked it and screamed. I can’t remember exactly what I screamed at my dad -- I’m guessing I said I hated him. And at that moment, at age 17, I did.
When I was a child, my dad was an infallible superhero. He meant the world to me and I wanted to be just like him. Then, as I got older, the hero became my arch nemesis, someone who seemed out to extinguish all joy from my life.
I blamed my dad for a lot of things – that we moved to a new neighborhood where I didn’t fit in, that we didn’t have money for nice clothes or to do things, that I had no friends and was bullied and that I was doing poorly in school.
My life more or less sucked. And it was all his fault.
A few moments later, he knocked at my door. I feared what was to come next. My dad is old school intimidating and though it had been a while, he reminded me on a few occasions that I wasn’t too old for “The Belt.” Of course, at that age, the belt was more humiliating than painful, but it still struck fear in me.
He knocked again, “Open the door.”
And I did, reluctantly.
He wanted to talk to me. Sat next to me on the bed. Rather than yell at me, as he’d been doing for years because of my bad grades and whatever else I was doing wrong, he simply spoke. And he sounded exhausted.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” he said.
He then confessed to me, for the first time, that he didn’t know how to be a father.
His own father was an abusive man who terrorized his wife and children, so my dad had no example when he was growing up. All he knew is that he didn’t want to be like his father. He told me how he wasn’t able to finish high school because he was forced to work the farm to help support his family at a young age. He told me of the shame he carried for that lack of education. He told me how hard it was working all day and then going to night school years later to get his diploma, as he had done a a couple of years prior.
And then he said something I never expected.
“I’m sorry.”
He admitted his own failings and the times he’d been too rough on me (he never beat me, but he was overly strict). He apologized for not knowing the right things to do. He said he was sad that I was so creative and intelligent, and yet I was wasting my talents and an opportunity he never had as a kid.
And at that moment, something shifted in me. I saw my father as he really was – a man who always did the right thing even when the right thing was hard. A man who was so honest, I don’t think he knows how to lie. A dedicated man who worked harder than anyone I’d ever known.
My dad sacrificed his own happiness to raise his family.
In the 1970’s, we lived in a house which he was able to afford. Things were looking up, I was a happy, outgoing child who had several friends. Then, almost overnight, the neighborhood went bad. Thugs ruled the streets, my mom was mugged in front of me, I was nearly snatched by someone and every house on the street had been robbed. It seemed only a matter of time before real violence would arrive at our doorstep.
Though he couldn’t afford it, and though he’d be buying a house at the height of the housing market, he moved us to the much safer suburbs in 1981. Which meant he had to drive two hours or more a day, wake up very early and never had any money left after paying bills. It was rough and the man never complained. He just did what he had to do.
Meanwhile, I’d been so focused on my own misery, I had failed to see what he was doing for us. The opportunities he was giving our family.
As he spoke, I suddenly realized and appreciated all he had done.
I’d love to say all of his lessons hit home that day, but I was young and dumb, and failed to live up to expectations for some years to come. But that was the last fight we had. How could I fight with a man who gave so much and asked for so little?
Now, I am a first-time dad to a three year old boy, a boy who looks at me with the same starry-eyed expression I once viewed my dad. And God, I love that feeling. I hate to think I’ll someday be “the bad guy.”
Remember how I said my dad never lied?
Well, that’s not entirely true. You see, he did know how to be a good father. A father who leads not by words, but by example. A father who puts his family’s needs first. A father who is a hero, but won’t mind that you saw him as a villain. Why? Because that’s what it means to be a real man -- and a real father.
Thank you, dad. I love you.
We all thank dad for different reasons ... check out more Thanks Dad from the Man of the House team.
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