“How do we forgive our fathers? Maybe in a dream. Do we forgive our fathers for leaving us … ? For shutting doors or speaking through walls? … or never being silent? Do we forgive our fathers for marrying … or divorcing … our mothers?” -“Smoke Signals” 1998
My father has been gone 12 years, now. Still, that essay never fails to make me a bit weepy.
Today we are all thinking about our fathers, and about that delicate relationship between a man and his child. Mothers are perceived to be the first-class parent. It is usually a more intimate bond, and somehow easier. Fathers must be disciplinarians. “Just wait ”til your father gets home!” is every mother”s threat. Fathers dispense punishment. Mothers soothe the hurt. Who would want the father”s role?
There are fewer thanks for dads. They are so much harder to gift. Mothers receive flowers, perfumes, sweets. Their gifts are soft and pretty things. Fathers get “ties,” a word that can be both literal and symbolic. Maybe that is because mothers give us our wings. They are the butterfly of parents. Fathers ground us. They are tethers.
I come from a generation where fathers and mothers were married — to each other. We had never even heard of a paternity test. My father had three children. He was proud of the fact that he never changed a diaper. I am proud that he never denied that we were his.
In those days, fathers were distant. Still, we did not doubt that they loved us. They went to work and came home exhausted. They made time for our interests. My brother loved sports. My sister and I were thespians of a sort, small drama queens. My father, along with the overworked fathers of our friends, attended our events and pathetic performances. They did this gladly.
I have adult friends who are still complaining about their fathers. There is a time to just get over it, grow up. Those men did the best that they could. They could fight wars (take your pick: World War II, Viet Nam, Korea, Iraq, Afghanistan), and still be gentle with their babies.
Like it or not, fathers gave us more than our surname. They gave us great parts of themselves. A parent”s legacy is a wild mix of attitude, personality and a few physical traits, all filtered through the gene pool. The DNA may be flawed, but it makes us who we are. Perhaps your mother is a “saint.” But, if you like yourself at all, give some credit to dear old dad.
I don”t know how we “forgive our fathers.” However, a better question might be, “How do we thank our fathers?” The quote from “Smoke Signals” asks, “Do we forgive our fathers in our age, or in theirs? Or in their deaths, saying it to them or not saying it?”
I doubt that I ever thanked my father. It is now too late. I hope he knew that I loved him.
Today, I will send a small donation to the Cedarhill Animal Sanctuary, because Bruce Elliott loved all animals. (I truly inherited that from him.) You may have your own personal homage.
And to my readers, if your father is still alive, please give him a hug from me. I”ll bet he did a good job raising you.
(Special Fathers” Day greetings to Chris Hannon, from his sweet progeny, Cordelia, Charlotte and Loa Kitty. We love you very much!)
Adele Elliott, a New Orleans native, moved to Columbus after Hurricane Katrina.
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