My theory is that as long as there is a solid foundation of love and support, children can survive almost any level of family dysfunction. I say that as I think about my own wonderful but insane dad on this Father’s Day and especially as I struggle with my feelings about myself as a parent.
My father regrets a lot of the choices he made as a young parent in the 1950s and 60s. I’m sorry that these old decisions cause him pain since they made a lot of sense at the time and were completely centered on his desire to provide for his family. We always knew how much he loved us even if he couldn’t hang out with the family very often because he was working so hard. My father came from a childhood of poverty and occasional homelessness, a huge contrast to my mother’s privileged background despite their proximity in Chicago. My dad never knew his own father (or even who his father was) and he struggled with his loving but mentally ill mother who was institutionalized when my father was quite young. My father worked from a very early age, often several jobs at once, from the kid who holds fresh eggs over a flame to see if they’re fertilized to the guy making root beer floats and grilled cheese sandwiches at the Walgreen’s counter on State Street. He had a very strong work ethic and was always looking for ways to make his fortune. When he got married at the age of 20 and started a family, his life mission was to ensure that his children would never have to know the pain he experienced when he was young.
His hard work paid off. We never wanted for anything and we never experienced the terror felt by children who are forced by circumstance to think about their own survival. Perhaps my father’s plan worked too well. Not that I blame my father for any of my natural sloth or my difficulties with delayed gratification, but I think my siblings and I would have benefited from increased responsibilities and a greater awareness of the troubles faced by much of the world.
Not that he hesitated to tell us about the evils lurking just outside our front door. Nothing delights my father more to this day than providing his children with detailed crime statistics for any neighborhood within a 25-mile radius of where we happen to be. Just to give you a tiny taste, this morning I was talking to him on the way to a wonderful Father’s Day brunch Kendall took Leah and me to at a swank Beverly Hills Hotel. My father ended the call with a grave and urgent, “Danny, please drive very carefully today!” “Why today?” I asked. “Don’t you realize how many crazies are out on the streets on Father’s Day?” I could understand such a concern on New Year’s Eve, but Father’s Day? “You know, all those people drinking at breakfast,” he added, looking for ways to bolster his claims and get me to drive extra defensively on this most dangerous of holidays. I continued my way down Wilshire, wary of the armies of drunken Beverly Hills dads swerving recklessly through the streets at 11 am from their Mimosas and Bloody Marys.
I’ve written many posts about my crazy dad and will write more but for now suffice it to say that a more caring, loving father could not be found on the planet. True, a ball never passed from his hand to mine, and most of my early memories of him are of the back of his head chauffeuring us around to various activities he never attended, but through it all I felt the full extent of the love he has for his children. I now talk to him on the phone nearly every day. If I miss a day, or God forbid two, he responds as if I’ve gone missing on the Iraqi border and am facing imminent beheading. Sometimes I avoid telling him things that I know will make him start hocking me unmercifully, even little stuff like my recent minor accident when I got rear-ended on the freeway. My dad is blind now so he can’t read my blog but my brother periodically reads it to him. I knew the exact moment when my dad heard the post that mentioned the car accident because my cell phone started vibrating uncontrollably in my pocket. Sometimes I think I should start dropping fake stories in my blog just to test my dad’s stamina and reaction time. “Good news! I’ve decided to move to the Middle East to work with refugees in one of the camps that has been cited as an Al-Quada stronghold.” When I’m not purposely trying to raise my dad’s blood pressure, I want to tell him how much I love him and am grateful for his role in my life. Even though I still can’t throw a ball.
When Leah was born, my father and others made a big deal at how involved I was with her care. For many folks in my dad’s generation, seeing a man change a single diaper was enough to canonize him as a bona fide SuperDad. My French former in-laws called me a “père/mère,” a kind of “father/mother” which flattered me at the time even while part of me wondered if it was meant as a compliment. Somewhere along the line I'm afraid I started believing my own publicity that I was some kind of perfect dad.
Twelve and a half years later, with my daughter careening into adolescence, I know that this is extremely far from the truth. My parenting is a thousand light years away from any level of perfection, but then again, so is everybody else’s. There is no such thing as perfect parenting, we all carry our baggage into the job whether we like it or not. The trick is learning how to contain the fires of denial and begin to realize what we’re doing. Just this week I’ve seen several painful examples of how my own dysfunction has prevented me from really listening to my child or providing her with appropriate role modeling. My new goal is to permanently lower my expectations. I am a good dad doing the best I can, and that's okay. I need to figure out how to work on my own shit while being the best parent I know how to be. It’s been an extremely difficult week because part of me still wants to cling to the fantasy of being SuperDad. And yet that fantasy does a disservice to the wonderful complexities of the role. The one thing I’m confident about during the more challenging times is that both my daughter and I know how much we love each other. Love has never been the problem, thank God, and that’s a damn good foundation to start with.
So here’s to the dads out there, warts and all. I challenge us to take a good hard look at our imperfections. Let’s figure out which ones are part of our unique cache of adorable eccentricities that will be cited at our funerals and which ones we need to drop-kick to the curb.
Right on.
Posted by: david | June 17, 2007 at 06:53 PM
Your dad sounds awesome, craziness included. And check out that *c*o*l*o*r* photo! Circa 1955? Clearly, he was a good provider!
Posted by: communicatrix | June 17, 2007 at 08:42 PM
Hi Danny,
sounds like you have a wonderful father and he is lucky to have a son like you. I wish my dad was still around to see my family. He passed away just a few years after I graduated high school. I think it's great that you still have a close relationship. Great post!
Posted by: Arlene (Silverman) Andresen | June 17, 2007 at 08:46 PM
What an amazing post. Thank god kids are so resilient. I would be in big trouble with mine, if they weren't.
Posted by: churlita | June 17, 2007 at 09:27 PM
Danny,
I seem to have misplaced my red hat from the above picture. Have you seen it?
I too still get Dad's loving "Crime and Safety” alerts. Daily.
I received yesterday's Father's Day driving bulletin too, which ended with the instruction: "Be CAREFUL". Out of respect to the holiday, I felt obligated to be honest. I responded, 'I'm sorry Dad. I have other plans".
Danny, I'm still blown away by your ability to illustrate so clearly a story as complex as Dad's youth and it's lifelong impact and effect.
As far as your "struggle with my feelings about myself as a parent,” I say, (insert Italian accent here) "Forget about it"!
I happen to know you are a terrific Dad. I have sworn statements from Leah and Kendall to that effect, on file.
Posted by: Your big brother, Bruce | June 18, 2007 at 06:30 AM
Another great blog...now that my daughter has moved out, I have similar feelings about me as a mother. Also I remind myself of your dad, as soon as my daughter wants to talk to me, I think there must be a problem, and think of worse case scenarios. Must be my jewish genes gone haywire. I also end each conversation, "Be Careful" or another favorite to co-workers, "get home safely"
Posted by: Judy Frank | June 18, 2007 at 09:01 AM
As usual, a masterful post. Your dad is one heck of a guy who, it is clear from what you write about him, loves you very much and cares for you very deeply.
About gauging oneself as a parent - against what "golden yardstick" are we doing this? Parenting is somewhat of an extreme sport (I have written about this somewhere on my blog, but I can't remember when exactly...), and we weather the storms, performing our parental role to the best of our ability, while dealing with our own imperfections, quirks, and crises. Danny, it is obvious from what you have written in the past about your relationship between you and your daughter, that you are a wonderful dad.
Posted by: Elisabeth | June 18, 2007 at 09:13 AM
Very touching Danny.
As my Mother and I have grown farther apart, my Father and I get closer.
I too worry about my parenting abilities but find solace in the fact that every night I tell my daughter that she is the best gift I ever got. She can raise my blood pressure like nobody else, but the joy at just seeing that face and knowing she is part of me never leaves me anything but joyous.
Posted by: Kat | June 18, 2007 at 11:56 AM
Ah Danny, the guilt, eh? Will we ever get over the guilt about being a good parent? But, really and truly and authentically, as human as we all are and all that good stuff ... you are a fabulous Dad! One of the finest. I have seen you in action and believe me, I think you are one of the finest. Happy Belated Father's Day! I raise my cup of tea to you and wish you years of wonderful fatherly loving with your own Dad and for you as a Dad!
Posted by: tamarika | June 18, 2007 at 01:15 PM
It's fortunate you can look back at your dad and not hold a grudge. It sounds as if you have quite a nice relationship today. By the way, don't know if you are aware of a progressive organization called Dads & Daughters, but it's made for men like you and who want to be as good parents as they can be to their daughters. Check it out! http://www.dadsanddaughters.org/
Posted by: Rhea | June 19, 2007 at 08:23 AM
It's fortunate you can look back at your dad and not hold a grudge. It sounds as if you have quite a nice relationship today. By the way, don't know if you are aware of a progressive organization called Dads & Daughters, but it's made for men like you and who want to be as good parents as they can be to their daughters. Check it out! http://www.dadsanddaughters.org/
Posted by: Rhea | June 19, 2007 at 08:23 AM
My dad wasn't perfect either but now I think he was the greatest. I know that you are a good father, I can just tell. For one thing you have all those cool treasures from the golden age of TV.
Posted by: Ian | June 21, 2007 at 02:05 PM
My father is perfect and I hope he lives forever.
This was a beautiful post.
Posted by: May | August 13, 2007 at 04:00 AM