Dad

Dad, we have never hugged. At least I have no memory of us ever having done so. I have seen you hug Jeff [my brother] and Dan [a family friend] when his father died. We have gone for years at a time without speaking to each other. Even now, as failing health has brought a kind of reconciliation, our conversations remain stilted and superficial.

You came of age in the 50's and 60's. You were twenty-three when I was born. In fact, you rushed to the hospital to be with your wife and your first born child during your bar exams to become a young attorney. But I have no idea what you felt about being a father in the age of the Vietnam War, the civil rights movement, the assassination of President Kennedy, Elvis, the Beatles, the Cold War, and Neil Armstrong taking that giant leap for mankind.

I know nothing about you - what truths your years on earth have brought you, what lessons your life experiences have taught, what wisdom your insights have revealed. I believe that you harbor secret grudges against me, and undisclosed disappointments that continue to affect our relationship to this day.

For some children it was, 'I can't wait for my father to get home,' for me it was, 'Wait till your father gets home.' I don't know how many hours I spent laying on my bed, dreading to hear the car pull into the driveway, in trouble for some infraction I barely understood.

It was a different time and a different place. 'Spare the rod' was the rule of the day, but even so, you were quick with the belt. And the games you made of it. You would ask me how many lashes I thought I deserved, and if it wasn't enough, you doubled it. You taunted me while choosing which belt - narrow or wide - you would whip me with. You stood in the hallway swinging the belt and made me run past you into my bedroom. And when you were very angry, whether you would beat me with the strap or with the buckle.You told me to take it like a man and not cry or call out. This was for my own good. It hurt you more than it hurt me.

I never felt that I could come to you with a personal problem like other boys did with their dads. I felt like other boys shared a secret knowledge about what it meant to be a man, that I wasn't privy to. Our mutual frustrations during my teen years led to physical fights and a lifetime of estrangement.

Back in the day, there were two distinct and separate worlds, the world of adults, and the world of kids. I thought of you the same way as I did a teacher, a cop, a neighbor who yelled at us to stay off his lawn. It was an unspoken reality that when the two worlds came into contact with each other, nothing good would come of it.

Yes, there were family vacations and drives out to the country after dinner when we kids would snuggle up in our pj's in the back of the Rambler. We have our family stories, like the time we were at a municipal pool in California while visiting mom's parents. I was about eleven years old and I kept running over to you to hand you ribbons I won in an open swim competition.

But there was no connection, no bond of trust and respect, no closeness, no love.

You wore two faces: the public face of professionalism, reasonableness, logic, and amiability; and the private face of rage, arbitrariness, bullyism, and rejection.

Mom says you did your best. I guess at the end of the day we can all say that. Is it an excuse? A justification? I don't think so. You were an adult. You knew better.

I vowed that when I became a father it would be different. And it was. I hugged my sons. I told them that I loved them - even in public. It embarrassed them, but I know it made them feel good. And even as adults, they are not immune from my public displays of affection.

Once I became a father and you became a grandfather, we tried to make amends. You and mom, Shellie [my wife] and I, and the boys shared many adventures together, as we traveled gravel roads to hidden museums, craft shops, barn tours, bluegrass festivals, even a rodeo in the middle of nowhere.

Now that we have both straddled the fine line between life and death, we know that time is precious and regrets are a heavy burden to carry over the threshold. People are quick to point out that as long as there's life, it's never too late.

Yet, I cannot help but feel that it is. A hug between us would be too awkward and ultimately an empty gesture. I have often asked myself what I would feel at your passing, and the only thought that comes to me is what might have been.

So, as I reflect on the meaning of this Father's Day, I ask, what will be the legacy of the longest and most formative relationship of my life? I think that after all the hurt is washed (or burned) away, there will be forgiveness, and understanding, and yes, perhaps even love.