My middle sister talks about how in some ways we had two different fathers. There was the man he was through our childhood and into our thirties and the man he became after his triple bypass.
Grandchildren, age and changes in his health softened him quite a bit, but there were moments when I saw the older version of himself come out again.
Don’t mistake that to mean that he was abusive or mean because I didn’t see him like that. But I always knew he could have a pretty hard edge to him and it could be unpleasant to come up against it.
I expect my children might say the same thing about me. I think circumstances and experiences impact that and some parts of parenting require it.
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There was a time when my father used the “you can’t screw an old head on young shoulders” line on me and I told him I knew more about picking up women than he did.
He started to say something and I spoke over him, “I have more experience than you did and you don’t need nor to want to know all of the details.”
I can’t remember exactly where the conversation went from there but it was loud and there is probably nothing of consequence to take from it so lack of memory doesn’t matter.
Dad wasn’t someone to discuss that aspect of the past. If it was over he likely saw it having no bearing upon the present and there was no need for you to hear about it.
He was open about many things but if he didn’t think you needed to know it wasn’t worth the trouble of asking because he wasn’t going to entertain your desire for answers.
I go through cycles where I listen to particular albums and or specific songs on a regular basis. Typically it is because something about it or them catches my ear and sets off my imagination.
I have the Field of Dreams soundtrack playing now and have been listening to it on a regular cycle for a bit now.
It made me think of a time I gave a girl some flowers and didn’t receive a thank you or recognition. That got me thinking of a time or two where I said or did something that I thought deserved some acknowledgement.
It reminded me of someone who said once I pulled my head out of my ass I would realize I she could take good care of me. Eventually I said the same thing to her and offered to help pull.
Actually I said something about two hands and a few other loving and descriptive words as well.
Anyhoo, what jumped out at me is a section in the movie where the main character (Kevin Costner) complains about not having been invited into the cornfields.
In response Shoeless Joe Jackson chastises him and suggests Costner’s character is being very selfish.
That reminded me the point of doing nice things for people isn’t because we want recognition or something in return. We don’t do the nice thing because we expect quid pro quo or at least that is the idea.
Might not always play out that way and I can’t say that I have always been altruistic in what I have done, just that I try to make the effort.
It is like when we charged the homeless guy two bucks for a pair of my shoes at the garage sale. The money made no difference to me, but it did to him.
It was a question of dignity and that is a lesson I hope my children carry forward.
When people irritate me I try to ask myself if I should care. I try to ask myself if they deserve the attention and the energy.
Sometimes I am very good about not giving them any thought. I take a moment to let the thought fill my head, shrug my shoulders and forget about them.
That is not always easy to do in part because I am always adding to fodder for the stories roaming through my melon.
Holding onto all kinds of memories and the feelings attached to them lends itself to better storytelling so there is an effort to compartmentalize and that I am pretty good at.
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Sometimes when my dad, grandfather and I would drive back from going to the schvitz I’d sit in the back seat and listen to the two of them talk about things that happened years before I was born.
As we drove down Pico and slowly made our way back towards the Hollywood Hills and Laurel Canyon I’d stare out the window and if the stories didn’t catch my attention fall asleep.
In those days I hadn’t been to Chicago or Pittsburgh and I didn’t always have interest in hearing about people who died long before I came into the world.
I have a vague memory of them arguing about something and my grandfather snapping at my father in a tone I had never heard anyone use with him, though I knew it well.
It was a father telling his son it was time to stop arguing. That got my attention, it was kind of neat knowing my father was experiencing what I experienced.
As a little kid it didn’t occur to me that Dad knew as much about that as I had. It wasn’t a question of experience or a lack thereof because he had already ‘been there and done that.’
That memory might be 50 years old so don’t ask me what it was about. Grandpa died when I was 37 and though the three of us had lots of time together there were relatively few occasions where I saw that.
If you asked my grandfather he would tell you that “Orrie was a good boy.” Dad would smile and nod his head.
It was their thing, but when I got older I did hear a few stories. My uncle shared a couple that were confirmed by my grandfather.
Got to go prepare for Monday, it comes too soon and ask myself a couple of questions about whether I ought to let myself be irritated about a few things or not. 🙂
