I am my Dad

Perhaps all of us, in one way or another, have had that experience where we opened our mouth and our father, or mother, came out.

For a long time, due to various resentments from childhood, and yes, simple adolescent rebellion against the image of my father, I focused my own self understanding and identity on being different than my dad.  Many instances, many choices, made specifically to be different than the dad I knew.

I hug and kiss my children.  That's an experience I never had growing up.

As a pastor I've striven to be grace oriented, and avoid the pitfalls of my father's pietism and yes, legalism. 

As a craftsman, I sought to advance my work to the highest standard, far beyond what my father accomplished. 

OK, so in some of the nuances of life I may have distinguished myself from my father.  Having said that though, a casual observer might note that I have mirrored my father's life in my own: a family man devoted to providing for and caring for my wife and children, a pastor dedicated to ministry, and a self taught craftsman committed to the belief that whatever the task at hand, 'I could figure it out'. 

My sense of Call and willingness to serve where ever the Church has asked me to serve, is a legacy from dad.  He built furniture for the family, a boat, and a home.  Dito, though I worked with him on building his place, not my own.   Oh, and I realize now that aside from the hugging and kissing, we have showed our love for our family in some very similar ways. 

And  then there is the physical stuff.  We both had our mitral valves repaired.  We've both struggled with mental health issues: dad being a bit OCD, me bipolar.  And hair for hair our heads are a reflection of each other, balding but never completely.

I recognize my own failures, similar to my dad's.  I tell myself I've been more expressive of my love for my children, but wonder if I've truly communicated that to them.  I hope I've been clear that I love each of them, am proud of each of them, and indeed consider them to be my greatest gift to the world.  Pat myself on the back.  But then I also realize that Dad went out of his way on several occasions to communicate that to us as well. 

One of the most poignant moments for me with my dad, was during the last few months of his life.  He stated, upon seeing my grandson Jasper run to my arms, that one day he hoped Jasper would run to him as well.  Dad was wishing he could be more like me. 

I am coming to realize that one aspect of being at peace with myself, is to be at peace with my dad.  That's a twofold statement.  To be at peace with my own failures involves forgiving dad for his.  And to celebrate my own successes is to affirm the values and abilities that are a legacy from my father.

There are regrets.  I allowed a distance to develop between my parents and I in the final years of their lives.  I was too busy.  I made a specific decision that I would not spend every vacation I had fixing up and maintaining the lake place so that my siblings could enjoy it as their vacation place.  But probably the greatest distance came as a result of my personal struggles.

I humor myself this morning with the thought that when we were sick as children, my parents were not the dotting nursing type.  I recall basically being put to bed, and being left alone to rest and recover.  This may not be totally fair to them, but to this day if I'm sick I just want to be left alone.  I'll come out when I feel better.

It was hard to let my parents care for me throughout the last couple of decades as I struggled with depression/bipolar disorder.  There was part of me that just wanted to be left alone.  I didn't allow them the opportunity to show me how much they cared.  There were a few instances, however, that their concern broke through.

My mother, reflecting on my needing psychiatric care, stated that "she might have benefited from such care had it been available to her in her life."  And then there was my father who read this blog like a best selling novel.  "You should write a book." he would tell me.

Perhaps God got it wrong when he gave us the commandment to "honor our father and mother".  Perhaps instead the commandment should have been to "forgive our father and mother."  And perhaps, they are one and the same thing.

But this I know, that we can never be fully at peace with ourselves if we are not at peace with our parents.  You can spend thousands of dollars on psychotherapy, but it all boils down to that.  The acorn doesn't fall far from the oak.  And those genes didn't come from nowhere.

Finally, I will say this about mom and dad.  Their marriage was a mating of mom's compassion with dad's convictions.  I've joked that I inherited my dad's heart (and mitral valve failure) and my mother's deteriorating knees.  I hope that a more profound inheritance is the compassion of my mother and the convictions of my father, wed together as one.