Secrets: Do Sons Need Fathers? Do Fathers Need Fathers?

Here’s the inciting incident for these thoughts.

Two weeks ago, an acquaintance on Facebook whom I knew in college made a comment about a photo I was in.  Apparently, she knew the photographer.  The photographer and my friend had an online discussion about how small a world it is and how they know me and each other.  And then my friend wrote this:

“I know his dad.  He’s like an uncle to me.”

And Valerie read this and said, “That’s funny.  He’s not even like an uncle to you.”

I’d forgotten this is how I’d known this girl.  That this was our initial connection.  She was a spiderweb trailing back to a different part of the forest where my dad lived and I never ventured.

~*~

Val’s right.  He’s not even like an uncle to me.  We haven’t seen each other in more than a decade.  The last time we spoke was five/six years ago.  And that was by accident.  I’d meant to call my brother, Craig.  CR is right above DA for Dad in my phone.

When I’d accidentally dialed it I was walking home through my Brooklyn neighborhood.  I had something on my mind to talk to Craig about. And then Craig didn't answer. Instead,  it was that voice I knew and didn’t know. Probably the voice of long buried lullabies and ancient soothings.  And he called me Shamus, the name I used to be, my nickname until I was 9.  The confusion poured into the moorings of my adult self.  It took me a while to recover in the conversation.

His voice is deep like mine.  Whatever rocks he swallowed to achieve that sound passed to me.  But we don’t sound the same. His tone is calm, almost fighting a deep boredom, with a hint of amusement.  My voice is a little more sardonic maybe, a little quicker to jump octaves for a joke.  But it’s the same well.  You can hear it.

We talked. Of usual things.  I never pushed him to talk of the absences or explanations so he never did.  Even if I wanted to ask him something, I didn’t.  Maybe I was scared to sound needy.  But usually it was just:  “Why? What’s the point after all these years?”

So we engaged in light fare.  Movies, books.  He’s a smart dude. So I hear.  I can’t say I’ve spent enough time with him to truly know.  My father is more rumor than flesh to me.  Since I was 6, I would say I’ve spent an accumulated total of two months around him.

~*~

Sometimes when I say stuff like this about my father, people get sad.  It bums the room out.  But I’m not telling a sad story anymore.  I’m just telling my story.  This is how I grew up and I’m not sad about how I grew up.  The amalgamation of myself is the result of many things.  My Mom’s cancer, my obsessive writing, the echoes of Michigan, the friends I kept, my family's humor, the closeness of my grandparents, the absence of my father.

I wouldn’t change it because I don’t know who I’d be without it.

But I’ve been wondering this past week, like I’ve wondered many times over the years:  Should I make another effort to reconnect?  Should we acknowledge our biology, our short history, and make something work? Even limited communication?

As you can imagine, I have a few arguments/counter-arguments.

1) DO WE JUST START OVER?

Do I just call him/email him and be like, “Hey, Daddio. Long time no talk.”?  Do we just set aside the past? Start fresh?

Because he’s never met my wife.  Or my kid.  I don’t know if he knows how I am or where I live or what I do.  On the flipside, I don’t know how he is or where he lives or what he does.  Our lives are equally opaque to each other. Unless he reads my blog.  I don’t own the internet. He could.

Is a fresh start fair?  Does he deserve that?  Is there a statute of limitations on our mistakes?  Do we just shake hands with the past and let it move on?

2) DO WE HAVE THAT “TALK” FIRST?

Is it about reconciliation? Getting it all out and then moving on?  Will it be satisfying? Will it mean what I want?

Do I even want that?  Will I be halfway into this and think, “It’s too late. This has been too long. I’ve repaired these roads, I don’t need to reopen these cases.”  Will I really use mixed metaphors?

Is this what he’s dreading?  Or is this what he wants to get off his chest? Don’t we all want to explain ourselves a little?  I don’t know.  I can’t decide which I want.

~*~ 

Sometimes I put myself in his shoes or my mom’s.  I think: by this time in my life, my Mom was divorced twice with four kids.   I think: Edie’s going to be two tomorrow.  If I were my dad, in the next year, Valerie would leave me, go back to her parents.  I wonder how these things would feel. The life he envisioned gone.  I wonder how he navigated through those waters.  If he still is.

~*~

Does a son need a father?  Does a father need a father?  Even now?  After so much time?  After all this pause, could we even be that? Or should we?  What is there besides titles and dna to keep us tethered?

It’s all questions.  And they could all be answered with one email.  I just can’t figure out if that one email would be a step forward or step backward.

Secrets: Why Your Kids Like Me

I like what kids like.  That’s my secret.  That’s why your kid likes me, why I like to hang out with your kids.  Somewhere in my development, my brain stayed kid fascinated with the world.

Par exemple:

Kids like to throw rocks into water.  I like to throw rocks in water.

Kids like to smash smashable things.  I also love to smash.

Kids like to talk about being a superhero.  Me, too. Ad nauseum.

I’m not saying I’m more in touch with anything.  I don’t even know if I believe in “Inner Child” stuff.  I’m just saying that I look at a situation and I want to have the most fun out of it.  I want to make a game out of it.  I want to cut loose and not care what I look like. 

I'm not more kid than anyone else.  I'm not less world weary or cynical.  I just (and maybe everyone does, I don't know) find everyday phenomena to be a little sparkly still. I like catching fireflies and lizards.  I like a little cloudwatching. I get excited by rainstorms at night.  They get me up.  I lie on my pillow and watch the rain in the streetlights until I fall asleep again.

~*~

This is a typical walk for me and Edie. 

*** I carry her for a while, pointing out stuff. “Tree, cloud, ambulance, sign, fence, wheel, leaf, berry, weirdo.” 

*** Then I find a low stonewall for her to balance on.  And I hold her hands and we sing the “Balance Song”.  Which is a song I made up that only has one word: Balance.

*** Then we find sticks and run them along fences.  Or smash leaves or bushes with the sticks.  Sometimes we stop and just peel the bark off the sticks with our nails.  It’s particularly satisfying.

*** If there’s a dog, we stop the person and pet their dog.  We thank the person (Edie says “Thank You”, too) and then we walk away making dog noises to each other.

*** If we find some apples or berries on the ground, we stomp them with our sneakers until they’re good and mashed.

*** When we finally make it to the “greenground” (which is what Edie calls playgrounds) I chase her around the structure and we swing a little and go down slides a little.

*** Sometimes we go looking for ducks and turtles at the lake.  Edie and I quack at the ducks and, this is my favorite, we creep along the lake whispering to each other “Turtles? Where are uuuuuu?”

~*~

I’ve always liked kids.  Maybe it’s being the oldest sibling and taking care of younger kids.  If I had my druthers, I would play a lot more hide and seek.  I would throw kids in the pool all day.  I would find non-tick infested grass fields and do a lot of running with my hands out feeling the tops of the grass.

There’s a lot of danger to kids these days.  And sometimes I feel scared that people find my instinct to play with kids suspicious.  That I’m immediately suspect because it’s a crazy world and kids are more vulnerable than ever.  I understand their fear but it makes me sad.

~*~

I remember the first time I knew kids were in danger by adults was when some creep in a van was hanging out near school bus stops in Grand Rapids.  There was a warning sent around to parents. One time I got there a little early and this other girl who waited with me sometimes was there before me.  I saw the van and a guy get out of it and start walking towards the girl.

I banged on the door next to the stop, this guy who used to watch out for us, and in hindsight, was probably unemployed, his name was Hank or something, and I banged until he came out and saw the van.  And Hank grabbed a baseball bat and chased the guy to the van and beat the hell out of it until the creep pulled away.

I memorized the license plate as he drove away and I rehearsed it all day and forgot to tell it to anyone.  I hope they caught him. Sometimes I worried they didn't because I didn't give anybody the number.

~*~

I wish the world was innocent and safe for Edie.  It’s not.  So I carve out that place.  An eternal place full of dandelions to blow and trains to watch.  A place where Edie laughs so hard she has to cover her mouth because it’s too much joy to let go.  And I do it for both of us, to have a place where we can be children together.

Edie and Pop - Ep. 16 - Words Words Turds

The continuing saga of text messages between me and my baby.

EDIE:  Pop! Pop!  My body won't stop leaking!

POP:  Is it red?! Are you bleeding?

EDIE:  No! I'm just very damp everywhere.  Especially my adorable head curls.

POP:  Oh, that's sweat.  There's a heatwave.  You're going to produce a whole butt load of that.

EDIE:  Sick.  Hey, what's a butt?

POP:  I forgot you're starting to imitate words now.  Crap, forget I said 'butt'.

EDIE:  Oh, what's 'crap'? That's fun to say.  I'm going to say it to Mom now.

POP:  Don't do that!  She'll know it came from me.  How about we just learn some new nice words?

EDIE:  Sure.  Let's use those ones from earlier today.  "Hey, clouds, why don't you do your freaking job and cool me off from these hellbeams?!"  Please explain that one.

POP:  Edie, we're in a heatwave.  You don't know what extreme heat does to me.  I lose my mind.

EDIE:  You should walk around in your diaper all day.  It's nice.

POP:  I don't wear a diaper and even if I did, adults can't do that.

EDIE:  You don't wear a diaper?!  You just poop in your pants?

POP:  No. I have control.  I'm an adult.

EDIE:  I don't know what 'control' is. Does Mom know you don't wear a diaper?

POP:  Yes.  She's aware.  Now do you need a drink of water or something?

EDIE:  I don't know.  I don't know where your hands have been.  I'll call for Mom.

POP:  Your Mom is working on her thesis.  Now promise me you won't be saying those words.

EDIE:  Which ones?  Crap-butts?  Oh, I most crappingly will say freaking hellbeam crap butt.  You can butt on it, Crapmaster Flex.

POP:  You're being childish!

EDIE:  I'm a child!

POP:  Well, just be grown up enough to not say the bad things I say.

EDIE:  Fine.  What are the words you don't want me to say that you say?

POP:  Well, I don't use the swears very much anyway.  But as far as misdemeanors I'm prone to,  I would rather you not repeat: suck, hell, idiot, butthole, crap, stupid, shut up, dumb, d-bag, and a whole bunch of variations like buttbag and crapbrains and douch-eyes.  I also say 'rats' and 'nuts' a lot but I mean both of those in literal ways.

EDIE:  You're joking.

POP:  It's like an ironic thing. I don't mean them but I do get frustrated so I need some words.  And little kid words take the sting out of it.

EDIE:  Why do I hang out with you?

POP:  You're dependent on me for your sustenance.  Well, your Mom mostly.  I contribute some money.

EDIE:  You contribute your butt idiot mouth.

POP:  I said not to say those.

EDIE:  You helling know I will say the crapmost suck out of those words.

POP:  Valerie is going to murder me.

EDIE:  She's gonna murder your stupid ratbutt holeface .  Shut up your crap, Dad. You dumb bum. You suckety buckety. You gut butt buddy duddy.

POP:  It would hurt if it wasn't all so silly.

EDIE:  You're a silly crapperia, Dadderia.  Poop Pop poop.

POP:  I'm shutting my phone off now so I can work out out what to say to your Mom.

How Valerie Crushes Being a Mom

Parenthood is a strange contract.  It’s like signing up for a sport you’ve never played before and hoping you’ll be good at it.

Valerie is, as it turns out, a natural.  Of course, it’s hard to word exactly what she’s doing.  It’s the way she goes to Edie and seems to know what she wants.  The way Edie leans into her.  The way she can put her to bed and Edie feels safer because she’s doing it.

When I grow up, I want to be a good parent like Valerie.

Here’s a few things I can share though.  Some of the noticeable moments that are choices and not just organic nurture.

VALERIE CHANGES THE CHARACTERS OF EDIE’S BOOKS INTO GIRLS

Not all the time.  But where she can.  I like this.  I like watching her make Edie into the hero of the things she reads.  I’m so used to being a boy.  Seeing the male image dominate my media.  But Val is wrestling that idea away from Edie.  Giving her an identity in what she looks through.

I adore Valerie for this.  I’ve tried to follow her example.  Edie should see herself everywhere.  Valerie has picked books with female characters.  We like Olivia and Maisy and the only shows she watches are Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers, and Charlie and Lola.  Sometimes I wonder if Edie sees herself in little blond British Lola.

Next to Edie's bed is an illustration of a tree with a little girl hiding behind it.  Even before Edie could understand, Valerie would hold her up to the picture and point out the little girl and say, “There’s Edie.” Now Edie knows the hiding girl is her.  Edie is the hero of her own life.  All Val’s doing.

VALERIE TEACHES EDIE PLAY IS SERIOUS

There’s this post that I love.  I look at it every few days.  Valerie takes the best pictures of Edie.  I feel like she captures who she is.  The joy that wells up over and over in Edie at what she sees in the world.

I know good moms play with their kids.  That’s a given.  But I’d never been around the day-to-day doings of moms. (Except my own.  Sorry I don’t remember it, Mom.) But Valerie lets Edie do the things she’s doing.  And it’s play.  It’s all play. Valerie speaks to Edie as they do things together.  She turns life into play.  Edie loves to water the plants, cook dinner (shake the spices), put things in the trash, clean up her room.

I heard recently how play to children is completely serious.  It’s how they learn to navigate the world.  They may enjoy doing it.  But to them, acting out the adult world is complete seriousness.  Edie makes about 50 calls a day on fake phones.  I think she’s handling Val’s gambling debts.

Val is good at treating Edie not like a doll to be played with but a human being who is capable of learning the functions of life.  And that life isn’t joyless tasks but a series of events that can be accomplished with smiles and some cookies.

VALERIE FOLLOWS HER DREAMS SO EDIE CAN FOLLOW HER OWN DREAMS

This is more big picture.  More long term. But Valerie makes sure that her life is not being eaten up by Edie alone.  Or me.  Or the house.  Where she can find time, she works on her thesis.  She read the texts at night, she edits and writes during Edie’s nap time.

She writes her own pieces.  She had a piece in the New Era if you haven’t read it.  She keeps a smart and interesting blog.

She acts in plays when she can.  She’s in a play right now.  She finished a play earlier this year.  (I have plans for her to finish a new play of mine later this year. (She’s my muse for all female characters I write.  Why wouldn’t she be?)

She edits and critiques other people’s work.  She has a friend’s full-length book on her desk and another friend’s screenplay.  She’s intelligent and savvy and her opinion is spot on.  Most of my work has her stamp on it.  (She’s my most important editor.)

She’s not doing it to prove anything to anyone.  Valerie’s doing it because this is what she wants to do with her life.  And Edie will see that and know that she’s expected to follow and increase her talents.  In the Best home, Dream Following is House Rule #1.

How I'm Trying Not to Screw Up Fatherhood

We were in Utah recently hanging out with some old friends from my college improv troupe.  It was Father’s Day and many of us, in the intervening 6 to 8 years since we’d seen each other, had gotten married and become fathers and mothers. It was cool to look around and see so many friends had moved on with their lives in good ways. Life can go lots of ways.  The reunion could have taken place at a methodone clinic.

But I made a joke (it’s a comedy troupe, there’s lots of those) about how many of us will actually be able to call our fathers on Father’s Day.  I made the joke because I knew the particular parental makeup of the group meeting there.  Out of the six male members at this dinner, four had fathers who were dead, one estranged, and only one had a father that was living and involved in his life.  What a freak, right?

I kind of hate Father’s Day.  I always have.  It’s been a complicated road for me and my siblings in the father department and I’m not really going to launch into that here.  We had a great mother and our Heavenly Father picked up a lot of slack where earthly fathers should have been.  My grandfather was a saint and played Dad when he mostly just wanted to be a grandfather. And my Mom’s brother, Uncle John, pitched in, too.  This is not a “Oh, woe is me” post.  It’s an intro to my new job as Dad.

It’s a lie to say I’m treading untrod territory.  I know what a good dad is.  I’ve seen Cliff Huxtable in action.  But it feels strange/disconnected sometimes to do “dad things” for Edie.  I have very little memory of “dad things” to emulate.  Sometimes it feels like I imitate things I think dads do.  It’s like I’m checking off a list.

CHECKLIST OF DAD THINGS THAT DADS MUST DO

Dads swing kids in swings.  Check.

Dads throw kids in the air.  Check.

Dads give shoulder rides.  Check.

Dads play sports with kids.  Gag me.

Dads let kids play in puddles.  Double check.

Dads say “It’s okay” to kids when they fall.  Check.

And I like doing these things.  I like playing cliché Dad and finding real Dad moments through it.  I can’t over analyze everything.  There’s too much life going on.  But sometimes I wonder what my gauge is.  Like my improv friends who had fathers that died, it’s a strange thing to realize you only have your shadow to measure against.  Or I guess the idea of a shadow is all you have.

I remember looking in the mirror the first time I was going to shave and realizing I was terrified.  I could cut my face into hamburger.  Why was there no one to teach me? Who let me have this tiny knife? Why was I being trusted with this responsibility? Maybe my teenage rat mustache could be burned off?  Ultimately, I came through mostly unnicked.

As much I say I don’t care, I do wonder if I’m just suppressing a desire to look over my shoulder and have someone say, “That’s right, son. You’re doing it right.”  Parenthood is a strange solitary journey even when you have someone next to you co-piloting.  Then I guess life is a strangely solitary thing as well.  Your dreams are your own.  The echo of your thoughts inside your brain is yours alone.  It’s good kids have such crappy memories or they’d remember you messing up a lot.

The thing is, I want Edie to be in that room 30 years from now hanging out with her friends and when hands are raised for who still has their dad around, I want hers to be the one raised.  I know life is tricky and full of lots of sudden and tragic things.  But I like being her dad.  I’m crazy about it actually.  I’m going to try to stick around.

I was carrying her down the road last night in the 94 degree Boston humidity with her little body like a heater against me and my shirt clinging to me because of it and we both looked up at the hawk flying over us and she pointed at it and I said, “Hawk” and she paused and said “Haw-awk!” and she clapped for herself and I didn’t need anyone to tell me I was doing it right. I knew I was.

Though one nod from Dr. Huxtable would be alright.