Thank You, Dad

 

My father was a difficult person to know.  I was a young adult before I began to understand the source of his underlying anger and sullen personality. Born in December, 1918, he was an only child and spent his youth in a small farmhouse in rural Georgia with his epileptic father, domineering grandmother and, for a while, his mother.

As far as I can determine, when he was about eight years old, his mother was working as a waitress in a small local restaurant and ran off with a traveling salesman from Baltimore.  At thirteen, he overheard his grandmother say to his father, “You don’t even know if he is yours.”  According to his own words, he thought to himself, “Well, I know who my mother is” and determined to run away from home and join her in Baltimore.

At the height of the Depression in 1931, he snuck off to a nearby town where he sent a telegram to his mother and asked her to wire him $10 so he could take a bus to Baltimore.  Somehow, she managed to obtain the money, but upon his arrival she asked him, “Where did you think I was going to get that kind of money?”  It doesn’t seem like much to us today, but at that time it amounted to a week’s pay for most people if they were fortunate enough to have a job.

Dad did not share a great deal about his life in Baltimore.  I do know that my grandmother had remarried, and Dad had a strained relationship with his stepfather, Brook. Nevertheless, when WWII broke out, Dad’s plan to enlist in the Army Air Corp was threatened when he received a draft notice for enlistment in the regular Army, but Brook intervened by speaking to an acquaintance who was the director of the local draft board, enabling Dad to enter the military as an officer.

During the war, he served as a radar tech on B-29’s, first flying as a crew member from India in raids against Japan and later from the island of Tinian in the Pacific.  This was the base where the flights were launched that carried the atomic bombs to Japan.  I never thought to ask him about his feelings about those events, nor did he volunteer anything on his own.

It is impossible to say how much Dad’s personality was shaped by his childhood or influenced by his combat experience. I never saw him physically violent, but his temper was easily aroused with the slightest provocation.  I do not remember him having any friends or even hobbies.  In hindsight, I think he may have suffered from chronic depression.

He did not seem to enjoy interacting with people.  On several occasions, he mentioned how much he disliked Smalltalk. When he attended church with us, he would immediately go to the car after the service and generally fume over how long it took my very sociable mother to leave church.  Mom predeceased Dad by five years, during which time he could have been involved in an active senior program in his town, but he simply had no interest in associating with others.

He was extremely critical of what he perceived as weaknesses in others or any behavior of which he disapproved or did not understand.  The few times I heard him speak about his father, it was with distain about my grandfather’s tendency to sit in a chair with a shawl rapped around his shoulders due to his poor health.  He freely made disparaging remarks about anyone he disapproved of, including family members.

I have to give Dad a lot of credit for overcoming his personal challenges. Despite his gloomy disposition, he was generally courteous in public and was a hard worker.  He had a long career at the Social Security Administration near Baltimore, Maryland. For several years, he also had a parttime chiropractic practice in our home.

He may not have been the most pleasant person to be around at times, but he was completely devoted to our mother and to his role as provider.  My brother, sisters and I grew up in a very secure home.  Bills were always paid; food was always on the table and there was never any concern about addictions or violence.  In many ways, we were an ideal middle class family.

I am thankful for the way Dad handled my visual disability.  I have never been able to figure out whether his approach was due to wisdom or denial.  My limitation was simply never an excuse for failing to do my household chores or schoolwork. Consequently, I have always had high expectations for myself even as my vision has declined. Through the years, I have often amazed others and even myself by some of the things I have been able to accomplish.

Perhaps Dad’s greatest gift to me occurred unwittingly.  When I was about ten years old, our family went on a rare day trip to Ocean City, Maryland.  It was my first time in the ocean, so Dad instructed me about how to deal with the breakers.  He said that I should never turn my back on them or try to run.  If I did, they would just overpower me and take me under for a sandy and salty tumble. Instead, I should face them, and as they approached, simply dive through them.  It really worked!  What I discovered was that the force of the water would flow around, over and beyond me.

He intended this as a practical lesson, but I have expanded it into my strategy for   life.  I have learned that problems and challenges are only compounded when ignored or evaded.  For me, the proper response is to face the issue, develop a plan of action and press forward.  More often than not, that approach minimizes the impact and the time spent on dealing with it.

If he had presented this instruction as a philosophical maxim, I doubt I would have understood at my young age.  However, it obviously had a huge impact on me at multiple levels.  For that, I will be forever grateful.

After the death of our mother, Dad was more miserable than ever.  Periodically, when I would talk to him on the telephone, he would say, “I must have done something evil in my life.  I am still here.”  When I learned of his death in February, 2010, I was thankful on his behalf because he had been released from his apparent mental torment.  May he truly rest in peace.