A Talk with my Dad

It has been awhile since I had a talk with my Dad. He passed away about 10 years ago. I used to talk with him frequently before I would head out on another of the many trips I have taken over the years. "Hi Dad, howz it goin?" I would ask,calling from the telephone in the operations office. "Hi son, where are you heading today?" He always wanted to know where I was going the trips I flew as if each time I explained it to him he would take the opportunity to briefly revisit his days in the Navy during WWII. He loved that I would go to Saipan or fly over Tinian or land in Hong Kong. "The usual places, Dad" I would reply. We would talk a bit more and I would be on my way. I loved this connection with him.
My Dad didn't talk much about those days in the Navy until he reached his 60's and 70's. When we were growing up it seemed the furthest thing from his mind. But as he aged he seemed to come to an appreciation of what he had done as a young man and the things that he had seen. When he finally talked about his days on board the USS Ringness he spoke as if he were there, on the ship, carrying out the duties of a young sailor. You could see in his eyes that these were days that he loved to remember. It was a joy to talk with him about all his yothful adventures.
The most important talk we ever had was one that began with my efforts to blame him for all that had gone wrong in my life.
I was in the middle of a divorce. The problems that brought me to that point were of my own making and I struggled almost minute by minute with thoughts of how I could possibly have come to this point in my life. I was angry and completely unable to come to grips with the concept that I was, indeed, responsible for the mess I was living. So I looked to him. Not for an answer. I looked to him to blame, knowing that he and my mother had made mistakes in our upbringing that were easily identifiable. I could blame the drinking, the fights between my parents among the many reasons why I was in the situation that I was in.
One day, completely frustrated with myself, I decided this was the time to lay it off on the "Old Man" and inform him that he was responsible for everything bad that was happening with me. I drove to his place ready to say it all. When I arrived he sitting with my mother by his side not knowing that my whole focus at that moment was to blame him for all that had gone bad.
I sat down and he and my mother could tell something was wrong. "Dad, I have to ask you some questions about things that went on while we were young. Why did you and Mom drink so much and why did you fight so often?" I asked, almost ready to explode. I continued, "Why did we move so often and never have any money and why did you make my oldest brother go to the Catholic Seminary when he was 14?" I had a boat load of questions, so many that I could hardly get them out in coherent fashion. After my Dad and Mom listened and I was spent, tears welling up in my eyes, he spoke.
"Son, your Mother and I did the best we could while raising you kids. No we didn't get it right all the time but we were in a different time and place than you are now. When we did the things you ask about we always did them with the notion that it would be an improvement to our lives. As far as the drinking was concerned we did let that get out of control from time to time. About your brother going to the Seminary. It will be hard for you to remember but we scraped and saved and borrowed against our home to send him to a place that he wanted to go more than anything else in the world. All of the other kids sacrificed to send him to the seminary, you just didn't know it. Your Grandmother was a big factor in sending him off at such a young age and we allowed ourselves to go along with her desires to have a priest in the family."
My father was not getting mad as he spoke of our lives and answered my questions. He was calm and talked with love and understanding as he continued to tell me about what had actually occurred as I grew up. I was beginning to see that I had talked myself into a number of misconceptions.
He continued "Don't you remember all the time you and I spent together when you were little. I would always take you, just you, with me on Saturdays to do our construction jobs. I would wake you very early on Saturday morning and we would head out for a days work pouring cement or hanging doors. Try to recall all the time we spent alone, just you and I, while you helped me by lining up all the parts that I needed, often before I needed them. Why, you knew what I needed before I knew what I needed. I loved having you with me and, if you remember, you were the only one that I picked to do that with".
It was beginning to become apparent to me that I had been mistaken in many ways about putting the blame for my life on my Dad. He continued. "Son, we did the best we could raising all of you kids. If your life is a mess it is not my fault". My Dad wasn't angry when he said this to me, He said it with love and concern that I was having a very tough time right then.
And then it hit me like a bolt of lightning. It was not his fault. Nor my Mother's. It was my fault that my life had somehow spun out of control. Now the tears came as I realized how much I loved this man and how simple he had just made things for me. "If your life is a mess right now it is not my fault".
Somehow the conversation came to a close and I headed on my way with much to consider. "It was not my fault". The words kept racing through my mind. He was absolutely correct. It was not his fault. My life has been mine to control and to mold as for many years. I was a grown man and the direction I took was to be defined by the choices I made. Not the choices of my parents.
That was a remarkable day in my life. I had confronted my Dad and Mother with a blast furnace of issues bent on having them explain how they could have screwed things up so badly for me. They met the onslaught with a calm and empathy that surprised me and allowed me to consider the world in more simple terms. Terms that made perfect sense. We are what we choose. And when we choose we take responsibility for those choices. We should not blame our parents for the lives we have made for ourselves. We look upon the tools that they gave us, some good some not so good, and we build upon them.
And, if we are lucky, very, very lucky, we will have the opportunity to enhance our life by exploring the past as I did, in a loving, life changing talk with my Dad.