I Promised to Never Be Like My Dad
We all have our struggles in this life. Sometimes it's easy to recognize the weaknesses of others and not see the good. That's how I was. Especially when I was young. Especially when it came to
my dad. More than once I promised never to be like him.
I grew up with great friends who all had great dads. It seemed to me that the relationships they had with their fathers were a step above the one I had with mine. There were some things my dad did that made me upset - add to that the fact that he was always too tired to shoot hoops, and it made for a bad combination when trying to build a solid relationship with a teenage son.
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| My father, Howard Arkell, second from left. |
I remember being very hard on my dad. I can still hear the words from my father ringing in my ears: "I know I'm a horrible father." He said it on more than one occasion, and it usually stemmed from me complaining about something he did.
Now that I'm a father I look back on his weaknesses a lot differently. In fact, it's a lot easier to be more understanding. What's hard to swallow is that the great things he did I'm just starting to notice, and now that he's gone, I can't properly give him the credit he's due.
One night my boys were asking me for a story. So I told them of the day my dad bought me a BRAND NEW pair of basketball sneakers. They were white high tops with black stripes on them and I swear they made me jump two feet higher. They cost $80, which in today's world would equate to $120. The first night I wore them I took great care to only have them on when I was in the gym. Once the pickup game ended, I changed into some other shoes and walked to the car, placed my new sneaks on the roof of the car, and fiddled with the keys to open the car door. I was basking in the joy of another great performance on the court, with these amazing new sneakers.
As I drove home, imagining the lucrative NBA deal that was sure to be part of my future, I realized I had never taken my sneakers off the roof of the car. I quickly pulled over, jumped out of the car, and my heart sunk as I realize that my new prized possession, the key to NBA glory, my beautiful, expensive sneakers - were GONE. I drove back to the gym, trying to find them, but in the darkness of the late hour there was no hope. I had lost my sneakers on the very day they were given to me.
As I was telling my boys this story, I realized something amazing. When I had gone home to tell my dad what happened, I don't remember his reaction. That's the fascinating part to me. I know that if he
had flown off the handle and gotten angry, I would have remembered. But my only memory is this - the next day after searching for the sneakers on his way to work without any luck, he came home with a newly purchased pair of the same eighty dollar sneakers.
After I finished telling my boys this story, I thought of a moment earlier in the day when I lost my temper and raised my voice at my boy for spilling his milk. I remembered the way I overreacted earlier that week when one of their bikes scraped up against the side of our new van. I thought of all the small and insignificant things that my kids do and how I never seem to be able to let it go without belittling them. It was then I realized that my promise from years earlier was coming true in a much different fashion than I had expected - I realized that I never
would be like my dad. The greatest attributes of my father were the ones that, as a child, I could not see.
Dad, wherever you are, and as shallow as this apology and statement is, please know that one day I hope to be the man you were. I'm sure you are looking down with empathy and a smile. Your wings are well deserved. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it.
Labels: dad, forgiveness, parenthood, parenting
I'm not a "TV Dad"
I decided to write this poem because I spent about 30 minutes last night sobbing. I cried like I haven’t done in a while, in fact I don’t recall the last time I did. The reason might seem really strange to some – my wife cut Miles’ binky. Miles is my 2 year old and for the last few days we’ve put him to bed without the binky, but Friday night he was really begging for it and we decided it was time for him to have the cut binky in his hand so he could realize that those days are over.
Our 4 year-old Kamri went through the same process. When we cut her binky she looked at us and said “Why cut it guys?” She tried to pop it in her mouth but it wouldn’t stay, and the confused look on her face broke my heart. I knew going through the same thing with Miles would be very hard for me to do so I had Gina do it, and as I heard her in the kitchen and the kids chattering about how confused Miles was, it broke my heart again. I started to cry. Miles kept saying “Open binky” as he pulled on the remaining part of the plastic nipple. I couldn’t take it. It means so much more than just a binky. It’s a symbol of him moving on to a new phase, of him growing up, of me no longer rocking him as he has his binky in his mouth.
The next night the same thoughts came flooding into my mind and I couldn’t stop crying. I tried to dry the dishes with Gina but she saw me crying and I went to my bed and just sobbed. I felt so much sadness because Miles is growing up. I also felt slightly ashamed and embarrassed as my wife was holding and comforting me because I was crying about Miles growing up. It seems opposite of what is should be. I felt like I wasn't being a man about it, and I thought “A dad shouldn’t be doing this.” But then, the following came into my mind, “I’m not a T.V. Dad”
The Modern Sitcom Dad
Often, sitcom dads such as Homer Simpson and Raymond Barone are portrayed as selfish and mindless. Although we believe that they love their children, storylines often portray their offspring as intrusions to other, more important pursuits such as drinking beer, watching TV or playing golf. These dads invest considerable time in thinking up schemes to avoid their family, and they appear overwhelmingly uninterested in everyone else’s lives. Certainly these TV programs are not part of a grand conspiracy to attack dads, but there are enough existing examples to make many people concerned. In particular, fatherhood interest groups worry because these images have a negative influence on how very young children interpret father-child relationships.
http://www.media-awareness.ca/english/resources/educational/handouts/stereotyping/tv_dads.cfm
I’m not a “TV Dad”
The message that is spoken, the one we’re all spoon-fed
Is of the clumsy fathers, disinterested, over-fed
They’ve never changed a diaper; they’ve never said a prayer
As for listening or homework, they wouldn’t even dare
It’s time someone took courage, and faced this mockery
For if there are TV fathers, one of them’s not me.
I love my wife and cherish her role, all her gifts and abilities
I like to mop and I do dishes, even fold laundry occasionally.
I try to earn a decent living, but don’t do it to “get mine”
When I come through the front door, I leave my work behind
I’ll always make some time for catch or a pretend cup of tea
There’s nothing I would rather do than be with my family
I don’t drink beer or play much golf, I’ll live if I miss the big game
The joy I feel with my kiddies around means more to me than fame
I love getting sloppy kisses and saying “I love you”
And snuggling with my little ones when the day is almost through
And I know I’m not the only one, I see many dads like me
Pushing a child on the swing or taking them for ice cream
I see other fathers fishing, their boys casting in the pond
Another father and daughter were jogging; the list could go on and on
To all the fathers around the world let’s make sure our children know
That while it may be funny, the TV dads we see
The real truth is, they’re a minority - and they’re not like you and me!
Ben Arkell – June 18 2011
Labels: dad, fatherhood
The Grandfather He Will Never Be
The other day I got excited to call and talk to my Dad. I then realized he wouldn't be able to talk, even if I called--because he’s gone. He’s been gone for eight years now. Every now and then I forget. I'm sad for my kids, because they're missing out on a lot of love from grandpa. I'm sad for myself because I would love to see them all wrestle together. I'm sad for my father because of the grandpa he'll never be to my kids.
My Dad was a police officer for 32 years. His bulging forearms were the size of my thighs. His biceps were not very defined, they were just blocks of muscle. My sister and I would often try to pull him down as he would kneel on the floor and just laugh at us until his face turned red. All our efforts were useless. He couldn't be moved. He had strong, compact hands that could crack walnuts on Thanksgiving like no other. Like most men, he didn't wear his emotions on his sleeve. I only recall seeing him cry a few times—at his mother’s funeral, at his son’s funeral, and in church on occasion when we would sing “I Need Thee Every Hour”.
I paint this picture of my dad, with only a few strokes, because I want you to understand one characteristic of him. He was tough as nail. He was tough because he had to be. He was a police officer and a father of eight children for heaven's sake. But the last time I saw him he looked weak. Leukemia had taken over. Hands once thick and strong were now thin and fragile. Arms once popping with powerful muscles now consisted of sagging skin and visible outlines of bone. This once intimidating officer of the law now could barely get out of his chair.
One memory I have of my father will forever be etched in the archives of my mind. He was sitting in his nice comfortable chair as leukemia was beginning to win the fight—eyes closed, arms resting on the arms of the chair, head back—and he was singing as his head rocked slowly from side to side. Not only did he sing, he felt something-- understood what the music meant--perhaps for the first time. He was singing and humming along with Erroll Gardner, his favorite Jazz pianist. As I watched my father in confused awe, I saw tears stroll down his face. He looked pathetically scared for a man who had faced fear his whole life on the police force. I think I realized then he was coming to terms with his imminent death.
I had never seen my Dad sit down and listen to music, there was always too much going on. He worked two jobs most of his adult life and had to support eight children and all that comes with that. I didn't know he had interest in music, other than the occasional blasting of Neil Diamond on cross country road trips. His life didn't allow him the luxury of listening to music. He never had the chance to sit down, relax, and sing along.
When life was fading away, he wanted to experience it. When his body was succumbing to illness, he wanted to feel. When his voice was about to become silent, he wanted to sing. There was something about that moment that was so innocent, so heartfelt. Seeing your powerful hero become something broken and weak is a very humbling thing.
With that in mind, while the day is here and you have your voice—turn up the music, sit back and smile, and for all those who didn't have the time to do it as much as they wanted to in life, please, oh please sing along!
Labels: dad, death, father
