Well, it’s arrived. That moment I pondered about yet tossed away with a quick shrug of the shoulder.
How would I deal with Father’s Days, in the future, if I was not a father?
For years it was easy to toss that whimsical consternation to the sidelines for future thought – when I still had time on my hands.
But now I don’t. I’m 70.
It’s neither likely nor logical to contemplate the dilemma. Nor do I have the inclination or energy to take on the task of fatherhood.
I spent the better part of the first 50 years of my life suggesting the reason I had no kids was a ‘lack of interest’ on my part.
Truth is I was afraid. I largely blamed my father for that.
Poor old Dad received a lot of pent-up anger and frustration from me for stuff he either did not do or was misunderstood for doing.
I was afraid to become a ‘Dad’ because I was afraid I would become the bully my dad had been. I know now that was not fair.
I believe my own father was a victim of a lost childhood from over-controlling parents that did not really know how to love or share their love.
Syd was 11 or12 years older than younger brother Bobby and spent his childhood and early teen years ‘babysitting’ his younger sibling.
My grandpa (I do not remember - he died while I was just a child) was a hard-working longshoreman who came home from work exhausted, basically had dinner and went to bed. No time for his children.
Grandmother was a dominating woman who did not like kids. Why she had children is a mystery. (Though in later years as a grandmother she treated me and my two siblings very kindly – go figure).
Regardless, Dad was never groomed in the gentle art of parenting.
He was not taught or shown how to love so he lacked the ability to pass on the skill.
I also believe Dad suffered a mental disorder of some sort, exactly what I do not know. Certainly, he was unpredictable.
He was an enigma to this little boy who just wanted his dad to love him.
To this day, I cherish warm memories of rare special moments spent with him.
He occasionally took me to my hockey games. Sometimes after the game he would take me to the old Sings Café for hot-chocolate and French fries. That was awesome.
Other times I would look up in the stands and Dad was gone. He simply went home without me.
He was not a heavy drinker (that I’m aware of) yet there was always a full liquor cabinet if company came for a visit.
However, I had my first beer with Dad. It was one of the very few fishing trips we shared, and were stuck in the middle of the lake with the sun beating down.
Dad opened the cooler and discovered he’d forgotten my pop in the fridge at home. I remember he asked if I would like to try a beer to which I said no.
Since there was nothing else to quench my thirst, however, I did not turn down the second offering.
I think it was called Lucky, but I can’t recall. Either way it had a large x on the label and it was cold.
Dad was a confusing man in many ways.
A community man with a huge heart he loved to bring home strangers for Christmas dinners or other random acts of kindness before such was common place. At home alone, he was a bully.
My older brother and sister moved out several years ahead of me. I moved out of home quite early though I loved my Mom more than anything in the world.
Dad and I just fought all the time and it was a toxic relationship. Then Dad had a complete kidney failure, and the world changed.
Mom became a master nurse learning all the skills to put Dad on and off the machine. I moved home to help.
Within two years though Dad wound up in Kamloops General’s Kidney Unit where he died.
I was 20 and never had been wise enough to realize what I had lost.
I had not been mature or smart enough to see past the illness and anger that held dad like a vice.
But I did vow soon after he died to learn from some of his wiser moments.
I was married at age 23 but never had any children during my first two marriages.
In my last two marriages, both wives already had older teenage or adult children when I arrived on the scene. None of them were about to ‘learn’ anything from me.
I was totally blessed with a granddaughter, which I spent a tremendous amount of time helping raise when she was younger.
She has now provided Tez and I with four great grandchildren to enjoy and possibly mentor a tad.
While I’ve not had the honour or pleasure of being an actual father I’ve been blessed with friends who I have spent so much time.
I believe they are marvellous men and absolutely fantastic fathers. Curtis Tulman, Brian Prodor, Barry Mathers and Lloyd Manchester are a couple of shining examples of the kind of patience, wisdom and kindness so important in fatherhood.
I have watched each of them over many years in multiple circumstances and marvel at their skills in knowing when to be firm and when to be fair in discussions, how to lead by example, and how to sometimes just be quietly supportive.
I admit to being a little bit jealous of their success.
Mothers get a lot of love and acknowledgement on their special calendar day, and often throughout the year as well.
Fathers rarely get the thanks and love on their special day, and rarely during the rest of year.
If you have a special Dad in your world, tell him. Don’t wait until it is too late.
And tell him in six months from now as well.
