My Fathers Son

My Father's Son

by Craig Willms

I don't often think of my father. I don't necessarily feel bad about that. Maybe I should? I think about my mother all the time. I suppose that's the way it is for a lot of people whose parents are gone. Dad was not a happy soul. He wasn't so much angry as he was bitter. Yes, I think bitter is right descriptor. Mom had a much sunnier disposition that would attract you to her. Her encouragements were in the form of praise and a sense of joy for you, where my dad's were more like, "you can do better than that?", pointing out the shortcomings of an otherwise laudable effort. That was his way. I assume it was the way he was raised. It was deflating for a young boy; you'd rather not show him your art or have him come to the game.   

That was a long time ago. My dad is long gone. He is sadly, as suggested, mostly forgotten. The truth is, he is always present - he lives on in me. He makes up part of the circuitry of my being. He is clearly connected to the negative pole to take the analogy to fruition. 

I suspect that deep down my dad had a low opinion of himself, and he unconsciously took it out on everyone else. Because he was a chauvinist, he took it out on my mom and older sister the most. But no one escaped whatever particular kind of hell his life was. I expect his life was hard, probably beyond what my memory can conjure up when I recall being around him. Did he do the best he was capable of? I can't answer that. Putting myself in his shoes I can't imagine being the head of a small household with seven children and the chaos that produced. It might drive me to drink too.

We knew almost nothing about his young life. He never talked about it. The little time we spent with his side of the family we learned very little about his childhood. Be that as it may, I can surmise it was much like the existence we lived. I don't think he was shown an abundance of love and encouragement by his own dad. The question is, how deeply did his negativity and self-loathing get buried in my own sub-conscious? Is it the reason I tend toward the negative, despite my life-long battle to resist it? 

I made a conscious decision early on that I would not be like him. I didn't want to be a negative presence, a bitter, angry man. To a person all my siblings made this decision. On the outside it seems we have succeeded. I can't speak for my brothers and sisters, but unfortunately my kneejerk, unconsidered reactionary self always seems to descend into Gordon-like behavior as a default condition. 

I quit drinking 30 years ago to the surprise of everyone including my wife. I started to see history repeating itself and I had to put a stop to it. Looking back, it was one of the most important decisions of my life. Who can tell, but I might be dead by now had I not stopped. I was never accused of or even suspected of being an alcoholic, but I knew that was my destiny had I not pulled the plug. I never attended AA or any recovery program, I just quit cold turkey. As AA alums know the drinking may stop but the self-destructive behavior does not necessarily end. For me it manifested in a negative attitude toward anything or anyone that was better than me. It was easier for me to drag someone down than to consider my own short comings.

I hated this about myself. When I'm aware of my tendency to descend into negativity, I fight it, I fight it with everything I've got. When someone shows me their fabulous house or magnificent truck, something that I never could hope to afford, I am genuinely happy for them, not jealous. They either worked really hard for what they had, or somehow had tremendous luck, I am not any lesser because of it. When something good happens to another person, or they accomplish something truly meaningful I am happy for them, and my praise is real. However, when I am not on top of it, my mind goes into Gordon-mode.

For my dad no one was all that great. I don't ever recall him truly admiring anyone. He would talk over the back fence with the neighbor for an hour and then walk back into the house and declare that guy a jerk. We'd be confused, weren't they just laughing and joking, having a good time? The only time he was at all pleasant and not negative toward the world was when he was drinking. Fortunately for us he was a happy drunk. He could be a mean, bitter man when he was sober. So, when he finally quit drinking, you can imagine his demeanor 24/7.

Dad had his good points, obviously. He bore his responsibility to his family. He went to work every day; I never remember him taking a day off or calling in sick.  He instilled in us a good work ethic. He brought his paycheck home, not to the bar. He paid his bills and put food on the table. Although we avoided him every chance we could, he was there, he was not an absent father. Ironically, uncharacteristically, he did something that absolutely changed my life. One day out of the blue he brought home a really, really nice guitar and gave it to me. There had been this old nylon-string guitar in the house that was handed down from brother to brother through the years. When it landed on me, I learned to play it. He must have heard me playing through the closed bedroom door and it spurred him to do this completely unexpected act - for me. He gave me a real guitar! I became a musician and continue to play to this day, probably due to that one act. For that I'm eternally grateful to him.

I'm now 60+ years old, he's long gone, but I still struggle with his legacy. My early programming is still in resident memory, but it's unfair for me to lay the blame for my attitude on him. By now I am my own man, and my negativity is my own. I've already seen my own negative behavior manifest in my son, and it's disturbing. He's an adult and my time with him is now limited, but I try to be a positive influence when we're together. The damage is done as it relates to his formative years. My daughter is a different story. We never had a relationship built on such negatives. Outside of the usual behavioral corrections we had a pretty good rapport. Although there's no telling how my demeanor back then infused her with the instant anger that I showed toward inanimate objects and things. I see it in my son directly. I am confident I've shown them both love and encouragement as well. Now it's just me and my wife, and I know sometimes I need to act better toward her. I am trying, to be sure. I am a work in progress.