For the past couple of years, one of my long-time friends and his kids have stopped by to visit my little town in the desert so that our kids (or should I say teens?) can catch up and we can sit mindblown at how fast they’ve grown. Both times I have appreciated seeing what a solid and great relationship he has with his kids because I am reminded of my own dad and how much of an impact he made in my life.
My dad passed away almost 6 years ago, and I miss him as much today as I did on the day he left these earthly plains. I think my 18 year old son could have really benefited from having my dad’s steadfast calm and gentle demeanor around for a little longer. My dad was exemplary. He truly was.
I’ve written a lot about him in this very blog before, so I won’t bore you with any repetition, but I felt compelled to sit and write about all of the gifts my dad gave me throughout our life together. He never had a lot of money, so those gifts were not of a material nature, but he gave me a wealth of patience, love, pride, and examples of how to be a good human. I am who I am now because of him.
My father was the shelter to the storm that was my mother. Without his serenity and strength I’m not quite sure what would have become of me. I know that I picked up on some character defects that I am not proud of like co-dependence, impatience, insecurity, and too sharp of a tongue from my mom. Things that I worked long and hard to overcome, and gratefully did…..but there are other bits like the self-doubt and negative self-talk that linger. Work in progress…but aren’t we all? Yet, it was thanks to my dad, that I felt like I could still accomplish things I probably shouldn’t have been able to. Like go to college and travel the world.
No matter what I did, he was always so proud of me and would let me know any chance he could. He didn’t set expectations for me to fit his narrative of what he thought I should be or act like. He only asked that I be kind and try my best at whatever set my heart on fire. He didn’t expect me to “make him happy”. He didn’t pressure me to smile, act happy, or be the perfect kid. He wanted me to know that it was not my responsibility to do any of that…but that it was my responsibility to learn to stand on my own and be as well as I possibly could be.
He was deaf and therefore could never hold a lengthy verbal conversation with me, but we would sit for hours writing on a pad of paper back and forth, sliding our words across the kitchen table. Sometimes funny, sometimes serious, sometimes just absolute nonsense…but this was how we communicated best. He taught me all of the dirty words in Hungarian, because that’s important. He taught me about geography, history, linguistics, folklore, our family tree, and everything in between. I remember his lessons more than anything I learned from a textbook or behind a desk.
He never once raised his hand or his voice at me.
My father had the patience of a saint. Sometimes I think too much patience, because life can be cruel, and people take advantage of souls like him. He is what I needed in a parent though. Even in my teen years he allowed me the space to be moody, sullen, and unpleasant. A rite of passage all teen girls (are there exceptions?) go through. He knew I would eventually come around, and I did.
He treated everyone with absolute grace and humility. It just didn’t matter who you were, where you came from, what you looked like, what job you held….he would treat you like you were the most incredible human on the planet. He was a gentleman in every respect and in every situation. I took all of that in.
He was strong. Not in the physical sense, because he was small and slight of stature…but he was strong in the way that he survived torture and escaped WWII hell only to end up in a difficult marriage until the day he passed. Strong because he didn’t let any of that harden him or make him resentful. Strong because he didn’t burden me with the responsibility of being the one thing in his life to make all of that hell better (he did say I was the best thing to have ever happened to him though). I like to think I did bring some light to his existence…and later his grandkids did too. Strong because no matter how many obstacles life threw his way he didn’t use any of it as an excuse to be hurtful, angry, vengeful, easily offended or triggered. He expected nothing from anyone, but would do anything for everyone. Especially me.
I like to think I would have been an incredible man if I had been born his son. How could I not have been with an example like that? I was, however, born a girl and fought long and hard to break the maternal example that I was afforded…perhaps because I knew there was another and better way to be…and perhaps because all of those lessons my dad taught me just by existing were seeds that were slowly taking root the whole time until they finally blossomed.
…but even then, I don’t think I’ll ever live up to the level of amazing that my father was. I don’t think many people can fill shoes like his. If anyone.
What I do know is that whether you are a bio-dad, stepfather, uncle, grandfather, teacher, coach, principal….it is beyond important to remember that every word you say and every action you take is being absorbed by the children in your lives whether consciously or subconsciously. Children become what they see and the examples they are given. To the men already doing this….you are heroes.
I am grateful every single day for what I saw and the examples that were given to me by my old man.
I think to say that you honor someone is one of the greatest praises you can bestow on anyone. I honor him. Present tense. Forever.
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