For God, so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son. That who ever shall believe in Him shall not perish. But have everlasting life.
Strong words. Learning to love your father isn't an easy path. Your dad is a lout. Opinionated. Belligerent. Holding strongly held beliefs. Mom was easy. Whenever you had a boo-boo, mom would hold you in her arms and press herself against you. Dads were different.
Dads typically were big. Dads were powerful. Dads could make lawnmowers sing, made ladders go up, chopped down trees. Moms typically didn't do these things.
Dads made more money than moms. Dads had friends who drank beer, golfed and basically were assholes. Dad liked his friends. Mom hated most of his friends. Moms felt that they were improving the lives of your dad. Their friends were dragging them down.
Dads coached your basketball team. Dads coached your baseball team. Dads coached your soccer team. There were moms who tried to do these things, but you knew that most teams that were coached by women couldn't compete with Dad's team. The kiss of death for most youth teams was the presence of a woman coach. Dads would yell at you--exhort you--to improve. Moms would negotiate with you. Dads had limits. Moms were limitless.
Growing up hating your Dad was easy. Loving your Dad was not.
There are three movies that I would ask you to watch, if you want to learn how to process you and your Dad. These are
Field of Dreams, Hoosiers, and
Mr. Holland's Opus. Men are lousy at showing their feelings.
Fear. Love. Empathy.
What do you want me to be? A woman?
We learn at an early age every device for undermining those with whom we are closest. We examine every weakness, looking for an advantage. Whether it's sport or whatever else exists, we look to win. Family especially. The competition between siblings has been noted elsewhere, before.
What imprimatur settles the question?
I don't think it is Robert Duvall in the
Great Santini. The
Great Santini isn't about the competition for a father's love. It's about finding the love in the father. It is a different
genre. Who didn't love Santini's smashing a basketball into his son's head?
Being a son is different than being a daughter. Being hated by your father is different than being loved by your father. Whether you are hated or loved by your father is a bit of indifference. You still strive to be loved by your father. It is different in type and kind from loving your mother--in the main--and loving your father. Or, your sister(s) and brother(s). I'm not going to explore the "Mommy Dearest" type of feminine role. It's too late for Mother's Day. Loving a man is different than the love you give a woman. And you learn that love from loving your Dad.
The three movies I've listed earlier are the types of motive themes that I wish I could have actualized with my own father. In
Field of Dreams you watch one of the better supporting actors in James Earl Jones. Both men, Ray Kinsella and Terry Mann have issues with their Dads. It is one of the few movies that I left in tears. The whole idea that a son can successfully build a dream that gains the respect of ones father is a moving myth. By 1989, my father was a moving vegetable. When he died, five years later, his passing was a relief, rather than a chore.
Hoosiers has a different cast, a different take on fatherhood. Everett has to deal with Shooter. Shooter has to deal with his life. And his perception of life. And his history with life. Dealing with men is mercurial. Dealing with women is softer, kinda like. Almost Venusian. For men, having a dad like Shooter isn't mythic. We have all seen our Dads on their "Shooter" days. The days you want to forget. The days you can't forget.
The reason why I have chosen
Mr. Holland's Opus as my third Dads' film is simple. Mr. Holland was my Dad. He was my
Great Santini. One of the top tenors in the country sixty years ago. Sang with Bob Crosby and the Bobcats. Defended Oklahoma against the Japanese. Worked on his Master's thesis for most of his adult life. Didn't really care, actually. He taught voice, and was one of the best vocalists in Portland's history. Directed the
Timberliners. He was active in SPEBSQA. Directed Portland's Sweet Adelines. Was one of the most brilliant musicians I've known. His friends included guys like
Eubie Blake.
Jester Hairston.
Carman Dragon.
My Dad was also a failure. While I worked to connect with him, I found myself drawing away from him. Just as I am a failure to my sons. Just like Santini, Kinsella, Mann and Shooter. If you have a son, you will have failed your sons. And the purpose of this post is to let you know that you haven't failed your sons. You can't fail your sons. You teach them how the game is played, and you show them how to win or lose at the game. And the final goalpost isn't set in cash.
I've lost more money than most people have made. I don't have a problem with that. Getting squared away with yourself isn't a game. It's learning about the right ways and wrongs ways of getting to where you're going. And here I am.
Two great sons. My Father's Day. Complete.
My life hasn't been as interesting as was Kinsella's. Probably, in their lifetimes, closer to Shooter's. Only one son has known me as a playing musician. And we sat side by side for a concert. One of my proudest moments.
Both sons had to deal with me as "father-coach." And I learned a lot from both my sons as a result. I learned about my skills as a teacher, as a father, as a man. I wasn't always right, but I learned. The fruit of this is in the unsolicited calls I receive from both my sons. From my oldest son, our talks about electronics and his play in his latest endeavour on the pitch. From my youngest, calls about his latest performance. His last was shredding Pachelbel. The
Cannon. At least he knows the classics.
I don't know how my sons will remember me. I do know of how I reflect upon my father. His strengths. His weaknesses. His failures. His triumphs. How proud I was to be his son. How ashamed I was, too. How I and my sisters loved him. How we learned about his weaknesses, and yet found ourselves victims of his weaknesses, too.
For God so loved the world.
When you watch these movies, remember these words, please. No Dad wishes to be the object of scorn. Not hatred. Anger, not apathy. Be engaged with those whom you love, those who you wish loved you. Don't be surprised when you find out that your Dad didn't meet your expectations. Don't be surprised when you don't meet the expectations of your sons.
Just be aware of the loss you will feel when you find you hadn't adopted your Dad's beliefs earlier. Men aren't like women. We have things we believe in that we may not be able to express. But, we know are right. When words are important, we rely upon those who have found themselves in our predicament, unable to express our emotions; because they aren't emotions. They are truly and wholly felt beliefs. The early
trancedents weren't different than you or I. They were simply the first who attempted to traduce the difference between the wholly rational and the simply felt, or emotional. Loving isn't either a simply feminine or masculine emotion. Love is the dangerous thing we must learn to wield or welcome. It isn't rational. It is real. And love for your Dad isn't rational. But, it is real.
Here's an arrangement of Carmen Dragon's
America the Beautiful that my dad had a hand in. Enjoy.
