Who's You're Daddy?

Who's You're Daddy?

Today is Father's Day 2021. A little while back I set out to write something for this occasion. So much to unpack. "Proustian Rush."

In my mind, I could write a book. But, that would be just another story. One that I would tell. Which doesn't have anything to do with how my children would tell their version of it. Bottom line: Whatever others may think of me, is none of my business. When I first heard that it fell onto my lap like a ton of bricks. Important life lesson. [See, there I go telling you what's what. You may balk. But, what's the matter with you that just because I may assert something as true that you can't give it some thought?]

Which brings me to ...

When my young ones were in their early school years there was a watershed moment between us. I was full of opinions ["was", that's rich]. I had just told them something or other, and got this sassy come-back, "Whatever you say goes back to you!" A variant: "When you point a finger, there are three others pointing back at you".

I was stumped. The truth of it hit me loud and clear. As in, before you can teach, you must first have learned. Where I was remiss as a Father was to point out, while that is certainly true, it may also apply to you kids too. What's good for the Goose ...

That one time marks the moment when I probably lost any ability to influence my children's lives in any direct sense. As in, do it just because I said so. I don't think there's anything they would now do just because I told them, or even asked them. Unless, of course, it happened to coincide with what they already were inclined to do. Once when they were in a social setting with me and lots of people, they were getting too rambunctious. I told them to settle down. "Why!" The hostess overheard this and snapped, "Because he said so!" I lost my prerogative of command rather soon in our relationship. Too bad. I might be full of it, but they may have missed out on an important lesson: Only those who obey can command.

My children are grown with children of their own. I am certainly over as a Father figure, or even as a presence in their lives. On appearances, anyway.

When I think about this situation — and I do ... often — I'm reminded of that little bit of wisdom pig-headedly turned back on me. Whatever I may think of the why's and wherefore's of our estranged relationship, I come back to how it is, in reality, a mirror in which I see myself reflected. Also, as a parent I hold myself duty-bound not to reify my loved ones into some self-held mental image; like a fly in Amber. That may be the trouble spot in many relationships. When the other ceases to be Thou and becomes them. You relate to the loved one filtered, colored by the story you built up about them in your head. Are we really separate? I'll leave that to the Wisdom of the Ages to explicate. Short answer, no. Absolutely not.

Nevertheless, it's a test of trust in the knowing workings of the Universe to accept how what you hold most dear and important in your life seems to fall on deaf ears. Gifts unopened. Even the offering of them taken as an offense. Not even open to listen at all.

Their refusal I am also duty-bound as a parent to look at what that brings up for me. A mirror. A blessing really. I'm full of gratitude to my children. In the way they are, and the way they aren't in my life. Or, as that may seem to be.

It is my concern for my children that the part of their hearts they have closed off to me isn't available to them to share with the ones they love. That they may not [yet] have done the necessary and inevitable soul-searching to see how the grievances they hold against this Old Man have not been transmuted into blessings. Bugger is that putting that out to them has come back to me as me just trying to justify myself to them. The old Apologia Pro Vita Sua. There's some truth to that, I admit. But, let's not throw the baby out with the bathwater. A solution to what's bugging you is not shunting it away. I don't know if they get that. As I said ... trust.

Yes, the lesson for me as a Father is to trust. Trust that the path I walk, with as clear a light as I can sincerely generate, is not truly separate or alone. That we may be separated in the nominal sense of space and time, but our connection is there, shiny and bright as it ever was. Or, ever shall be.

Some stories, with a point ...

When we lived in Brooklyn on a few occasions I took the kids on outings. Just me and the two of them. Once to collect Horse Chestnuts at an old tree in Greenpoint Cemetary where we were confronted by a pack of feral dogs and brought home a lame duck to nurse back to health. The dogs left us alone and the duck after a few days flew away home.

There was another time when the three of us went to Coney Island off-season. Maybe November. As we walked the beach they would find all kinds of interesting litter and, with a great deal of irony, offer it to me as a gift. Bottle caps and pieces of wood and glass worn smooth by the sand. Four small pieces from what must've been a Coca-Cola bottle.

Years later from a high school trip to Mexico the older kid brings me back a Hog's tooth said to have been found near a cemetery. Or, at least that's how I recall it. Nice when your children remember and bring back some ritual between us from the past. But, a Hog's tooth? Cemetary? Inscrutable. Loaded with possible meaning(s) for someone like me with an overly tuned psychic sense to churn over.

I saved those four pieces of green glass. I wrapped them up in a beautiful lavender-colored piece of hand-made paper and brought that as an offering in Darshan with a world-renowned spiritual teacher. Darshan has a rich significance. First, it's a meeting with a holy person. Deeper, it's a meeting with the divinity within oneself. The custom is to pranam [bow] at the Guru's feet. Many, especially in the west, take this to be demeaning, a loss of dignity. Kowtowing. Really, it's about demonstrating a surrender. Not to the Guru sitting in the chair, but the Guru sitting in your own heart.

So there I was in the line waiting to have my darshan. At that moment it was clear to me that the outward ritual, in reality, reflected an inner going toward the center of my own heart, my soul. I placed the package in the offering basket as a gesture to ask God to protect my family. I had recently divorced and my path took me away from being an everyday presence in their lives. When I have thoughts of concern about my children, I remember that moment in Darshan. And I offer my concerns to the Lord. [That is not to say that I won't or don't take action as I am prompted to, but it's about relinquishing the concern itself. Again, not in some don't-give-a-shit way, but in the certainty that my concerns would only weigh on my loved ones. So I practice letting go. And ... practice.]

So. Who's your Daddy? No Dad should go unremembered and unappreciated. Especially on Father's Day. But, if so, Dad should take it in stride and turn even that into a blessing.