Tyler
Today I met Tyler at the playground, a very kind and gentle young man who was very sweet to my daughter. Tyler taught me how to throw a football. I’ve never been able to throw a spiral before today. He told me to put my fingers on the threads…and to aim my elbow where I was going to throw the ball and then just….
let it go.
I did it. I couldn’t believe it. I was excited. No, I was elated. Inside I was thrilled beyond what I could physically confess in front of the other kids. Inside I was jumping. I wanted to throw the football with Tyler all day. It was wonderful. perfect.
I am 36. Tyler is 8.
It doesn’t bother me any more that I’ve never thrown a football…or any ball…with my father.
It doesn’t bother me any more that last year I learned that my father was a quarterback in high school.
It doesn’t bother me any more that last month I learned that he was second chair clarinet in the new york youth philharmonic.
It doesn’t bother me any more that I didn’t know he could read music or play an instrument.
It doesn’t bother me any more that I never knew he could speak spanish until I overheard him speaking it.
It doesn’t bother me any more that there is more to him; stories and a life that I will never know.
It doesn’t bother me any more that he lived a life of secrecy and shame and kept himself from me… to protect me I suppose.
It makes me sad for him.
Death comes quickly to those who crave it.
This makes me sad, too. I can relate a little.
Your Dad sounds really accomplished.
I hear you, Matt. I feel some of that too. I don’t want my boys to be blogging about the same thing in 20 or 30 years. My dad is retiring next Sunday from 40+ years of preaching in the Nazarene church. And I am hopeful. Some of the changing I have done in 2007 has been scary for him and my mom, but he is asking questions sometimes that seem to say to me that his doctrinal boundaries are cracking. Maybe I can get to know him in a different way and do some different kind of talking with him. I am hopeful. Hang in there, buddy.
I sometimes feel deeply hurt that I don’t get the chance to know my dad as an adult… oh, the things I’d love to have him walk through with me, the questions I’d like to ask. But this reminded me that even if he had lived, that might not have happened, and that can bring a deeper sadness. I’m sorry for the hurt you’ve had to feel, and I am glad that Tyler redeemed some of it for you. And I’m glad that Jack isn’t going to have the same hurt in his relationship with you.
man, this post is just so great. to hell with the happiness cravers who want to live vicariously through their perceptions of others. this is honest and hard and helpful (i swear i wasn’t trying for 3 h words) and we can all relate to it–your experience and writing put it into words the best. i want to say more, but it would take more words and…i’m already past the whole diminishing returns thing.
Thanks for all the comments. Dad is a great man with a history of struggles. I love him dearly. To call him accomplished is true. I’m proud of him, more than anything, for surviving. Those who know the depressive disorders intimately know how debilitating it can be.
He has been diagnosed with all kinds of things, but his strongest diagnosis, is that he is a man who chose to laugh when everything said he should cry.
“it makes me sad for him”
i’ve said those same words about my own dad several times in the last year. glad to know there’s one more person out there who can relate.
it does make me wonder what Chloe will someday say about me (since we all have issues).
guess i’ll hope God works in her life despite me…kinda like my own Dad did with me.