A Father A bit different

You have never been there for us.  I did not know what a Father was, how it felt to have one.  Father's Day meant not having someone there to remember or honor.  It was as if you did not care.  It felt like that.  It was an empty spot in my soul that just was never filled.  With anything at all.  I watched "Its a Wonderful Life" at





Its a Wonderful Life with Jimmy Stewart

Christmastime, and thought maybe Dads were like Jimmy Stewart,and I saw "Leave it to Beaver" and thought they were like Mr. Cleaver.  I preferred the Father from "Father Knows Best", because he seemed to let everyone really live as if they knew best.

I continued weaving  these fantasies 

Father Knows Best with Robert Young



around the stories my Mother told us about the wonderful person she had married and was not there with us, because there was no one flesh and bones there with me.  Not a person to talk to, read to me, work out problems,  discuss "boys"; not like Robert Young, who spent a lot of time explaining life to his children.  I just bet most Dads would do that with their children.  They would play games, read books, go to movies, see them when they were in plays or in ballet or piano recitals.  Maybe congratulate them when they graduated?  No, I had none of that. 

Mother did not tell me much about you.  I do not know your favorite food, color, or movie.  I do not know where you liked to go, what you did in your spare time.  You painted pictures, you played the piano, you spoke several languages, I do know that.  And I know one song you sang.  In German, I know it, my Mother sang it to me.  One song she taught me when I was little, about how dark haired and dark eyed you were, and that you wanted your love to be dark like that, too.  It sounds sort of like a drinking song, or a folk song.  

I guess the good thing is that I have missed a lot of pain, though.  I did not have a lot of arguments with you, conflict, rebellion, fights, and all what the teen years usually are.  No memories of that, there was none.  I had no problem Father, drinking at bars, or being unfaithful to my Mother, he was neither. No serious illnesses that took him suddenly, or cruelly in his youth, to leave us destitute and bitter missing a Father that had meant so much.  One who had taken us everywhere and done so much for us.  A Father that had taught us to throw the baseball, swim and water ski, a Father that took us fishing at the lake, taught us to hold a hammer and pound nails,  one who spent time teaching us the times tables at night after a long day at work, and called to make sure we did not forget lunch in the fridge, made from the leftovers of dinner he had made the night before.  Yes, I am so glad I did not have to grieve that loss. I just did not have the experience of a Dad at all.

Thanks to my Father for giving me the gift of life, for giving my brother the gift of life, for loving my Mother, and for giving her the love of her life.