Fathers and Sons
So here's a true story. This happened to a very close friend of mine, and he does not typically exaggerate.
His father died quite a few years ago. He was young enough (I think in his 20s) to be deeply saddened by this loss. His dad left a widow, a daughter, and my friend. "The Old Gee" was "blue collar:" a very, very hard-working, meticulous man who believed in craftsmanship and doing things right. His house was neat and clean. His sanctuary was, of course, his workroom, which was also spotless. He did, though, have an amazingly impish sense of humor. My friend keeps these habits to this day.
So let's say you're at your father's wake. Many of your father's friends and coworkers are there, along with family. I cannot remember whether the man who said this was a relative or a friend; it might not matter much. I'll paraphrase:
"You know, your father talked about you. Quite a bit. College boy. From what he told me, you were not a hair on his ass, in my opinion. Your father was a great man; you'll never amount to a fraction of what he was."
I suppose this was by way of comforting you, a young man who just lost his dad. He was, of course, paying a compliment to the deceased. I suppose that he might have intended to challenge you to strive to be his best - to be inspired and driven by the memory of your father to achieve great things in work and life.
What is it about working class environment that makes people blind to basic human needs? When a man loses his father, what he wants to hear is how great his dad was, to be sure. But he also wants some assurance that his own life will be just as full, successful and rewarding as the life just lost. It's simple. We want something to help us grieve, and then to help us avoid despair.
Fathers and sons - the dynamic repeats itself over and over. Henry and Edsel Ford - a great example. Henry's ego was so vast that he berated his son almost daily, and in the presence of others in the company. This happened despite strong evidence that Edsel saved the company during the Depression by persevering in doing things Henry hated, such as hydraulic brakes, expanding model offerings and having regular styling changes.
The paradox is that we want the best for our children, so long as who they are does not eclipse how we perceive ourselves to be.
I look at my son and see a completely unique individual. While you could point to this or that trait or attribute, he is the person he is and will become. It is a mistake (but one I often commit) to assume that he will like the things I like or want to do the things I want.
Last weekend I helped him move into his apartment at college. It was tiring, hot work, moving furniture up several flights of stairs. Afterward, he wanted to buy me a frozen drink at Barnes and Noble - and he got no argument about it.
We sat there for some time without speaking. He then began describing some computer things he was interested in, then suddenly interrupted himself.
"Are you eavesdropping?"
"What? No."
"You weren't listening to me at all. I thought you were listening to the table behind us."
"Actually, that's not it. I was looking at you, a 20-year-old man who's six inches taller than I am, and thinking what fun it would be to hoist you up onto my shoulders and show you all kinds of interesting things in this store. That's the weird part about being a parent. You look at your child and cannot help seeing a three-year-old. You are wonderful now, but you were wonderful then. Full of fun and curiosity. Wanting to know everything about the world around you. No fear. No hesitancy. You could misinterpret this as my not wanting you to grow up - that's not what I mean at all. Or that I don't have confidence in your ability to stand on your own feet. Not at all. It's just - hell - my perceptions of you are always going to be - "
"Dad?"
"What?"
"You weren't listening to me."
"You're right - what were you saying?"
Well, if I die anytime soon (I don't think I will), I want it on the record that my son is the best hair on my ass that I could possibly wish for. I am not disappointed in him - far from it. I love him and want good things for him, which I'm sure will happen.
For Pete's sake, please bring a copy of this to my wake, so you can show it to any asshole that says different.
His father died quite a few years ago. He was young enough (I think in his 20s) to be deeply saddened by this loss. His dad left a widow, a daughter, and my friend. "The Old Gee" was "blue collar:" a very, very hard-working, meticulous man who believed in craftsmanship and doing things right. His house was neat and clean. His sanctuary was, of course, his workroom, which was also spotless. He did, though, have an amazingly impish sense of humor. My friend keeps these habits to this day.
So let's say you're at your father's wake. Many of your father's friends and coworkers are there, along with family. I cannot remember whether the man who said this was a relative or a friend; it might not matter much. I'll paraphrase:
"You know, your father talked about you. Quite a bit. College boy. From what he told me, you were not a hair on his ass, in my opinion. Your father was a great man; you'll never amount to a fraction of what he was."
I suppose this was by way of comforting you, a young man who just lost his dad. He was, of course, paying a compliment to the deceased. I suppose that he might have intended to challenge you to strive to be his best - to be inspired and driven by the memory of your father to achieve great things in work and life.
What is it about working class environment that makes people blind to basic human needs? When a man loses his father, what he wants to hear is how great his dad was, to be sure. But he also wants some assurance that his own life will be just as full, successful and rewarding as the life just lost. It's simple. We want something to help us grieve, and then to help us avoid despair.
Fathers and sons - the dynamic repeats itself over and over. Henry and Edsel Ford - a great example. Henry's ego was so vast that he berated his son almost daily, and in the presence of others in the company. This happened despite strong evidence that Edsel saved the company during the Depression by persevering in doing things Henry hated, such as hydraulic brakes, expanding model offerings and having regular styling changes.
The paradox is that we want the best for our children, so long as who they are does not eclipse how we perceive ourselves to be.
I look at my son and see a completely unique individual. While you could point to this or that trait or attribute, he is the person he is and will become. It is a mistake (but one I often commit) to assume that he will like the things I like or want to do the things I want.
Last weekend I helped him move into his apartment at college. It was tiring, hot work, moving furniture up several flights of stairs. Afterward, he wanted to buy me a frozen drink at Barnes and Noble - and he got no argument about it.
We sat there for some time without speaking. He then began describing some computer things he was interested in, then suddenly interrupted himself.
"Are you eavesdropping?"
"What? No."
"You weren't listening to me at all. I thought you were listening to the table behind us."
"Actually, that's not it. I was looking at you, a 20-year-old man who's six inches taller than I am, and thinking what fun it would be to hoist you up onto my shoulders and show you all kinds of interesting things in this store. That's the weird part about being a parent. You look at your child and cannot help seeing a three-year-old. You are wonderful now, but you were wonderful then. Full of fun and curiosity. Wanting to know everything about the world around you. No fear. No hesitancy. You could misinterpret this as my not wanting you to grow up - that's not what I mean at all. Or that I don't have confidence in your ability to stand on your own feet. Not at all. It's just - hell - my perceptions of you are always going to be - "
"Dad?"
"What?"
"You weren't listening to me."
"You're right - what were you saying?"
Well, if I die anytime soon (I don't think I will), I want it on the record that my son is the best hair on my ass that I could possibly wish for. I am not disappointed in him - far from it. I love him and want good things for him, which I'm sure will happen.
For Pete's sake, please bring a copy of this to my wake, so you can show it to any asshole that says different.
posted by John Bernat @ 6:18 PM
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