Fathers

Fathers

By John W. Vander Velden

 

How we feel about people is shaped by our experiences.   As we, through time, interact with others part of our understandings comes from actions we observe, but also our interpretations of those actions. Feelings are emotions…those quasi real things that make up so much of our lives.  So should we be surprised that our “feelings” about another person are shaped by impressions as well as deeds.  Or simply…how we feel about someone depends upon, how we feel about someone.  There‘s no logic in that statement…but often there is no logic in emotions to begin with.

A story.  There was a time when all the young men of a community were rounded up by forces of an occupying country.  Labor was needed and so, six sons of a man had been gathered and held in a large room with other boys and men.  The oldest of the six received permission to take the youngest to the restroom.  There, since the child was smaller, he helped the boy escape.  A remarkable story don’t you think.  But it is only half told.  For the youngest son ran home and told his father of the ordeal.  The father went to the place his sons were held, faced the authorities, and convinced them to release the remaining sons.  You see the family raised food, potatoes, cucumbers, and lettuce.  He told how he needed the labor in order to produce the food people needed…including the “fatherland”.  For the authorities confiscated large portions of every farmer’s production.

Should I be surprised that when each of those six boys grew to men and had families of their own, they would name a son after their father?  Would the action of that night be so different that the thousands of days they had witnessed in their father’s presence?  No!  Feeling were built upon the actions observed daily and personal interactions that bind one generation to the next.

One of things we all have in common…is we have a father.   Unfortunately some never have a connection to their father.  Unfortunately some men do not deserve the children they have sired.  Only those fortunate, have the kind of father that would march right up to a soldier and demand their child’s release.  Only the fortunate, have a father that is connected…involved…someone that takes the responsibility and the time needed, even though he carries so many other demands.

But sometimes children don’t notice.  Sometimes they remember only the distasteful.  Sometimes they rebel incapable to accept the lessons offered.  Each of us measure the man that was our father, and the tools we use may not be accurate or fair.

Even among my siblings my relationship with my father was unique.  I worked with the man for more than thirty years, long hours side by side.  The sheer volume of time spent changes what you know about someone.  Did we agree on EVERYTHING.  No!  But I came to understand the man better.  And in understanding came to even a greater respect.

So as I think of the man…flawed as he was…on what would have been his ninety-first birthday.  I hope he knew just how much I admired him. That I loved him.  It is my hope that he held some sort of respect for me, his son.  I hope that one day my son might say as much.  For I learned most of what I know about fatherhood from my dad.  There are many fathers in the world…I miss mine…

(586 Words)                3-3-2016