MetaChat - Tell me something about your dad...

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01 March 2008

Tell me something about your dad... an incident which was positive, and showed the loving side of your father, and tell me something about his negative side (an incident which you loathed).

→[More:]Positive: my dad had gotten me a BMX bicycle for my eight or ninth birthday, and about the only time I could ride it was when he'd come back from work, late in the evenings when it was already dark. Or, if it was a weekend, then I could ride it in the early mornings, before anyone had woken up. The reason for this was because, people didn't like us too much where we lived. The younger generation, the kids, were not on the friendliest of terms, and who can blame them. Their entire country was flooded with cheap labour from all around the world, and the jobs that they should've been getting were given to EVERYONE else except them. It was a frustrating time for everyone I think. But the elders were great, much more old school, with all their hospitality and generosity intact. They were from a different age after all.

Anyway, I digress. The incident that I wanted to tell you about is the evening, when dad had come back, and I had rushed downstairs with my bike (starting to circle the block). Dad was tired as usual and was in no mood to stand there for too long, so I tried to get in as many laps as I could. I don't excatly remember if it was in the begining, or at the end of my rounds, that a kid from a corner started throwing stones at me. Now, this was fairly common. Our School bus would get bombarded with rocks everytime we passed this one street so much that it would feel like we were caught in a hail storm. Of course, I never told dad anything about this, and perhaps this was the first time he was seeing his son being attacked--I don't know. But the next thing I know, he's running at top speed, after this guy, and it's as if he's not him. I can't believe what I'm seeing. He's practically flying through the air, and is sure to catch the guy in no time. I just stand there with my mouth agape. They both turn a bend, and are gone.

I wait there for a couple of minutes, inside the lobby, with my bike by my side, wondering what the hell's happened, and after a couple of minutes I see my dad slowly walking back towards the building. I am TERRIFIED. I've always been scared of my father, but now, I knew that there was Nothing I could do to get away from him--not even run.
So, as he approaches, I nervously ask him what happened, and he says that he chased the kid to his house, but he'd gone inside and hid. So he called for his father to come out, and he told him what he'd done. The father assured him that his son would be punished adequately and that he would not be bothering me anymore.

Negative: I don't remember quite how old I was at the time (but fairly young--maybe seven or eight) and we, my family and I, were returning home from somewhere. We'd always make trips back home to India, during the Summer and Winter vacations, so it must've been one of those days. As we're standing in line, my mom, dad, elder of the younger sister's with me, and the youngest one in my mum's arms (she was maybe a couple of months old) are waiting for our turn to come. So, there we are, standing in line with our baggage (a trolley filled with a couple of suitcases), and we're asked to open them for checking. My dad and I start unloading the stuff (I start stressing out as usual because I KNOW SOMETHING IS GOING TO GO WRONG--because something always does), and we start opening the suitcases, and showing the guy what's inside. That is, until we come to the sparkling RED Samsonite suitcase that my father had just bought beofre the trip. This had happened when my mother was not present, otherwise I wouldn't be telling you this story probably, because she would've made sure that the luggage she was buying, is something that she was familiar with. My dad probably saw the bag--liked the size, shape and colour, and said I'll take that one. (No offence dad, but he does this sometimes). So anyway, there we are...

We pick up the BRIGHT RED BAG and put it on the table. My dad adjusts the number on the lock--click click--both the locks open, and viola--nothing! The top won't budge. We do this again. Lock the bag, unlock it, and still no response. This continues back and forth for another couple of tries (all the while my heart is racing faster and faster) until finally dad gives up and tells me to give it a try. I step forward and pretty much start doing the exact same thing that he'd been doing and am left with the same results. The bag just won't open. The number has already been verified from my mom, and she's already been grilled if she knows for SURE that it's the right number. She's sure. My dad then gets the bright idea to do something--the same thing that I was afraid that he'd probably end up doing--and just as clockwork, I can hear the words come out his mouth, even though at that time I did not know what it was going to be. "Lift it Son--Lift IT!!! Yes, Now Throw It SON, THROW IT!!!!!" So, we lift, and throw, and we lift, and we throw, and we lift, and we throw, and we lift another couple of times, and we throw another couple of times. By the end of it, I've already gotten a good stride going, and my dad's totally oblivious to the looks and stares that our fellow passengers are giving us, and thinking to themselves what mindless barbarians we are. I don't want any part of this of course, but as I am my father's son--I will have to bear this humiliation as I've had to do on many an occasion and be haunted by it's effects later on in life, when I think that every one is looking at me, and laughing, or pointing, or whatever.

Having failed in his lift and drop approach, my father finally gives up. He consigns himself to the fact that the lock of the bag will probably have to be broken. Not that big a deal, considering we were trying to break the entire bag. I go over to the bag and see if it's damaged, and check it one last time. The numbers are correct, both the locks are opening, but wait--what's this. What's that red mark there in the centre, on that badge like thingie. It looks like an arrow, hmmm, funny. And it's pointing to the right. Click... *slides to the right side*... *bag finally opens*

Dad is thunderstruck. How did you do it son? What did you do? Oh, I just saw this arrow thing that I pushed and it opened dad; it must've been a safety lock of some sort. Son, I'm proud of you (of course he didn't say that, but he kind of felt it, so I'm adding it here). Want to know what I felt--relieved--that we could finally get out of that terminal and I could go and hide my face at home...

post by: hadjiboy at: 09:16 | 22 comments

Positive: My dad was a great dad. He had this amateur interest in astronomy, and he'd let my brother and I stay up to watch stuff with him, or he'd drive us up to an observatory for star parties. One time, he hung a bunch of cut-out planets and stars in our hallway, and built a "telescope" (really a piece of cardboard with a hole in it) and showed me why it's difficult to use physical observations to tell how far away planets are (since bigger/brighter planets/stars can look closer than smaller/less bright planets/stars). It's a subtle thing, but the fact that my father was so accessible, that he shared his interests and hobbies with his children. When we lived in the Bay Area, he'd often work 10 or 11 hour days, but he was never distant or unapproachable.

Negative: One time, when I was older, my dad just walked off. He came back eventually (like, 5 hours later), but we were completely freaked out. He had to deal with a lot of personal demons after he got sick when I was 10 years old - no longer being able to provide for his family, no longer able to concentrate and to the work he loved. But still, it was hard on the rest of the family to have to deal with all that. It's not really his fault, and it's another hardship for me to even admit that it was hard, if you know what I mean. But still, there it is. He walked out for 5 hours and left us absolutely crazy with worry.

posted by muddgirl 01 March | 10:57

When I was little my dad cheerfully offered to do grievious bodily injury who did me wrong. This was a good thing and a bad thing. On one hand, I really felt the offer was genuine, so if I'd needed it- hey! But mostly it made me afraid to mention anything that might shine a negative light on anyone but me.

posted by small_ruminant 01 March | 11:15

Positive: I have nothing positive to say about my dad apart from that he could play the piano well, and he was the life and soul of the party. Everyone thought he was great, but they didn't know him. When he came home, he became a violent, cruel, abusive drunk.

Negative: When I was 14 there was a school trip to France over the Easter holidays. It cost £55 and everyone in my class was going, except me, because we didn't have the money (my dad drank whatever money came into the house).

Then, one day, I got a letter from National Savings. The £1 Premium Bond (a type of savings plan) that my aunt had bought for me when I was born had won a prize in the weekly prize draw - £50. I had £5 I had managed to save up, so this meant I could go on the trip after all. But, because I was under 16, my dad had to sign for the money, and he kept it, every last penny of it, his rationale being (and I remember his words as if it were yesterday) "It's cost more than £50 to bring you up so far, this doesn't even begin to pay me back". I never forgave him. He drank it away, of course.

That's probably one of the more pleasant anecdotes about my dad. Most of them are the stuff of nightmares. I left home two days after my 16th birthday and never set foot in that house again. The day he died, I felt nothing but relief that I would never need to deal with him again.

posted by essexjan 01 March | 11:41

(((essexjan)))

My dad. An alcoholic too, but fortunately a sweet, sleepy one.

On the positive side he once told me that he deeply regretted stepping on people to get to the top. He was referring to a time in which he was chairman of the board of a local bank. While the confession didn't excuse his actions (whatever they were, I don't know the details), I admired his honesty, his capacity for self-examination (at least later in life), and felt oddly privileged to witness his confession.

On the negative side, just about the time that I started to suspect I was gay, we watched a movie together in which homosexuality was mentioned. (What was it? Stripes, with Bill Murray, I think). I asked him what "homosexuality" meant, pretending that I had no idea. He said, "it's a sickness of the mind." The conversation ended there.

posted by treepour 01 March | 11:58

My answer can be found in this thread, which is all about dads. Sorry I'm too lazy to retype it. That's a good thread though, you should check it out.

I liked your stories guys. Dads are a funny thing.

posted by SassHat 01 March | 12:09

Positive: I was a party in high school and was slipped something by a very sketchy dude. (I had a slight bit of an alcohol problem in HS.) Right before the shit was about to hit the fan (I realized I was half-naked in a bed somewhere), I slipped off to the bathroom and called my dad, begging him to come get me and not ask questions and that I had really screwed up, etc etc etc. Obviously he must've known what had happened because he showed up 5 minutes later (which might've been longer, I can't remember) with clothes and everything. He didn't ask any questions and he didn't tell my mother. To this day he has never mentioned that incident.

Negative: He tells me what it is that I'm supposed to want. Ever since I was young and it didn't really matter. (Such as, do I like the pink or the blue better? He would reply "pink, because that is what little girls like") To this day, I can't tease out what it is that I really want, compared to what it is that I'm *supposed* to want. It's because of him constantly second-guessing everything that I do, say, or whatever, that I am absolutely paralyzed when it comes to making decisions.

posted by sperose 01 March | 12:22

Positive: He was funny and bright and retired early and took care of me after school and stuff. He would drive me to school in the mornings if I couldn't get up to meet the bus. He ferried me everywhere in those years, when Mom was working and he wasn't. He taught me to read very very early, by reading the funny papers aloud to me on Sundays. I liked him as a stay at home parent more than my mom, who was there for my early years, and to this day, I just don't quite get my Mom, whom everybody seems to love, but she just exhausts me.

Negative: He was always a bit personality disordered - as a small child I never knew what I'd get if I went to him for affection. When he lost his hearing, he went from disordered to bonkers, and died a crazy man.

There were better dads, and there were worse dads. He never hurt me or abused me, or even disciplined me much, that was left to Mom. I just have a general distrust of people who show me affection, that it will go away, or not always be there, because of him.

I'm also the only one in my family who has anything positive to say about him, apart from my Mom. He must have been worse with the older four, when he was yeah, drinking. And he passed his stronger, drinking genes to all five kids instead of Mom's non-drinking ones. And I feel like the Bad Daughter sometimes, to my Mom, because I got on better overall with him, which is different than my sibling's experience. I should do more for her.

posted by rainbaby 01 March | 13:36

Oh, and to prove I have Daddy issues, my Masters Thesis show was called "Oh Daddy!" and the common thread in the performances was Dad stuff. Ghost from Hamlet, Cat on A Hot Tin Roof, The Dead Father by Barthleme, etc, etc.

posted by rainbaby 01 March | 14:02

I generally like my father but I don't remember a single nice thing about him. I was young when he killed himself.

posted by spork 01 March | 16:11

Negative: He told me once, when I was 17, that sometimes he hates me. That's a tough one to forget.

Positive: Lots of positive, but I think the most important positive is that he is a far, far better person now than he was when I was 17.

posted by amro 01 March | 16:31

My father was tremendously thoughtful, in both senses: he thought carefully about issues, theories, and ideas; he put a lot of thought and tenderness into his treatment of people.

A few summers ago, my brother was getting married in his idyllic little Maine seaside town. My mother rented a small house for a week, so the family could gather for the event. The house had a positively tiny private beach, a little cove all rocky and shingled.

During the week, my father had to return home briefly to attend to some family business. When he came back to the rental, he presented to my mother a gold bracelet with links of native rock. Seeing the rocks we'd collected (my father was quite frail by then, and never managed the long steep stairs that led to the beach), he remembered seeing this bracelet in a posh local jeweler's ad, and he bought it as a memento for her, so she would always remember how happy she had made our family with this celebration.

Bonus: knowing she had trouble with bracelets, he'd had the jeweler customize it, using her one-and-only properly fitting bracelet as a guide.

My mother, usually quite unsentimental, gets misty anytime she mentions this, and has taken off the bracelet only once: she had surgery last month, and she was asked to remove all jewelry. Almost immediately after returning home, she asked me to help her clasp her bracelet.
______________________________________

The bad: Though daring enough in larger things, my father was almost pathologically cautious about daily habits. He was a terror on the subject of water marks on tables, chipped dishes, fingerprints on photos or records (later, CDs), or anything else that smacked of careless treatment of possessions.

Once, I came home from my afterschool job, tossed my coat and string bag down on a wooden chair, and went to get a drink. When I returned, my father was staring furiously at my pile of things; visible through the string bag was a bone-dry water bottle I'd finally brought home from work for recycling.

Forestalling his criticism, I said, "It's not just empty, it's completely dry. It's been empty for days!"

He responded in a deeply pained voice, "Would you please not put things that are wet, or things that hold water, or things that once held water... on wooden furniture?"

That kind of overstated caution, which pervaded daily life in our home, scarred me pretty badly. I'm unusually sensitive to rough treatment of objects. A plate set carelessly near a table's edge can hypnotize me. When I broke one of the four (pricey) dinner plates my father gave me to match my lovely (but plateless) Blue Hill pottery collection, I burst out sobbing inconsolably. The outburst truly upset and confused my partner, who only saw a broken plate.

In the last few years, I've tempered this a bit by occasionally forcing myself to shrug when things get broken. It's liberating.

posted by Elsa 01 March | 16:52

Positive: My father had a huge sense of adventure, and of family, and travel. The only person I've ever known who traveled more than he did was my mother. He was a very well-loved man with lots of friends, who look out for me even today.

Negative: He died when I was six, so I have no actual negative things to say about him. Other than it's hard to live up to someone's image when they are perfect (obviously he wasn't, but no one has ever, ever said one negative thing about him until I turned 34). It puts a lot of pressure on a person to try to do that comparison. And I'd have to say, I'm going to put dying at the age of 34 was a very negative thing about him.

*wanders off to call other people's dads to say hello*

posted by Sil 01 March | 16:53

Whoa. That was, uh, long. I'll sum it up:

His intentional gestures were meaningfully constructed to let us know how well he thought of us, and how dearly he loved us.

His unintentional gestures made my daily life feel like a small but unending series of failures and careless actions.

Phew. This is better than therapy!

posted by Elsa 01 March | 16:56

Positive: Geez. Once, at Halloween, my mom took my brother and I out trick-or-treating. Now, we lived on the top floor of a two apartment house, our front door being accessible only from the back porch. It had once been a single family home converted into two apartments. So when it came to Halloween, or Girl Scouts, or any door-to-door selling (it was "okay" back then), no one ever came to our door unless they knew us. As we were returning home, we thought it would be funny to ring the door bell and pretend we were trick-or-treaters. (We couldn't have been more than 8 and 3 at the time). Well, I remember the sound of my dad flying down the stairs, trying to get to the door before the visitors gave up. I remember the look on his face when he realized it was just us. I remember apologizing for making him worry about missing who he thought were Halloweeners.
Also positive was the fact that he was a dedicated volunteer firefighter. In fact, we once made it to a two alarm fire before his company did - he carried one of those radios. We sat in the car while he threw on his gear and helped.

Negative: Of these there are too many. Burying my head in my pillow so I couldn't hear him hitting my mom; being sent to bed without supper and getting a spanking because I spilled a cup of milk - onto my own plate, not even the table. But what really made an impression was when he punched me in the mouth when I was about eight or nine years old. I had asked when he was going back to work, that was my crime. Oh, and those guys he knew down at the firehouse? They offered an "accident" to my mom when they found out about the beatings and the girlfriends. Such are my memories of my dad.

Note: Over the years we have tried on and off to build a relationship, but it just doesn't work. He's never apologized once for what happened in the past, no matter how important it would be to me. I honestly don't think I'll miss him when he's gone.

posted by redvixen 01 March | 19:27

I have thought and thought about this. I have nothing but the memory of once, when my dad picked up the cat and erased the chalkboard with it.

He died when I was 17. I am not up to the good and the bad stuff, but the above is maybe the only story I have passed onto my own kid.

posted by danf 01 March | 23:24

My mother separated from her husband when she was pregnant with me. Growing up, it was always stated that he was my father, but I always had my doubts. Even as a very young kid I never asked about him. I don't think he's been mentioned between me and her since I was about 7 or 8. I've never had any interest one way or the other.

posted by gaspode 01 March | 23:32

He's never apologized once for what happened in the past

Even though I'm not your dad, and this probably won't make one whit of a difference--I just felt like saying sorry for what you had to go through, redvixen, and essexjan.

thanks for sharing, guys

posted by hadjiboy 01 March | 23:35

The positive: my Dad was the entertainer. The bloke who knew everyone in a pub five minutes after walking into it. So it was often entertaining being around him in that respect. Possibly because we didn't see him very often as my parents divorced when I was 5.

He had a beautiful singing voice. The type of tones that would bring tears to your eyes. He was rarely without a guitar in his hands and would always sing his songs to us.

Not once did he ever hit my brother and I even if he was furious. He always told us he loved us very much.

The negative: we argued with each other since I was little. Not just about personal stuff - I mean about everything. He was very conservative and I am not - it always amazed his friends to see me contradicted something he'd say and back it up with arguments. In some ways he respected me because I was one of the only ones to stand up to him and call him out.

He also rarely finished what he'd start. He had such huge dreams and talked big - but none of it really ever got off of the ground. I think this side of him affected my brother more than me though - as I am not one to not achieve goals.

He was also pretty selfish - and admitted this before he passed away during our last visit. He finally told me directly that he was proud of me for pushing myself and finding a way to put myself through University and so on without any support from him in any form. To both of our regrets it wasn't until he was dying of cancer and I was in my early 30s that he was able to tell me this. I still feel some resentment about having to struggle so hard for so long without help from him - I just need to make sure that my own kid doesn't ever feel the same way about me.

posted by gomichild 02 March | 00:18

Well, I'm terribly lucky, which is a thing I know. My dad is great. His family was always his favorite thing instead of a burden to him; he chose to spend his free time with us, camping, traveling, cooking, gardening. When I had trouble learning to read, he starting taking me on fun walks to the library every week and we picked out books for him and me, together - leading to my lifelong love of books. He loved to give us gifts and cards for special occasions, and every holiday had its special rituals - from him pretending that he forgot to bring home any huge, red heart-shaped boxes of chocolates for us on Valentines day (when of course -surprise!- he did), to buying us sparklers and making a big deal of barbecuing us special treats on the Fourth of July.

About once a month he would make us kids extravagant, elaborate ice cream sundaes - a fun, silly ritual in which we would debate the pros and cons of each of the various toppings in our efforts to try to create the ultimate, perfect sundae. He was always there for us and our mom, and he knew how to make everything fun... and this energy and enthusiasm was/is matched by my Mom. I've always said I'll never be as good as my parents are.

I'm sure I probably had my occasional run-ins and complaints when I was a kid, but I really can't remember anything bad. About the worst I can say is that sometimes he would drink a little too much (though he was never, ever mean or abusive when he did), and he was careful with money (which he used freely to allow us to travel and do interesting things), so sometimes my mom would take us shopping for clothes, and tell us just to put away what we had bought in our closets, and not show them off to Dad. Stingy he wasn't, but let's say there was sometimes a difference of opinion between him and the women of the house about essential versus nonessential wardrobe. :)

I always wanted to marry a man just like my dad helllooooo? Electra?, and as far as the loving heart, fun personality, honesty, ethics and commitment goes, I finally did. (Though my husband and I pretty much equally suck at managing money and taking care of bookkeeping, etc. sorts of things, which my dad is great at.) I'm very, very grateful to my father.

posted by taz 02 March | 00:58

Positive: Didn't happen to me, as you'll see, but sums up quite a bit about the sort of man my father was.

Dad was drafted to serve in Vietnam, could have been a commissioned officer but dropped out of OCS so he could go back home and marry my mom before he was deployed. When he got overseas, he quickly made sergeant, and he and (IIRC) his radio man became fast friends.

At one point they were camped in the jungle doing God knows what, and his radio man had to leave camp for a short while. They had a rule: never return to camp using the same path you used to leave camp, because of course the enemy might see you tromping through the jungle and leave a booby trap for you. Well, he got sloppy and returned to camp the same way he left it, and sure enough, some VC soldier had set a tripwire with explosives.

Quite literally blew the man to pieces.

This is my father:

He pulled a pillowcase out of his rucksack he'd been using for God knows what and spent hours combing that jungle floor, looking for what pieces of his best friend he could find, putting them in that pillowcase. He carried it for nearly two full weeks until they could get back to a base so he could turn those pieces in to be shipped home. He wanted the family to have something to bury or cremate.

I have no idea what he had to endure both physically and emotionally to fill that pillowcase and carry it with him in the heat of that jungle, nor do I ever want to find out. But he endured it to honor his friend, and it's precisely the kind of father he was to me, silently sacrificing so that we would lack nothing, claiming no credit and asking no reward. He only told us stories (though never that one -- that came from Mom), and every goddamn one of them trumps the best of my stories.

Negative: I don't have much, other than that he can be extremely close-minded about things. Sometimes it's the prejudices of an older generation (his opinions on the middle east are occasionaly cringeworthy), sometimes it's something as random and weird as cuisine choices (I remember watching the Food Network with him, watching Bobby Flay mix up eleventy-dozen different spices for something to be grilled, and my father remarked "People who do that don't like food." This made me want to punch him). But nothing specific beyond the normal disillusioning experience we all have of realizing our parents don't know everything.

posted by middleclasstool 02 March | 23:40

I have a father, but I've never had a dad.

posted by deborah 03 March | 13:35

When I was little my dad played board games with me and tought me chess. He also tought me how to saw wood and use tools. Later I realised he let me win sometimes at games. The kites we flew were huge boxes or 30 ft dragons. For the longest time after childhood he didn't know how to talk to me as a young woman. He always spoke in half sentences as an engineer who didn't know how to talk. And I was not living in his house. I decided to try to finish the sentences to build a relationship, and it worked eventually. It took many years, but we ended up with conversations.
When I was sitting with him during chemo in 2002 he told me that he had had sexist views of women as a kid in the 50's , but once he was raising me in the 70's that changed it. I was his kid, and none of that mattered anymore.

posted by science girl 04 March | 00:16

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