It’s Father’s Day, and I’m watching
as all the tributes to wonderful Dads fill the Facebook world. I expected them,
and celebrate with my friends whose dads passed down remarkable legacies. But
some of us had very broken dads, and we inherited a different kind of legacy. Part
of my legacy is that, thanks to broken parents, I have learned to love broken
people very well.
When we were young, my father was
stable and left for work each day meticulously dressed in a business suit. At
night, he would forego children’s books and instead made up vivid stories with
recurring characters that he dramatically presented to us before bed. He
coached Little League and joined us at the beach. He came home each night for
family dinners around the kitchen table for the first seventeen years of my
life – until everything fell apart. He lost one too many jobs, his marriage
fell apart, and he no longer could afford a mortgage or rent. In the last years
of his life, he lived out of his car.
But I will always remember who he
wanted to be, and the relationship he wanted with his children. In honor of my
dad who never found healing for those fractured places in his soul, I’m posting
an excerpt from a longer piece I wrote and published a few years back called “Dooms
of Love.” This is an actual dream I had shortly after my father’s death, filled
with imagery and details from some deep, subconscious place:
eerily and vividly about my father. The
view outside the window is rolling hills.
He has a business that he works out of our home. In our yard, three dogs are tied up with
chain leashes and two of their leashes get caught together. One is being pulled
down the hill by the other dog with the chain around his foot. There is no way
to escape. They are tied together
permanently. When one runs, the other
runs. When one falls the other
falls. They stay connected.
is working on some equipment—like farm equipment—in the living room but it’s
broken. Finally I hear him say with
patient defeat, “Well, I guess it’s over. This equipment is dead and there’s
nothing left I can do to keep the business going.” He is preparing to close up shop. Something has happened and his business will
never run in the black again. I hear him
wondering what else he’ll do for a livelihood.
I look out the window at the green, lush landscape, wondering too how
you make a living in this rural area. In
the dream I feel hopeful that something always can be bought or sold, a service
performed, or a repair made. He’s
creative enough to find something to do.
go to the living room where he is packing up his equipment, defeated. I stand before him, looking up into his face,
noticing how much taller he is than me. He’s wearing a green plaid shirt
buttoned all the way to the top and I like the pattern on him.
it’s OK the business didn’t work. It
takes courage to start a business to begin with, and it especially takes
courage to start another one after one has failed. You’ve done well.” His expression is familiar to me. He wants to turn away and dismiss my
encouragement as “nonsense,” but his face stops between dismissal and a hope of
finding truth in my words. Was that a hint of comfort in his face?
over the dream. Some rare dreams have
that feeling that you’ve really spoken to the person—like it was more than a
dream. I know there was truth in those thoughts and images. We were tied together, too, like those dogs
on their chains; and when he fell, I fell. When he hurt, I hurt, too. I’m the true product of a broken home and
hurting parents, always dreaming in my most longing of dreams that I could’ve
made all of his hurts go away.
lingers, I wonder if it is ever too late to offer words of comfort to a person
who has left his tormented life. If a
person is dead, where do words of encouragement go?
everyone else honoring their father on Father’s Day, I loved my dad, too, despite his issues.
I pray today he knows
the truth of that love and that he’s found peace. Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
Well written, well spoken, well done.