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The Daddyman's Dad
I wondered why he had never once been promoted.
I was eight years old, lying on a grassy hill
half a block from my house. It was an unusually
pensive moment for a young boy. My gaze was on the
clouds, vivid white surrounded by a deep blue
August sky. But my mind was on the future. Next
month school would start, and these days of freedom
would be over. Next year I would turn nine. The
only kid in our neighborhood who was nine was fat.
Would I get fat when I turned nine? Does everyone
get fat when they are nine, and then most thin out
again at ten? No, that couldn't be right.
Usually my Mom would call from our porch when it
was time for me to come in. Maybe she did and I
just didn't hear her, so intrigued I was with my
own thoughts. When my Dad came to find me he sat
beside me and asked me what I was thinking about. I
said, "Dad, what should I do when I grow up?" He
spoke in a tone that made me think that he had been
wanting to talk to me about this for some time.
What he said was more important to him than the
rules of our household, or what I was learning in
school, or even what the priests said at Mass. My
dad did not think of himself as a fountain of
wisdom, and he doubted whether kids ever did what
their parents advised anyway. Still, he hoped maybe
this would be an exception. If he could get this
message across now, maybe it would guide me for the
rest of my life. "Whatever you want, Tim," he
answered.
"But really make sure that it is something you
enjoy. You may be doing it for a long time." That
was it, the whole lecture. His timing was perfect.
At that moment, I was listening. I had thought I
should grow up to be someone important, or famous.
Now I could just pick something I liked. What a
relief.
Its another August, nine years later, and I am
about to start my senior year at a prep school I
loathe, but my mother loves. I'm looking around for
a sledge hammer big enough to knock down every
pillar of this worthless, hypocritical society. My
parents meet with the headmaster who plans to
further mold my mind in preparation for success in
the Ivy League. This school year is going to be a
nine month disaster. My dad is the only one who
sees the writing on the wall. He tells me in
private, "You don't have to go. You can choose a
different school."
I am stunned by his offer. Everyone else seemed
convinced that graduating from this school is
essential to becoming successful in life. Still, I
can't turn my back on the impending fight. I've got
a chip on my shoulder and I want the headmaster to
try to knock it off. I go back. I have the worst
year of my life. I almost get expelled. But through
it all I keep inside me the knowledge that my dad
gave me the choice. I have this feeling that he is
on my side.
My dad's office was in our house in Minneapolis.
For twenty five years he was a regional salesperson
for Corning Glass Works. He won awards for his
sales every year. I was proud of the many framed
certificates he had mounted on the wall, one for
each year, signed by the president of the company.
It wasn't until recently that I wondered why he had
never once been promoted. Were the awards all a
sham?
I asked my mother. She said, "No, he was offered
promotions may times, but he always turned them
down. He didn't want to uproot us all and make us
move to Chicago. And he didn't want the stress of
more responsibility. He liked working from home. He
liked being around you kids." Sometimes when you
get a gift, you know the giver expects something in
return. If I didn't send a Christmas present thank
you card to my grandmother by mid January, I was in
big trouble. But my dad based his whole career on
the being able to be around his children, and I
never knew. I guess he wasn't looking to be
acknowledged by us. He was just doing what he
enjoyed.
And now in my life I balance my career with the
time I spend raising my daughter. I lecture about
new possibilities for men in their role as father.
Suddenly, after this talk with my mom, I realise
that I am making the same kinds of choices my dad
made years ago. I'm just talking about it more. And
I thought I was so original.
© 2008, Tim
Hartnett
Other Father Issues,
Books
* * *
Your children need your presence more than your
presents. - Jesse Jackson
Tim
Hartnett, Ph.D. is a licensed Marriage and Family
Therapist in private practice in Santa Cruz, CA. He
specializes in Individual Counseling, Couples
Therapy, and Divorce Mediation. He can be reached
at 831.464.2922 or through his website:
www.TimHartnett.com
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