I was worried when I first mentioned to my Wisconsin relatives that
I would be available to come visit them in December. What if none
of them wanted to see me? I sent out Thanksgiving cards to
let them know exactly when I would be in the state, then waited
anxiously for some kind of response.
The response was better that I had expected. My half-sister Geri
and her husband Peter were eager to have me come for a visit sometime
after Christmas day. My cousin Gabe sent me e-mail saying he not
only looked forward to seeing me after so many years, but had looked
at my web page and wanted to use one of my poems in his high school
English classes. My sister-in-law Pam, married to my half-brother
Joe, sent a warm greeting and an open invitation not only for me but
for my sister Remy as well, if she could free herself from the
coffee trade long enough to come visit.
All this acceptence and love was an eye-opener for me. I had been
raised to believe there should be animosity between me and my father's
side of the family. None of that was visible in any of this
correspondence and I felt delighted by the opportunity to see
and talk to my paternal relatives again. In particular, I wanted
to see Joe. There was something I wanted to talk to him about.
I run in cycles of forgiving and being angry with my father. Several
years ago, I was forgiving. About two years ago, I started on another
round of anger. This was around the time I realized I could not send
him a Father's Day card because I did not know his address. I was
pissed that he expected me to keep up the "son" end of the bargain when
he put no effort into the "father" end. How can I honor my father if I
don't know where he is?
Over New Year's, I stayed at my brother Joe's. He's my half-brother,
really, but I'm trying to make a habit dropping that distinction
since it is one he never makes. Nor does my half-sister, Geri, nor my
other half-brother, David. While I was recovering from a nasty cold in
Joe and Pam's guest bedroom the morning of New Year's Day, he came in with
a cordless phone in his outstretched hand. "Wanna talk to Dad?" he
said.
Truth is, the same offer had been made five days earlier by my sister
Geri when Remy and I were staying with her and Peter and their son,
Nicholas. Both Remy and I turned down Geri's offer to call Dad and talk
with him. But something had happened since then to tip the balance
for me.
At Joe's on New year's Eve, I had had a heart-to-heart with my
brother. I asked him to forgive me for an incident in our childhood
when I had deliberately tried to hurt him. It had haunted me for over
thirty years. I told him I was sorry.
"I don't remember anything like that ever happening," he said. "In
fact, your visits were always a kind of special treat for us."
"But I deliberately tried to hurt you," I said.
"So what? I deliberately tried to hurt David. It's a thing brothers
do. Obviously, I haven't been 'scarred for life.'"
This was quite a revelation. Suddenly, I knew who had been scarred
for life. Me, by my own guilt, and by leaving it unspoken all these
years. We had this conversation New year's Eve, and I made it my one
New Year's resolution not to let the notion that I am unfit for love
get in the way of the love I want to have and want to feel for others.
So, when Joe asked me if I wanted to talk to Dad, I said yes. We
hadn't spoken for over two-and-a-half years.
"So," Dad said rather curtly, "how's it going?"
"It's been rough," I said.
We really didn't go into any more detail than that, but we were able to
break some ice, and maybe I began to turn another corner on the path of
forgiveness. Later, in February, I sent him a postcard from Hawaii,
telling him I would be
thinking of him when I visited the Arizona memorial. I did. And I
understood the motives of the survivors who wished to be interred with
their shipmates. It brought tears to my eyes.
I'm beginning to realize that the things that make a man a good father
are much the same things that make a person whole. I'm working on
them. I sincerely believe I have a life of giving love and support to
others, and receiving it in turn, ahead of me. I work on making that
vision more constant, whole, and near every day. What surprises me in
this process is that I think I'm turning out to be a stronger man than
my father is. At times this is startling, at times it makes me angry,
and at times it overwhelms me with compassion. It is difficult to be
merely consistent with such a powerful and complex figure as your own
father. Perhaps that is something I can learn to live with.