Dad Dream

I am in a dream. I see my father and two of my brothers walking askew. One brother slightly in front angled away. The other brother behind and at another angle. My dad walking next to a white stone wall. And then my father’s feet give way and his legs slide out in front of him. His head bangs against the wall and then the ground. There’s blood. I look away.
I’m not sure what triggered this dream. I have been thinking about my father’s legacy. How to describe him to my children. I want to find a balanced view but mostly I find contrasts, contrasts that don’t balance out. I was afraid of him, like many sons are of their father, like Aidan is of me sometimes. But the fear went a lot deeper than that. I tiptoed around him. Always.  Even as a middle age man. I try to avoid conflict and smooth over tension is most work and life situations. He made me fiercely independent, to the point I didn’t ask him for anything. As soon as I could afford to move out of the house, with $300 to my name, I did. As an adult I never ask anyone, except those very close to me, for anything. My father was not the most positive person. He would find the negative point of view of many things others would celebrate. New car - loses have the value the moment you drive it off the lot. Four star hotel - just a room. A meal out - just “ok” for the price. Happy grandkids playing - misbehaving spoiled kids.  There was a certain lack of joy. My father coached out local baseball teams but I never figured out why. It didn’t seem to bring him any joy or satisfaction, in retrospect it seemed like a duty. He showed up. This is something I do too. He could often be a jerk, to strangers and to family.

So when I think about my father in these terms I feel I’m being too hard on him. He was more that this, right? I mean I know he cared for his children, his grandchildren. That he was proud of me for learning “a trade”. How he often told the story of how I had programmed the cash register at Cypress Hills Golf course. How he looked forward to my weekend visits from Beijing and would be disappointed if I had an early return flight. I remember playing golf with him, that a lot of what I value I learned by playing golf with him. Dedication, concentration, effort. I learned to value the working man (and woman) from him and not to judge people by their status in life. I learned the value of personal integrity reinforced by some personal digressions. I learned the value of a dollar, if not how to invest in one. I learned critical thinking, well at least the first part. I learned a sharp sense of humor, which I’ve passed on to Lydia.

There is a lot more to say and write, but that’s what I have for now.

Later in the dream, or maybe it was another dream later that same night, I am sitting on the ground. I am holding my father, his head on my chest, my arms wrapped around his chest.