Thought for the Week
So, I finally figured out my dad loved me. (Why are guys’ relationship with their dads so complicated?) It wasn’t when I wanted to find out, twenty years after my dad died. But better late than never, right?
After twenty minutes of diddling around — drinks of water, bathroom runs, the clearing of real and imaginary obstacles, glow-in-the-dark sneakers, dragon poop (don’t ask) — our kids were finally in bed.
I began the benedictions. For Beth it was, “I love you more than insert-increasingly-huge-object here.” At the moment it was “the Milky Way.” For Mandy it was, “I’ll never stop loving you.” Only lately they’d started cutting me off with, “Yeah, I know, Dad.” I needed a new line.
My wife and I finally hit the lights and assumed spoon drawer positions.
And then it began:
Titter, titter, titter.
“Honey,” Trudy whispered.
“Get back in bed!” I yelled. The titters stopped. Little feet thumpa-thumped back into their room. We started to drift off again.
Titter, titter, titter.
“You heard Daddy!” Trudy shouted.
Silence.
Drifting.
Almost asleep.
Thumpa-thump, titter, titter, titter.
“Last time!” Trudy warned. “Get back in bed and stay there!” Even I was scared.
We’d almost made it to slumberland when the thumps and titters resumed.
“OK, that’s it!” I shouted. I leaped from the bed and ran down the hall into the kid’s room. Just in time to see the covers wafting down onto their beds and hear the springs squeaking frantically. And then I lost it. I shouted, not in that controlled “parent” way like my wife had, but more like an erupting volcano, “Don’t you dare get out of those beds again! Do you hear me?”
Brittle, terrifying silence.
“Do! You! Hear! Me?”
And then, the worst sound in the universe: the sound of children crying out of fear. Fear that I had created, that I, their father, had created. Because I was mad. In both senses of the word: Angry. And crazy–because these were two of the three human beings I loved most in the universe.
My dad had this anger thing. He’d go along for weeks or months at a time, and then something would set him off, and he’d detonate like an atom bomb. He scared the you-know-what out of me. But you know what I hated most about it?
That I caught it from him.
I looked down at my kids crying in the dark, and suddenly knew two things: I never wanted them to be afraid of me. Ever. And I never wanted them to doubt my love. Ever. So I got down on my knees between their beds and asked God to forgive me.
Then I asked Beth and Mandy to forgive me.
Mandy crawled out of bed, put a skinny little arm over my shoulder, and said, “I forgive you, Daddy…and I know you’ll never stop loving me.” Then Beth was there, crying because Mandy was crying, and she said, “I love you universes and universes full!”
There was a third thing I knew that night–really knew–for the first time ever: That my dad loved me. Because for about five minutes I was him, all anger and self-loathing, and I suddenly realized that, along with his anger, I got his love. And I knew that he would have died a thousand deaths for me, just like I would for my kids.
Because he loved me.
♥
Teachers, Drama Groups, Actors: The above is a personal account, but you can read and download a performable script version by clicking here.
Dad’s are Kings. As my Dad was in the Airforce, his strict rules sometimes hurt me but I love him the most. Forever 🎉
Spot on. Thanks Mitch. That certainly resonated with me.
“Children can and will take you there,” is what my mom says from time to time. And she’s definitely a person who has “lost it” more times than I can count.
My dad was much like you, it took a lot for us to anger him, but boy when we did?! Watch out!
Thank you for sharing this with us, Mitch. I hope you had a great Father’s Day.
I did, TrE. And thank you!
Beautiful.
❤️
Yeah. Angry dads who erupt like volcanoes. For me, my dad’s love is still very much in question.
I’m so sorry to hear that, Steve.
Same.
I hear you. My father did occasionally tell me that he loved me, but unfortunately, actions speak much louder than words.
Wonderful memoir, Mitch.
Thanks, Bob.
❤️❤️❤️
Sometimes during the process of raising little ones, we become exhausted, patience runs thin, and tempers flare. Most parents have been there and done that. We should forgive the parents God blessed us with as you have done and your precious daughters have done. The difficulty is forgiving yourself.
True that, Nancy.
I’m not crying you’re crying!
;>)
💕
A heartfelt recount Mitch. Relationships with fathers to daughters and sons is complicated. My father was only angry a few times with me to the point of yelling. My oldest son and his drug addictions brought out the best, then the worst in me, and finally we consoled and he died knowing I loved him. It’s hard to write about these things, thanks for reminding me.
I can certainly understand why it’s hard for you, Phil, although I’m glad your last days with your son ended in reconcilation.
I was moved by this “Thought for the Week.”
So glad, Liz.
This is beautiful! Really, very moving. We are all human and lose our tempers. Not just Dads at their kids but husbands and wives, even friends. But this, against the backdrop of you and your Dad, makes this so moving.
Thank you, Ellen.
Wow. One of those agonizing “God moments” of revelation – bad news and good news. So glad you had the discernment to experience not just the self-loathing, but the epiphany that settled in your mind once and for all – yes, he loved you! Beautiful story, Mitch.
Thank you so much, Annie.
What’s worse than shouting is simmering anger which can actually turn violent. Children often have a very good sense of what might threaten their safety.
I’m so glad to read your post because it’s about time we talk about anger and relationships between children and their dad’s.
Sometimes the violence can be so much that the love doesn’t matter and one would actually prefer to skip it. And yet, like the mother-child relationship shapes one’s happiness – the father-child relationship does too.
So whatever the legacy parents leave, one hopes a child will have someone to lean on and support to create safe barriers and heal. And move on. Community is so important in this process as is this conversation you have started.
Thank you for your insights, Anita.
Welcome – am happy to contribute to this discussion.
Great post. Great insight.
Thanks, Geoff.
Vulnerable and beautiful parenting story. I’ve definitely caught my parents coming through in my parenting. And just like you shared, there is still that inner child in me that remembers the pain of my parents treating me in that way.
I found it so beautiful how you were open with your children about your regret and apologized, and how they immediately felt safer, showed love, and forgave. There is such an important lesson right there – being vulnerable, accepting and showing our regret and guilt often leads not to an increase in shame but rather healing for all involved. ❤️🩹
You’re so right.
Appreciating the ability to be so honest and vulnerable.
Thank you, Pam.
Oh, this is so true! My own dad had a temper, and yet I know he loved me and my sisters very much. And the most important thing I did when I was young was learn not to let my temper determine how I treated my own kids. It took work, but I did it. Love conquers all…..but it’s better when we let it dictate our behavior from the get-go. Thanks for sharing. I’m sure so many of us related to this one!
Thank you for sharing this moving part of your memoir. It is written so well, I can emotionally relate to each person’s perspective. I’m grateful you redeemed the moment with your daughters creating a healthier future with them.
Me too, and thanks, Manette.
Thank you for your vulnerability, Mitch. So glad you were able to bring the light into a dark place, and learn something about both yourself and your heritage through it.
Thanks, Abe.
Am so glad you did discover your dad’s love. It’s the hardest job parenting and you had the courage to say sorry to your kids. I love their response too. They know how to say they love you in universefulls!
Indeed they do. Thank you, Georgina.
Such a sweet example of “love covers a multitude of sins.” Kids have the greatest capacity to forgive–especially their parents, it seems–IF the parent follows your lead of not making excuses and apologizing.
I agree with your observation, Nancy.
1 Peter 4:8 was the first verse I ever learned, btw. I was still teetering on the edge of faith and used it in the program for a play I was directing.
My relationship with my father was also complicated. I knew he loved me, but only until he was in the last year of his life did he ever verbally affirm what I already knew.
My dad knew that actions carried more weight than words. He expressed his love to me in so many ways, ways in which I never considered unfortunately until after he was no longer around for me to appreciate them.
I can’t listen to the song, “The Living Years” today without mourning for the man I wish I had known better.
I love you, Dad.
I hadn’t thought of that old song in years, Scott. Always used to get choked up thinking about my father when I heard it. Your words about your own father are bringing all those feelings back again.
I can relate to what you write, your father expressing his love with actions. Sometimes people are not limited in their love but limited in the ways they can express it.
So true, Lukas.
Pingback: You Are a Legend! | Mitch Teemley
Pingback: My Rock ‘n’ Roll Rage | Mitch Teemley
It’s a beautiful post, Mitch. I found it very inspiring.
Love your self-awareness and commitment to being the best you can be.
My father too threw a lot of tantrums when I was smaller. It’s important to snap out of it quickly, which you did.
I work with fathers after divorce and I know from personal experience it’s very challenging, especially when there’s an issue in the relationship (fighting, divorce, breakup) to show up as our best.
It’s the daily small steps though, as you describe. I also like how you looked back at your own father with love.
I so appreciate your input here, Lukas. And good to meet you, btw.
Pingback: Father’s Dud? | Mitch Teemley
Pingback: The Best Gifts for Father’s Day - Mitch Teemley