Celebrating Another Year of Daddyism (or Its Father’s Day, Again)

“He didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.” – Clarence Budington Kelland

As I tick off another notch in the annals of Father’s Days, I am confronted once again with the concept of Daddyism. One can start HERE, of course. But I must admit the center of the concept continually changes.

Daddyism resembles a long, dreamy road trip ripe with illogicalities and absurdity. For brief moments one has the audacity to presume the ride is a sporty convertible and a meandering open road; the wind in your hair, the sun on your face, perfect music, and the world in front of you. The next moment, a shriek from the back seat turns the driving to a clunky, beat up wagon, a steep downhill mountain pass where one questions the validity of the brakes.

In other words, no matter where one thinks you are on the Dad spectrum, “psyche!” That is Daddyism.

Daddyism feels a lot like being lost in L.A. without a GPS. Well, not really lost. You know you are in L.A. someplace. It doesn’t really look like what L.A. is supposed to look like. You see tons of sprawling strip malls and palm trees, but you don’t see anything you know to point you on the right track. Half the people speak some other language one can’t understand (including English) making asking for directions beyond taboo. Besides, you’re not really lost. You just can’t seem to locate that one familiar landmark.

No matter what the outward persona looks like, fathers are destined to navigate an unknown highway. We hopelessly search for something intended to stay hidden. Fatherhood is a place where drive, ambition, and a sense of purpose are routinely translated as narcissism and self-importance. In other words, sometimes the driver needs to take a back seat to reality. Daddyism !

After 18 plus years it is foolish to claim all this stuff is easy. Family matters have only gotten complicated, busy, and increasingly emotive. The calm offerings of Dad are often just a delusion to the contrary. But, that is ok.

On the surface, I hope to be seen by my family and peers as a father with wisdom and understanding. Indeed, it has been a great ride so far. To my kids, I hope they see through the fool they think I am to one day be the wise dad, navigating the world with a enough skill that they no longer feel the need to “tell me the way it is.” To my wife, I hope she can hold back the laughter until we are far, far away from earshot. And to me and my Daddyism, I simply hope to maintain that inner GPS.

Remains of a Man's Day

That haunting movie was on again the other day and, after hours on the road within the last few weeks, it hasn't quite left the brain. The other day the t.v. remote found the instinctive impulse to stop and take another peak, if only to remind oneself of the soft underbelly of a respectful, middle-aged man. It isn't quite the Halloween scare you'd think, but rather a mental numbness of another sort.

It has been over 20 years since I was dragged kicking and screaming to see the movie The Remains of the Day. Yet the image of Anthony Hopkins, Mr. Stevens the Butler, sticks in one’s mind. Although the character is a man of honor and dignity, he is, for the most part, alone and unfulfilled. Empty. It is a fairly dark image of a man countered by a hefty respect for long hours, hard work, and putting the needs of others first.

It isn't currently important, really, just timely. When the movie was released in the early late 80s I saw it and I understood it, but did not truly get it. Fresh out of college, not yet married, and just starting a professional life of work, I was still in the making. The movie should have been forgettable and unremarkable to the college self save for the fact I knew men like Mr. Stevens. I worked with them. They were former professors. They were the middle class dads of friends and collegues who grew out of the depression era influenced generation ahead of me. It is a bit of my own father, who devoted his artistic soul to a vibrant career in music to struggle with early retirement and only a handful of gigs to satisfy his soul. And it is now me, twenty years into a career of giving my talents and dedication to one work project after another and coming home to happily cook, chauffer the kids, and attend to all the elements divorced/re-married dads do.

The Mr. Stevens character tapped into the silence and the unspoken hush of most dignified men. His self reflection is not lost on me. It is the dark, tacit part of us men not often shared. Though it could be Halloween-esque, it isn’t really a scary depressing place at all. It resembles center stage of an empty theater with a single, glowing bulb. It is a cigar, a glass of scotch, and an hour by oneself on the back patio. It is fishing or driving in silence. It is being. Respectful. Contemplative. Alone.

Men don’t share it because the answer is almost too simple. Get into the game. Stay in the light. Just leave the darkened mind-set and let that Emma Thompson character know of your true feelings and life can be complete. Yes, it can. I have. And, I am immensely happier for making the leap and trusting again. I didn't follow the script. But...

Apologies if you have read to this end with no real conclusion to offer up. All this rambling makes for incredibly boring reading, I'm sure. Most blogs of note get much further in today’s on-line culture by loudly bitching about something. But, to mer there is a sense of celebration in the balance between a man’s light and dark. One thrives in this balance. And that is ok.

Although he wasn't a role model, per se, Mr. Stevens taught me something once. And it has become clearer at the end of this day.

Daddyism. A Father's Day Tradition Like No Other.

As another Father’s Day approaches, one muddles over the unfortunate things inflicted on the kids over the years, despite a Dad's best efforts and intentions to do the right thing in the right way. Given the relevant, recent history with a divorce and now a new marriage, I worry if my own issues might have permitted the kids to fall a bit into the cracks.

I should have known things had gone off-kilter when my Father’s Day gift a year or so back was a glass butter dish. A butter dish! Seriously! This kids crack falling thing is not the most celebratory thought right before another Father’s Day. Yet, it is just another part of Daddyism.

Daddyism relies on a heavy concept that, all in all, the kids are relatively resilient. Whatever mistakes and missteps their Dad makes, the mere attempt at doing the right thing as a father seems to prevail. One can only hope.

June 19th, 2011 is my 15th Father’s Day celebration. The number itself means very little except to offer a bench mark in time. It is easy to get caught up in it all, to look back upon experiences and events and feel time as fleeting. Looking forward to events yet to come there are driving lessons and SATs; high school graduations and proms; and, just a handful of remaining family vacations around the corner. All too soon (poof!) they should be off to college where both the fatherly influences and inadequacies shall have a relatively zero mitigated impact (thank goodness). Then, if history predicts anything, it’ll be another ten years before the kids return to perhaps see ‘ol Dad wasn’t/isn’t so bad after all.

The other day, I saw where the Houston Zoo had a rather unique day for Dads planned. Kid’s can name an endangered toad after their Dad and celebrate that splendor. How appropriate and funny and a wonderful illustration of a hidden truth. Somewhere in the layers and layers of parental phobias and decisions and daddy dogma, there is an uplifting calm, not to mention hilarity, in the humanity of Daddyism. I embrace that concept and philosophy, completely.

Daddyism holds perspective power. Most of us don’t truly realize our own kid-dom. We are mostly a product of the chronological listing of stretched stories and half-truths. Our memories change, filter, and reprioritize the important who-ness, what-ness, where-ness, when-ness, why-ness, and how much-ness (as well as, bad ass-ness) of our histories. Much is forgotten in the timelines from diapers to driving. We watch it happen, take a few notes, document it all as best we can, but the minutiae and wonderful details get lost on the shuffle to get to the inevitable what is next in life. Yet, the best part of Daddyism is our front row seat to watch it all unfold so we can, hopefully, talk about it later.

And it does unfold in strange ways. What seems like yesterday, I remember a small, chubby baby barely able comprehend the beauty of a simple fart, yet smiles anyway. Today, we belly laugh as we quickly roll down the windows of the car, knowing full well the profound accomplishment. Now THAT is human progress; an illustration of the overwhelming human experience boiled down into chunks one can more readily digest.

Yes, true Dads laugh. A lot! They harbor no overwhelming sorrow. No obvious fear. They are compassionate, yet strong. There is no status-envy as one would be hard pressed to think of a more cherished position for a man. True Dads love unconditionally. We promote productive, positive possibilities and a propensity for play, purposefully.

Sounds fun, doesn’t it? For those non-Daddyism endorsers, there isn’t a much more compelling argument for or against Daddyism than that. Daddyism doesn’t offer a cure-all to what ails you; quite the opposite, actually. It sells to Dads that front row seat perspective as the days, months, and years parade by offering you rare conclusions or quick fix solutions, but a heck of a lot of enjoyment along the way.

The risk is that, one way or the other, the kids might turn out to be just like you. Not the solace you are looking for, huh?! No harm, no foul. Life is elusive in handing one explanations and directions for happiness, significance, and reason. The Zen in me says, right there, THAT IS Daddyism in and of itself.

Maybe, the only real risk is that one day the kids offer you thanks by naming an endangered toad after you as you bask in the immense capacity of their love. This thought gives me hope. It is better than a butter dish and that there is progress. They are learning, in spite my fatherly falters and many misgivings.

Happy Daddyism and a wonderful Father’s Day to the Dads out there.

In Seeking the Open Road

My son is nearly five months away from getting his learners permit to drive. Oh, the Horror!

Nearly every day (when the kids are with me) between the little morning and evening commute between home and work/school the talk centers on driving. It is a good thing as it keeps the minor, bad driving habits in check. A father must set a good example. And as a result, there have been some lessons learned.

It’s become apparent tailgating isn’t so much the need for speed but a desire to get out and away from traffic. The open road is the true desire. The ironic part is once the open road is discovered a comfortable (and legal) speed feels better. I actually slow down once I can get out from a cluster of cars. Cruise control rules (and would be nice to have in my little roller skate of a car).

Hmmm!

It appears the same thing applies with work where time is money. Go, go, go is the normal mode. Quick decisions, cold edits, and often knee-jerk responses tend to rule. It is what the typical manager demands. Yet, when time allows for a more thoughtful approach, one that is planned out, the quality is better. The open road, so to speak, allows for a better, warmer experience to take over.

Home life isn’t much different. Run, run, run translates into high gear constantly. Yet, when time is shared over a meal together with good conversation or an outing where the family can relax and enjoy each other’s company, the better feelings prevail.

A competitive person, I am not. I “Mr. T” the fool who feels compelled to jockey, maneuver, and nearly clip the front bumper to get in front of me, despite my tailgating tendencies.

Most people need competition to help dictate the speed. I don’t. I choose cruise control for a better experience when it is allowed. That is why I tailgate, to get into the clear. Honestly!