The Lessons My Father Never Taught

Some dates stick with us forever. Whether the horror of seeing JFK shot on November 22nd 1963, the Twin Towers tumbling to the ground on September 11th 2001 or being thrown out of bed on January 17th 1994 to the roar of the Northridge Earthquake, some dates leave a lasting impression on us.

I always get rather nostalgic on November 23rd because it was the day my father passed to the spirit world. It has been twenty years now, and it feels like just yesterday, yet also a lifetime ago all at once. I was a different person back then and often wonder how our relationship might have evolved had we been blessed with 20 more years on earth together. 

Aging brings a certain level of empathy and clearer understanding about the fragility of the human condition. Because of this, I see things differently than I once did concerning my parents. 

They married in 1959 when both of them were 21 years old. I recall learning that as a child and thinking that it was such a “grown up age,” but as an adult, I realize how ridiculous that sounds. I know things about them now that I didn’t know then, and in those 21 years, they both had their share of trauma that most young people now could never imagine. 

My mother met my father in the hospital while he was recovering from a two year stay after a severe motorcycle accident in another country. Both of them were wounded in their own physical and emotional ways that were not spoken of back in the 1950’s, so they married and proceeded to produce three daughters by the time they were 28. At the time of my birth, as the baby of the family, my father was facing the amputation of his severely damaged leg due to complications. So not only were they bringing a third child into the world, co owners of a restaurant with my grandparents, but now my father would be disabled. His father had unexpectedly died a few months before, leaving him, as the only child, not only responsible for his mother, but now the primary force behind running the family business. He was already on a daily cocktail of the prescription drugs Darvocet, Vicodin, and Valium, for the extreme pain he held in his body from his various metal plates and skin graphs, but now in addition, he would have to deal with walking with a wooden leg which brought painful blood blisters, excruciating pain, and horrible swelling. 

He was not an easy man to live with, but at least now as a mature adult I understand why. Yet, as children do, we tend to think something is lacking within ourselves when our parents are angry or short tempered. As much as we loved the man, for when he was in a good mood, he was funny, charismatic, and charming, but when he wasn’t, it was a careful balancing act of walking on eggshells, and hoping he wouldn’t explode.

In later years after my parents divorced, he was more of a cool uncle than a father figure, but he loved us in the best way he could. We tend to idealize our parents as small children and often have a difficult time coming to terms with their human inadequacies as we grow.

I have always loved that quote by Mark Twain, “When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years.” 

I miss the conversations I had with my father. During our adult visits we could spend hours diving into every topic under the sun. Sometimes things got heated because we saw the world differently, but we both loved those moments. Since his passing he has remained a strong influence in my life, often reaching out from the spirit world, and I am grateful for that ongoing connection. 

Grief softens and reshapes itself over the years, and in that softening I have come to appreciate the complicated, imperfect, deeply human man my father was. I carry his stories, his strength, and even many of his flaws with me, woven into the fabric of who I have become. On November 23rd, when memory feels especially close, I choose to honor not only the father I lost but the relationship that continues to unfold in quiet ways from the spirit world. Love does not end, it simply changes form, and I am grateful to still feel his presence guiding me forward.