I Love You, Dad

Father's Day is coming up, and it's got me thinking about my dear ol' dad.

My dad is the greatest. Thanks to him (and my mom) I had a wonderful, stable, secure childhood. My dad was (and still is) reliable, consistent, and loving--when I was little, he was always telling me how much he adored me, that I was beautiful, that I was his "little dahling" (Boston accent).

He was exceedingly proud of my academic achievements, so in addition to feeling loved and beautiful, I also felt smart. He assured me I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up; however, that didn't stop him from telling me what he thought I should be.

When I was seven or eight, I informed him that I wanted to be a nurse when I grew up (I'd just read an inspiring biography of Clara Barton).

"Oh, no, no, no, honey, you don't want to be a nurse. Being a nurse is such difficult, thankless work. Nurses empty out bedpans and bathe patients. If you want to go into the medical field, be a doctor, not a nurse."

I considered his advice...and decided I wanted to be a doctor instead (though that didn't last long).

Yes, my dad has always been reliable and consistent, yet he's also human and occasionally makes mistakes. One of my most vivid childhood memories was one of these mistakes.

I was around eight or nine. My dad had taken the day off work because he had some sort of important luncheon. Much alcohol was imbibed. Now, this was the 1970's when three-martini lunches were pretty common, but my dad didn't travel in those circles and was never a big drinker. But for some reason, he drank way more than he should've that day.

I was upstairs playing in my room when my dad got home (drunk driving--nice!). I must've been bored, because when he stumbled upstairs to change clothes, I said, "Hi, Daddy!" and followed him into my parents' room. I don't remember exactly what happened or what he said, but it went something like this: My dad slurs/yells at me to leave him alone, lurches by, falls onto the bed, and passes out.

I ran back to my room and cried--and have never forgotten it to this day. See, my dad hardly ever yelled at me (he saved it for my brothers); I only got it if I really, really deserved it. Which wasn't too often because I was a good kid. This event traumatized me because I hadn't done anything wrong, and besides, my dad looked weird--he was all disheveled and crazy-eyed. He scared me.

My dad in 1984, not long before boys started
messing up our relationship.

That was pretty much it for traumatic fatherly events during childhood. High school, however, was a completely different story. Once boys came into the picture, my dad became THE ENEMY. He was super-protective and strict, and I hated him for it.

One of his crazy rules was my weekend curfew: 11 p.m. if I was on a date, midnight if I was with friends. (Yet my brother, who was only one year older, had no curfew at all.) So, yeah, once or twice, I lied. I said I was out with friends when I was actually with my boyfriend. Of  course I did! It was a terrible, unfair rule that deserved to be broken.

Because I was a good girl by nature, I wasn't great at subterfuge--I didn't inform my friends of my plan to lie, so unfortunately, while I was out with my boyfriend, the friend I was supposed to be with called the house. As this was before cell phones, my dad had to wait until I got home at midnight to ream me out. I have blocked out most of the ugliness, but the one thing I do remember is him hissing: "You lied to us! Look at you! Look at your face...those lips have been kissed!" He said it like I truly disgusted him. By the sound of it, you would've thought he had found me naked in the back seat of a car. He made me feel so dirty.

I yelled back: "You made me lie! It's totally unfair that I have a curfew while Alan gets to stay out as late as he wants!"

"It's different with boys."

Arrggh! That was his favorite argument, and I deplored it. Whenever I argued that lots of my friends were allowed to stay out past 12 a.m. he'd end the discussion with, "Nothing good happens after midnight." It sucked, because when I was out with friends, it always felt like I was leaving just when things were getting good (and by good I mean bad).

But now I'm all grown-up, with kids of my own, and my dad and I are close once again.

And here's what I want to say to him: Although we had a few rough years when I wished you were more of a pushover, thank you, Dad, for always letting me know that you cared about me, worried about me, and were watching me. Because, although I hated every minute of it, your discipline led me to behave better than I would have otherwise.

To paraphrase Chris Rock: Thank you for keeping me off the pole.