I don't know exactly why, but I feel compelled to respond to or expound more on some points and questions that Cinnamon raised in the comments below regarding fathers. One reason may be that as part of the upcoming adoption, I have to write an autobiography and in doing so, I've brought up some memories of my father, both good and bad. As background I'll give you the 2 minute history of his life. Born Albert Louis Meisenheimer, Jr., AKA "Louie", in Cape Girardeau, MO in the late 30's. Went to Cape Central High School, just like Rush Limbaugh by the way, where he excelled in basketball and football. Got a football scholarship to Southeast Missouri State University (SEMO, just like me) and went on to the Bills training camp, where he was cut for being, well, slow. Back in the early-60's, pro ball players were earning a whopping 4-figure income, so he decided to go back to school to get his engineering degree from University of Missori-Rolla. Worked for the same oil company for over 30 years which brought us to Chicago where I was raised. Married his college sweetie, had 2 boys, of which I'm the younger but much more mature and responsible. Diagnosed with cancer, given 18-24 months to live, and being the punctual German, he died at the University of Chicago Medical Center promptly at the end of the 24th month. We buried him on his 54th birthday. I was 24 and living in St. Louis. I got a call that morning telling me that I had better come up fast on the next flight. I made it with 3 hours to spare to say good-bye, but at that point he'd been unconscous for most of the day, but I like to think he waited for me to come up. Hey, whatever makes it easier, get off my ass, just let me think that, okay?
Anyhow, I recall as a child that I had some serious issues with the type of father he was, but in hindsight, he was a really good dad. He travelled a lot for his job, but he would call almost every night he was gone so we could talk. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, I always felt closer to my mother than with my father. Ironically, now that he's gone and I'm a father, I feel so much closer to him than I do with my mother.
One of the things that hit a chord with me in Cinnamon's comment was what her mother said regarding her father, "He tried to be a good parent, he just didn't know how." I think that is a very important point that should not be overlooked when discussing our opinions of our father's miserable shortcomings. I got the same response from my mother on many occassions regarding my father. My mother explained that my father "did the best job he could, given how he was raised by his father." I had no idea what she meant at the time, but it does make a lot of sense when you look at the 3 or 4 generations involved, starting with my Grandfather and going to my son.
My Grandfather was born at the end of the 1800's and raised by a second generation German immigrant. His formative years were at the early part of the century, with the advent of cars, indoor plumbing, electric light, manned flight, WWI, the Great Depression, etc. Race relations at the time consisted of "as long as them niggers know their place, there won't be any problems." Homeless people were called "bums." Alcoholics were called "drunks." Things were very, very different than today, so I don't think it's fair to judge the men of the past generations by the same measures we use today. Fathers were not encouraged or expected to openly show affection to their boys, for fear that they, well, you know what might happen, "He might turn into a queer."
I recall my mother telling me that my father had told her that his father had told him that he loved him only once. (I know that was a difficult sentence to follow, but there was no other way, I'm sorry.) Once. One time. His father told him he loved him only once. I find that incredibly sad. Believe it or not, at the time, that probably took a lot of courage and emotion for my grandfather to do because that was just the way he was raised. I recall my father telling me he loved me many times, but there was always a reason or special occassion. Perhaps it was a sign of the times. From the time my father was born through the time I was born, society had gone through many changes, most of them in my opinion, were not for the betterment of society, but that's a topic we'll cover later. Myself on the other hand, I shower my kids with "I love you"'s through the entire day. Sometimes I'll call Nick or he'll call me in the middle of the day just to say, "love you, buddy" or "love you, dad." (Sambo isn't to the conversational level yet.) Every day, and I mean every day, we have a ritual of affection:"schmuggie-time," when and where we will psuedo-wrestle and just love each other up with "schmuggums." When I stop to think about how my grandfather would have felt about this, I have to figure that sitting up there in heaven, he is probably looking down with my dad, both very happy that this practice is fully acceptable and encouraged by society today. I really feel that if they had been raised in a time when a father showing affection were more accepted, they both would have been a lot happier as sons and fathers. Long story short, they both did the best job they knew how to do because that is what they were taught and the example they were shown by their fathers who did the best job they could, etc. Were they perfect fathers? Given the results or product that I am of their collective efforts, I'd have to say "No, of course not, but I am an improvement." But, once again, they did do the best they could and that's not too bad.
Without mentioning any names,I know that there are probably at least one or two people reading this who still play an important role in my life who can probably relate to the topic, as I know that there have been some grandparenting issues we've discussed. Well, that's the best answer I can think of, and I thank Cinnamon for inadvertantly prying it out.
Anyhow, I recall as a child that I had some serious issues with the type of father he was, but in hindsight, he was a really good dad. He travelled a lot for his job, but he would call almost every night he was gone so we could talk. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, I always felt closer to my mother than with my father. Ironically, now that he's gone and I'm a father, I feel so much closer to him than I do with my mother.
One of the things that hit a chord with me in Cinnamon's comment was what her mother said regarding her father, "He tried to be a good parent, he just didn't know how." I think that is a very important point that should not be overlooked when discussing our opinions of our father's miserable shortcomings. I got the same response from my mother on many occassions regarding my father. My mother explained that my father "did the best job he could, given how he was raised by his father." I had no idea what she meant at the time, but it does make a lot of sense when you look at the 3 or 4 generations involved, starting with my Grandfather and going to my son.
My Grandfather was born at the end of the 1800's and raised by a second generation German immigrant. His formative years were at the early part of the century, with the advent of cars, indoor plumbing, electric light, manned flight, WWI, the Great Depression, etc. Race relations at the time consisted of "as long as them niggers know their place, there won't be any problems." Homeless people were called "bums." Alcoholics were called "drunks." Things were very, very different than today, so I don't think it's fair to judge the men of the past generations by the same measures we use today. Fathers were not encouraged or expected to openly show affection to their boys, for fear that they, well, you know what might happen, "He might turn into a queer."
I recall my mother telling me that my father had told her that his father had told him that he loved him only once. (I know that was a difficult sentence to follow, but there was no other way, I'm sorry.) Once. One time. His father told him he loved him only once. I find that incredibly sad. Believe it or not, at the time, that probably took a lot of courage and emotion for my grandfather to do because that was just the way he was raised. I recall my father telling me he loved me many times, but there was always a reason or special occassion. Perhaps it was a sign of the times. From the time my father was born through the time I was born, society had gone through many changes, most of them in my opinion, were not for the betterment of society, but that's a topic we'll cover later. Myself on the other hand, I shower my kids with "I love you"'s through the entire day. Sometimes I'll call Nick or he'll call me in the middle of the day just to say, "love you, buddy" or "love you, dad." (Sambo isn't to the conversational level yet.) Every day, and I mean every day, we have a ritual of affection:"schmuggie-time," when and where we will psuedo-wrestle and just love each other up with "schmuggums." When I stop to think about how my grandfather would have felt about this, I have to figure that sitting up there in heaven, he is probably looking down with my dad, both very happy that this practice is fully acceptable and encouraged by society today. I really feel that if they had been raised in a time when a father showing affection were more accepted, they both would have been a lot happier as sons and fathers. Long story short, they both did the best job they knew how to do because that is what they were taught and the example they were shown by their fathers who did the best job they could, etc. Were they perfect fathers? Given the results or product that I am of their collective efforts, I'd have to say "No, of course not, but I am an improvement." But, once again, they did do the best they could and that's not too bad.
Without mentioning any names,I know that there are probably at least one or two people reading this who still play an important role in my life who can probably relate to the topic, as I know that there have been some grandparenting issues we've discussed. Well, that's the best answer I can think of, and I thank Cinnamon for inadvertantly prying it out.
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