Had the car battery die on me today. Not that it's the fault of the battery. That privilege lies with me. How many years since I've done that? I remember always feeling ashamed that I had gotten a flat, ran out of gas, or whatever, that somehow I had let my dad down by not being more careful. He didn't make me feel ashamed. That's what I put on myself--because I wanted him to be proud of me, and letting your battery run down because you forgot to turn off the lights wasn't the way to make it happen.Somehow, somewhy, there was always this tension in me to want my dad's approval, his "That's my boy!" He didn't withhold it; he just expressed it differently than I wanted. I wanted the words and he wasn't long on words. Dad was also more "be" than "do", if you know what I mean. He could just sit and . . . just sit . . . and that counted as his affirmation. If he slept or watched TV and you were there, that counted, too. When he visited our family we were always dragging him to "do" something with us--the zoo, the coast, Multnomah Falls, the Rhododendron Gardens--but he was always most content . . . just sitting, just "be"-ing.
I give my kids the words, because the words are important to me--and I think words are powerful. But I wonder: Are "doing" and "being" what speaks to my kids? It's all important, but how do they hear love best?
2 comments:
My van literally died two hundred yards from the top of one of the steapest and longest hills in Idaho. It was a two lane highway with literally no sholder room. We had a trailer on the back and cars were scraping by as I held on with a death grip waiting for the police and the tow-truck to arrive. To make a long story short, we all made it out alive, but I too could hear my Dad rumbling about me being a "dumb ass" in the background. :-)
Its funny, John, how I so much felt the same way with Mom. Mom ran a very neat and tidy home and was super organized (to the point that every piece of silverware had a specific spot in the dishwasher - remember? And the phone cord too.) Well, I put that level of perfection upon myself and I tend to beat myself up when I fail to attain it. And believe me, most all the time I fail. A messy, cluttered and unorganized room gives me stress and somehow makes me feel like a bit of a looser. Like somehow I don't measure up. I know its not true, but its still there. And as a mother of 5 children who I love unconditionally, I know Mom didn't value me or love me any less just because I'm a "messy". All the same, wouldn't it be nice to be free from some of our self imposed baggage? Love you John, Lori
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