Itās been months since I last posted.
During this time my father was diagnosed with, and succumbed to, lung cancer. While I anticipate my experience may produce future thoughts on the U.S. health care system, today is about my fatherās passing.
Freud called one’s father’s death “the most important event, the most poignant loss, of a man’s life.” This has been paraphrased to something like āyou are not a real, independent adult until you bury one parent.ā
The popular belief is that in the late 1890s, while in his forties, Freud was anxious about never “arriving” professionally, and perhaps also about failing to live up to his own father’s expectations.
I often noticed this phenomenon growing up ā a fatherās expectations ā going off the rails. I could tell when a friend deeply feared disappointing their father or was downright afraid of their father. More often than not, this seemed to manifest itself through the endeavors that the father believes to be important rather than what is best for their son.
If you love sports, you might feel a natural inclination to project expectations in that realm. I played youth sports with someone whose father had to call him by a different, fake name during the game. The reason being, as he yelled out commands to his adolescent child, using his real name would bring the kid to tears due to all the accumulated trauma. Inevitably, by the conclusion of the game, there would still be tears.1
Not only did my father chose to not put me through that — which should be table stakes — he also never bad mouthed the parents who chose that divergent path. The latter has become a lost art. In doing so, he let me form my own opinion. It’s just one example of how he let me find the path that was right for me.
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Maybe the hardest thing during this whole fiasco was to hear of regrets or perceived shortcomings.
Albert Einstein once wrote a letter to his child saying:
I deeply regret not having been able to express what is in my heart, which has quietly beaten for you all my life. Maybe itās too late to apologize, but as time is relative, I need to tell you that I love you and thanks to you I have reached the ultimate answer!
Even Einstein had regrets. Like Einstein, my father was also not the type to often express what was in his heart. Maybe unsurprisingly, I am not good at that either.
That’s why it was unforgettable when, a couple years ago, my father told me that he had ānever had a bad day with meā when I was growing up. It was a peculiar-type compliment but a beautiful one. I cried, what were very much tears of joy, when I recently told the story to my fatherās sisters. āWhat a uniquely great thing to say to someone,ā I said.
So, what were my fatherās expectations of me?
I felt my father simply wanted me to be a kind person and hoped, above all else, that I would be happy.2
He wanted a better education and easier life for me. He wanted to be there for me (but without burdening me with his baggage). He did not treat me as a trophy for him to parade about town (or put on the pitching mound). He did not exert parental power on me (unless absolutely necessary).
My father treated me like my own person. Like a friend. Like a son can only dream to be treated. All-in-all, he treated me as I would want to treat my son some day.
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Editor’s Note: The above was written prior to the author finding a short note in his father’s notebook. The note was written during his final weeks and (“typos” notwithstanding) is in complete lockstep with the post above; starting with the opening line which he revised from the “never had a bad day” to “never for one minute of one day did you make me feel anything but proud” and right down to the youth sports example regarding unhealthy expectations of “wannabe coach” fathers. Not only did he express his affection via this note but it looks like he was finally ready to bad mouth those coach wannabes.
