dir/old_school/rant: M y   F a t h e r

My father was larger then life, he was everything a man was supposed to be in a time when men were seemingly becoming less then what they had for years been thought of as being.  When you think of real men, you think of tough movie figures like John Wayne or Clint Eastwood.  I thought of my father, he was a real man, he was everything about manhood, strong, firm, with convictions and a sense of morals.  He was also a womanizer, and half assed for not making his relationship work with my mom, but I only mention that here to kill the thought that this is a personal “feel good, reminiscing” about my father.

 In most situations when the father leaves the household, his hold and connection with his children can fade, my father had left his impression though.  While growing up, I knew the difference between my father and mother.  My mother, who did an admirable job of raising me-despite all my attempts to thwart her, never had the same hold or demand of respect that my father did.  Being with my mother was very much like having a big sister in many respects.  My mother was never a equal with my father in disciplinary action, most mothers just don’t have the oomph that a good father can bring to the table.  Back in a time when seven digits were all you needed to dial someone, from a distance my father could still put the fear of God into me, it was my mothers nuclear standoff with me, for the most part I stayed in check.  It was understood that I might get away with things, but if I were too sassy or unruly, my dad would firmly talk into my ear about the unacceptable nature of my actions and the imminent repercussions of my folly.  I always listened, though admittedly, because of distance it would eventually wear off.

I never feared the repercussions of stealing or fighting and thinking the police would be the force to avoid, it was always my father, who shined in my thoughts as the person who would meter out justice. As I said this isn’t a glossy reminiscing of the greatness of my father, he wore his misdeeds and failures for all to see. I have always thought of him as a good man, but I pray I never bear children and leave them, whether I have the same impact in absentee or not.

 See I never thought it was odd that my father was gone, I never bemoaned where my dad was or why we weren’t with him.  He was my father, he was larger then life, I never forgot him and it didn’t escape me that with my mother I had a slacker existence then with my Dad who was rigid about everything.  With my father it was his way or his way, no other choices.  But he wasn’t really the physical disciplinarian I have for many years altered and shaped my memory into thinking him as being.  It was not about corporeal punishment it was about understanding and accountability.  Somehow he taught this to me, somehow I learned it and when I didn’t quite understand he reinforced it within me and I followed it regardless, he was my father, I obeyed him.

My father was not my friend, he was my teacher, my mentor, my law.

My mother would discipline me and I was unrelenting in the psychological warfare of making her feel guilty or just generally annoying her till she relented and gave me a stay of execution, from whatever pussy punishment she’d handed down to me in the first place, that I deserved ten fold.  My father said “no” and I walked away, whatever thought or desire I had, firmly having sprouted wings and left my mind, I understood his “no” so much better then the “no” my mom used.

 There is a reason for this and I’d be stupid not to list it here as it is a part of my point.  My mother was inconsistent with her punishment, she’d punish and then drop it, say no and then give in to my plea’s and say yes…so I knew I always had room to negotiate.  My father said something and he meant it.  If he said yes he meant yes and he always came through, if he said no it was the end of discussion and I didn’t harangue him.  Your kids respect you and understand you when you are consistent in your actions…

By the time I was twelve I lived with my father for one year.  In one year, my father laid the seed to my development as a man.   The shock of going from my mothers easy disciplining of “do right and don’t get into big trouble” was replaced with a full military style discipline of full accountability. As a child with my mother, I dare say as all boys with their single mothers learn to be… I’d learned how to not be accountable, all kids play the game and depending on how much you as a parent let them get away with it, they will play the game for the rest of their lives, much to their disadvantage.

My friend Juan was infected for years with the play it stupid routine of “Huh?!” and “I don’t know…” and I think it was much to his detriment and still plagues him today. Though admittedly he changed style and has since graduated from playing the dummy, to learning quite a few Jedi mind tricks.  Now Juan can currently be found on the stage of life with his grizzled veteran, street credible routine. The one man, off Broadway show: Juan “I tell it how it is”, which has suited him well, I guess.  Please be forewarned if you play stupid too long, you might just get typecast.

I don’t know….

That’s where it starts with kids, we let them get away with “I don’t know” for years, knowing damn well they do, but who wants to look like the bad guy or having to always dig it out?  No one, so many of us begin our bad habits with “I don’t know” and “I forgot” or the method acting equivalent of “Uh…” Followed by the shrug and the solid eye contact, the weak but disarming half smile, them knowing you’re in on the big joke.

Kids sometimes become so intent on not having to account for spilling Kool Aid or leaving toys out and they become so good at it with their parents- who just don’t want to fight or have to point out every little thing. Sadly this horrible habit carries over into other relationships and into the way they live their life, something so small as a bad habit, can really turn things bad for you.

 Acting stupid or not answering questions is how kids start to form the threads of not being accountable, the parent knows better, but they ignore it, no big deal… My mom ignored it, she didn’t care, it was easier then having to interrogate me over dumb little shit.  I of course exploited that for all I could, talk all you want about the innocence of kids.  I’ll say this and agree that there is such a beautiful naïve ignorance about children, I’ve never noticed a great innocence, just a prelude in life where they neither do good or bad.

 I can’t take my father off the hook completely on the corporeal end of things, he did beat my ass about five times in my whole life and each time brought me closer to the understanding that I did not want him to be displeased with my action. This story wouldn’t be complete without explaining “The Poke” though.  Some guys are as lucky as me and had a father who talked to them as if they were men in training, not as equals though, never as equals,

 This is a family friendly site of course so I’ll refrain from saying “fuck” and I’ll work with something lighter like “Forget that whole My child is my equal routine” to put it nicely it seems like it doesn’t work well.  If I were to mar this discussion with how I personally feel, I’d say “it’s stupid to believe you can raise a child with the planted notion in their head, that they are your equal, then wonder why they don’t respect you”.  When exactly did the notion that a kid is equal to an adult come about? And while you’re thinking about it tell me if you think any of the odd boy killers of our time have had strong father figures who were their guidance, rather then trying to be their friend?

  In the year I lived with my father he trained me to be accountable and respectful and most important he taught me foresight.  With my mother I did anything I wanted and played dumb or excused myself out of punishment.  I tried this same routine with my father his response was different then my mother.  Below are the horrible excuse habits that kids learn to get away with parents, that my dad found unacceptable.  With a little training, positive reinforcement and the poke when necessary he changed my disposition on thoughts of trying to snow him.

My father would ask why I did something dumb or wrong or just plain bad.   I first responded with the time-tested tradition of the “I didn’t know it was wrong”. This was quickly met with the Poke, which was one finger to the chest.  Then he’d say in a clear reasonable voice, which never held anger or frustration “Now you know, don’t do it again” at this point early in our living together, I figured I just hadn’t used the right excuse.  So when I did it again I’d just change my response, knowing when I got the good one I’d be home free.

So at the next oppurtunity when he caught me screwing up he’d ask “Why did you do it?” and being smarter then my father, I then said “I didn’t think about it” cause I knew it was wrong but if I didn’t take the time to think it out, I was homefree, right? No… Poke.
The Poke cannot be explained as just a finger in the chest, it wasn’t done to abuse me or threaten me, it was one serious dose of pain, but no worse then the classic grandmother “Pinch and pull” technique, commonly taught in third world paramilitary outfits.  The Poke didn’t leave a bruise, it didn’t harm me, it just resonated, he didn’t rear up and do it, just flexed his forearm and their it was, a good dose of emphasis, that echoed in my chest.
I continued to try to outwit my father and he patiently taught me that tricks and loaded replies were unacceptable.  He never showed me anger, he never seemed violent, if I tried to out him-note: I never succeeded- he just explained to me that he was an adult so I could not know, think, or out assume him.

Because he took my bag of illusions away I was left with nothing but the foresight to not do unacceptable things.  I had learned accountability.  If I wanted to say set a trash can on fire, with a squeeze bottle of stolen lighter fluid and a filtched lighter, the thought would always come into my head “What is my dad going to say if he finds out I set a trash can on fire…and stole lighter fluid and a lighter too”. I was not a perfect kid, I still had fun, hell I still did bad or suspect things as any kid does on occasion. I did think about everything I did before I did it though.  I weighed out my desire with what he and I both knew was acceptable behavior.
On a end note, I lived with my father for one year and just couldn’t hack it.  Years of just being a smart and holy terror to adults and kid alike, could not prepare me for the reconditioning, a large part was also that my father shared the house with his mother and two strict disciplinarians was just too much for me.  So I promptly ran away and went back to mom after a year.  When my father found out, he promptly came over and gave me my fifth and last asswhupping of my childhood.  He let me stay with my mom though.  Sometimes I question the logic of that move.  Living with my mother was like a return to all things good.  I quickly shed most of what my father expected of me.  I became a bit shrewder but I went back to my more comfortable typecast role of playing dumb.  it was a long successful career, the perks and accolades were immense…

This I think is what make me think that the balance of raising a child does lie in the old school antiquated notion of a Father and Mother. It wasn’t till he died a few years ago that what he taught me, bubbled back to the surface and I began to fully understand the gift that he left with me.  My father had done his part and I had finally done my part as well, embracing his teachings of accountability and doing the right thing.  His KungFu was good and I never knew a better man.  He was my mentor and teacher and I never, even to this day consider myself his equal as I have yet to father my own children or do right by own my wife and my life is young yet, but I am his son and he did right by me and I aspire to his levels and higher.  That is KungFu.