Imperfect Parents
Sat Mar 29, 2008 at 10:59:52 AM PDT
I have never bought into the idea that feminists inherently believe that men are not important factor in a child's life. Essential? Maybe not. But when present and accounted for, or noticeably absent, the effect that any parent has on their child is undeniable. I have a great Dad, imperfect and loving and supportive and, sometimes, purposefully absent. The evolution of understanding my relationship with my Dad continues every day. It has been a long, strange process, very different than negotiating the murky waters of relating to my mom.
The reason I'm bringing it up is because I got in a "fight" with my Dad last weekend, and it still bugs almost a week later. I say "fight" because my Daddy and I don't fight, like my mom and I do, with words or looks or anything- essentially, we disagreed about politics and at the end of the conversation, I got a Disappointed Look. Oh that is the worst! Nothing makes me feel like I'm 10 years old more than that look!
Somewhere in the late 90s, my Dad became a Republican, and I cannot stand it. It smacks so hard against the adolescent adoration I still feel for my Dad from time to time. It's one more chink in the perfect shiny armor I built around him growing up.
I used to believe my Dad was as close to perfect as any person could get. He was a Genius Scientist (which is true). He would tinker around and invent things, give presentations, and would publish his research all while holding down his day job. He was a Fabulous Teacher and Coach, and his students loved him. He played the Guitar and was in a band when he was younger. He could build almost anything with wood just by watching how on TV. He could Fix Anything. He sang silly songs and read to us at night and never yelled like my mom did. I can count on one hand the times he lost his temper with us, and only 1 time can I think of that I didn't really deserve it. All he asked was that the remote be where it belonged, and that you vacate his easy chair when he wanted to sit down.
It wasn't until I started dating my now-husband that I started to see through my belief in his perfection- meaning I held onto it for almost 20 years, stubbornly, it now seems. My Dad smokes, even though he told us all he didn't. He disappears when he disagrees with my mom, and leaves her in nasty moods she'll often pass on to us. He avoids confrontation to the point of neglect, leaving all the unpleasant parts of parenting- the execution of discipline being #1- to my mother. He is subtle in his criticism of certain things, so much so that it usually passes over his kid's heads but must be really obvious to my mother. He isn't entirely charitable to people outside of his family, and is quick to judge in a way I hadn't seen before. DH has let me know his stellar ability to fix anything is a bit more bluster and duct tape than I had thought. As he's gotten older, he's developed a curmudgeonly streak that is sometimes unbearably annoying. His disappointment is not always earned, and comes more easily.
Last weekend, my Dad called me young and naive for believing Obama could win any election. He told me when I got older, I'd learn that who the president is doesn't matter all that much (!), and that with some real life experience, I'd understand a little more. I guess working in corporate America for almost 10 years and having a 2 year old, a mortgage, a retirement plan, a marriage- well those don't offer much real life experience. Grrr Daddy... grrrr.
If I've learned anything from the slow fall from perfection I've felt towards my Dad, it's that there is danger in putting anyone on a pedestal. I've managed to contain my disappointment about his imperfection by letting it seep in slowly, but small things like our silly disagreement bug for weeks. I've learned that teamwork in parenting is more important than being more well-liked than the other parent. I love my DH, I don't want my children thinking I'm better or worse as a parent than he is.
Being a parent is tough. Being an "adult child" is pretty damn tough too. I'm still learning how to be both.
Lily and My Dad

Permalink | 25 comments