No one’s written a book yet called Tiger Dad, but I probably could. (Or maybe, Jewish Tiger Dad.) I cringe when I hear about the tactics used by Tiger Mom, but really, it’s just a matter of degree.
The opposite of my gentle mother, my dad was a tough businessman. He meant business as a parent, too. Like a Tiger mother, my father wanted the best for us and he set the bar high. And I spent a good chunk of my childhood terrified of him.
As the oldest, I caught the brunt of his high expectations—anything less than the honor roll meant punishment. When I entered high school and my grades plunged first semester, the Tiger roared and I was grounded—for the rest of the year.
My chubbiness as a child was also an obsession for him—handled tiger-style—I might have been the youngest person ever sent to Weight Watchers. Even when I slimmed down after college permanently (at least as long as he was alive), the first thing he said to me every time he saw me was a remark about my weight.
In other ways he was unexpectedly easier to please. The first time I made homemade brownies, I cried when I took them out of the oven, burnt to a crisp. My father went crazy for them—burnt food was in his blood. He told me I took after my grandmother who could speak 7 languages– but was hopeless to translate a recipe.
This softer side wasn’t exposed often, but it emerged full blown when I was 18. Tiger Dad was brought to his knees by the death of my mother, at 41. She was 12 years younger, and it never occurred to him that he would out- live her. I’m sure his inner Tiger got him through the worst nightmare he could have imagined.
Left as a single parent of 3 teenagers, he could have used our mother’s softness sometimes on the edges of those Tiger claws. But his love was also fierce—and I never doubted its depth. He was our touchstone, our teacher, our patriarch. He never remarried, and he talked about our mom forever. Marcella’s child, he would often say, just looking lovingly at one of us. I never knew details of his inner despair, but just saying her name seemed to keep her alive for him.
Still, Tiger Dad didn’t completely mellow with age. He refused to attend my wedding or to speak to me after I married a non-Jew, even though I already had children. It took me getting cancer for him to reconcile.
He was in his early 80’s and I hadn’t seen him in almost a year when I went once to visit him in Miami. We suspected he was in the early stages of Alzheimers, but I was encouraged when the first thing he said to me was: You look thin. He must be fine, I thought. This was classic Dad.
But an hour later, as I drove him to the cemetery to visit my mother’s grave, he didn’t remember how to get there. He seemed confused. We’re visiting Mom, I told him, Marcella.
Who’s Marcella? he asked me.
This isn’t the time to write about what it’s like to see the disappearance of a person—his intellect, his personality, his emotion. It’s especially sad because what my children remember most is the man with vacant eyes who had no idea who we were. I wish they had more memories of the man who taught them to play catch, who read to them, who thrilled to their achievements. No one would be prouder of my children today than my father—or my mother.
There’s a new book out called Parentless Parents. I haven’t read it yet; but I appreciate what it means to raise children without having parents yourself. It’s an irreplaceable loss. In the heart of a child there’s a special place for grandparents; and I hope anyone reading this who is a grandparent, or has one, will never take this gift for granted.
I think about a man who was never sick a day in his life, never spent a night in a hospital. Had it not been for Alzheimer’s, I like to believe he would be turning 97 today.
Tiger and all, Dad, you were everything to me. I always loved you and I will always miss you. Happy birthday.
Thanks so much for sharing that with us, Darryle. Happy B’Day “Tiger Dad”
Beautiful and moving piece, Darryle. We all also love and miss Dad. Our family has all been lucky and blessed to have had him in our lives.
A beautiful and revealing Blog today.
Thank you, Ron. Sometimes hard to share stories like these– but birthdays always bring back memories of people who are gone.
So nice to see you comment on my blog! It’s hard to put Dad into a few hundred words –not sure what he’d think about blogs, since the only thing he really trusted was the New York Times. But I feel lucky to have a way to honor his life and keep his memory alive—since I feel blessed, too. Truly no one knows better than you, me and our brother what an extraordinary person he was.
Thank you so much, BJ. As I told Ron, sometimes hard to reveal via blog but I often think that’s what makes them worth reading.
Meanwhile I checked out your blog, too—and have enjoyed seeing your adventures.
http://onajourney.blogspot.com/
Didn’t realize you were a local!
Thank you, Darryle.I loved this entry.
My Dad is now 88 and in a board and care dealing with dementia.
As always, so many things about your writing touch me. I’m lucky to still have both my parents, but my mother almost died on my wedding day (she spent more than six weeks in the ICU and was very, very sick). She died twice and was brought back. I remember feeling terribly lost and betrayed at just the thought of losing her right when I was starting my own family. Thank you for sharing a bit of yours.
So sweet, Lolly–thank you and I know you also know how amazing my dad was. So sorry to hear about your dad–truly I think nothing is worse than watching someone you love lose everything that makes them who they are.
What an amazing story—sounds right out of a script—with a happy ending.
You are lucky to still have both of your parents–and the best part is that you KNOW how lucky you are—which is just as important. Thanks so much.
I have been reading your blogs and just wanted to let you know that I was deeply touched by what you wrote today. I remember when your Mother died. I flew to Florida. I think I missed the funeral but had come to support you. And I remember your father.
I must admit that I was a bit terrified of him, feeling that I was in the way, an intrusion into his tight family circle (even though I had been invited) yet I remember watching him with you and your sister and brother ….he didn’t want to let you out of his sight…he watched your every move and showered his children with hugs and love. I remember him as a loving, indulgent father who had very sad eyes. Perhaps a part of him was always with your Mom. Your blog today reminded me of my Mother and that I too was a parentless parent from the time my youngest was 8. Yet my daughters and son remember her especially for all those things like going to the beauty parlor and having their hair done, or being sung or read to and I really believe that your children remember all the wonderful things that your Dad did and taught them too. My children still talk about their Nana and what she used to cook etc. on a regular basis.
BUT imagine if they were still around! The role and strength of the grandparents in our lives and the lives of our children is something that cannot be replaced and I wish my children had known them longer.
You know we have tremendous power – the power to create memories in our grandchildren. Just think of the memories you have…now it is our turn!!! How will we be remembered? What will we teach/model that will influence them ?
I guess what I also wanted to do was thank you for reminding me about the special role that we play in our grandchildren’s lives. I have somewhat held back as a step-grandparent –
So…you have inspired me and I am going to call all my step-grandchldren tonight and let your father’s birthday be an occasion to remember to do good and pass on to the next generation what was passed to us.
Very touching blog today about your dad. I was thinking about how much I love being a grandmother. This week, my 17-month old step-grandson came to visit with his mom, who is marrying my husband’s oldest son. . Her mom died a long time ago and her dad a few years ago. So, we are her “new” parents and she is the daughter that I never had… I got to act like the mother of the bride and we were doing wedding stuff: she found a person to do her hair and makeup; a caterer; a place for the reception, and so on. They go home tomorrow and we will feel bereft. Hopefully they will be moving to our area soon, which would be fantastic. Anyhow, just thought I’d tell you my thoughts are with you on your dad’s birthday. And yes, I do appreciate being a grandmother every day…especially since these are from my step-children. A wonderful gift.
Sandi, thanks so much for such a beautiful, thoughtful comment–meaningful especially for me but also for others. Amazing how memories work—I don’t remember you coming to Florida, or meeting my dad—clearly I was in such shock, I have almost no memory of that time right after my mom died. And I treasure hearing how he appeared to you–that he had the capacity to comfort us when he was so devastated himself. Funny you describe him as indulgent—I didn’t mention it in the post, but his Tiger-ness was definitely mixed with indulgence.
I also love your words about the importance of grandparents, or anyone of “our” age—and how we can influence by creating memories. How sweet of you to take in this post as a way to enjoy your own step-grandchildren—and how lucky they are to have you in their lives.
I’m starting to get jealous that I don’t have any step-grandchildren! Remember my post on Grandma Envy!
Seriously, your comment and Sandra’s prove what wonderful opportunities are there to enjoy kids, no matter whose they are. So glad you’re getting to experience having a daughter–especially without having to go through the teenage years. I’m sure your family feels the same way you do—it’s a wonderful gift for all of you.
This was very moving for me. Seeing pictures of your father brightened my day. I don’t mind telling you that I loved that man. My father had already been gone for nearly twenty years when I met your father. As a classically rebellious teenage boy I was certain that I had paid very little (too little) attention to my father, who he was, what he thought, what he said … the kind of person he was. I had never gotten to know him as I might have if I had known that he would be disappearing from my life suddenly one night while I was in high school. Maybe there was something about your father that reminded me of my father. Not sure. In any case I was instantly drawn to your father the moment I met him. I mostly certainly saw the tough businessman in him at work especially any time I was in his office, but all I ever felt from him toward me was warmth, caring and respect. He could be also be immensely charming. This was an extraordinary man of many interests and talents, but no matter what the circumstance there was always one towering truth about your father and that truth was obvious to even the most casual observer. He maintained an unparalleled intensity of love and respect for you, Carla and Josh. Just as Sandra has written I, too, remember your father as a kind man with sad eyes, sadder still the day he told me that his greatest regret was not being able to share you with his beloved Marcella. That was the only time I ever saw a tear in one of those sad eyes.
I got emotional writing this post and now it’s happening again reading comments like yours. Whenever someone who knew either of my parents shares a moment or an insight, it’s like giving me a gift. It’s something I never expected when I started a blog –that I would be keeping my parents’ memories alive—but it’s one of the things I appreciate most. Sometimes our own memories are skewed and it’s wonderful adding someone else’s perspective like yours and Sandi’s. I love to see my dad through your eyes and know how special he was to you—and thanks so much for sharing that.