I’m posting this in honor of Father’s Day as part of a Generation Fabulous “Blog-Hop.”
We called him The Patriarch – in life and even in death. It’s inscribed on his gravestone.
He loved the title; and it fit.
From the time he was a teenager and took care of the family business after his father had a heart attack, for the rest of his life he took care of everyone around him – from extended family to employees to friends.
Yet his bite could be as bad as his bark. The savvy and skills that meant success in business didn’t transform him into a warm and fuzzy Teddy bear at home.
In a way my Dad was a kinder, gentler version of The Great Santini.
He laid down strict rules and expected them to be followed; he set high expectations and expected them to be met.
Breaking my midnight curfew by minutes—meant weeks of being grounded.
Even harder was satisfying his standards.
To future college admissions officers, a couple C’s on my report card sophomore year was a blemish on my stellar high school record. To my father, this was a disaster, deserving of drastic measures—-an entire semester when I was not allowed to date, go out on weekends, or even use the phone.
I could hardly believe there were daughters who had their daddies wrapped around their little fingers. My life was the opposite—I couldn’t imagine getting my father to do what I wanted.
Plenty of times, he showed his softer sweeter side—playing baseball with me, taking me to his office, helping me with homework.
And nothing made me happier than making him proud of me.
Although I knew he loved me— he also intimidated me.
He was all strength; my mother was all softness. She was my comfort, my confidante; and she was the same for my dad.
When she died at 41, my father seemed less a super-hero for the first time ever.
Though he was so capable of so many things, like a typical man of the fifties, he was ill equipped for my mother’s job— raising 3 teenagers in the sixties and seventies.
Still, he did it incredibly well, and he did it alone.
He never remarried, he told me once, because he didn’t want to risk jeopardizing his relationship with his children. There was never any doubt about his focus—-we knew we came first.
I always think my mother was mostly responsible for the person I became; though I only had her for 18 years. Although for most of my life, my father was my only parent and my main influence.
No one taught me more about having a fierce love for your children; no one taught me more about family; no one taught me more about loyalty.
And more than anything else, no one taught me more about what you are capable of doing after you say: I never signed up for this.
Karen D. Austin says
Oh, what a tender heart. I’m tearing up reading that you all lost your mother when she was soooo young and how your dad didn’t want to risk upsetting you all by remarrying. What devotion! You favor your dad in appearance a bit–you with a girlier spin. (My husband and daughter do the same; she’s a girly version of him.) Hugs all around his Father’s Day.
Cathy Chester says
What a tender yet honest portrait of your father, Darryle. Strict yet loving, he would be very proud of the person you’ve become and what you’ve established with the groundbreaking WHOA. WHOA has been fun and informational for me. So kudos to you, and your Dad, for being a leader in many way.
Wonderful post.
Karen says
I think you hit the nail on the head–whether parents are strict or more relaxed, the real message kids need is “You’re important to me, and I will never jeopardize that.” I’m glad you got that message!
grownandflown says
Darryle, I wasn’t aware that you had lost your mom at such a young age. I’m sure yous dad devoted every once of strength he had to his children. What a man – thanks for sharing his story with us.
Wendi says
Dear Darryle,
What a beautiful portrait you have painted of your father. He sounded like such a powerhouse. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him to be thrust into the role of mother and father to three teenage girls.
But seeing how you came out, it’s obvious that both your parents contributed to a one-of-a-kind-creation!
My father was the opposite of yours. I used to call him Mr. Marshmallow. He doted on me and thought I could do no wrong. (Fortunately, for him, I wasn’t the kind of manipulator that would take advantage of him being such a softie.)
Sending much love to you on Father’s Day and all the days that your writing touches hearts like mine.
Connie McLeod says
“No one taught me more about having a fierce love for your children; no one taught me more about family; no one taught me more about loyalty.” Powerful stuff.
Barbara says
I love that dads come in all assortments – and your patriarch must have felt the need to be strong – especially after your mother’s passing. The fact that he wouldn’t remarry because of his focus on his children gave me goose bumps. What a dedicated man – and sounds like he eeked every bit of strength and character from your little souls to make you strong today. Lovely post.
Amanda Fox says
I agree with Karen – whether a person is strict or lenient, I think the message has to be that they care. It’s obvious that you got that message, and are carrying it forward.
What a tough job for your Dad raising three kids on his own. He is definitely a man of strength.
Aaron Rosenthal says
Great post, Aunt D.
Sharon Greenthal says
Your father was obviously faced with a daunting task – raising his children on his own. It sounds like he was a loving and caring man, but typical of his generation in that he held back on the soft stuff. What I’ve learned from reading these bloghop posts is that father-daughter relationships are enormously complicated.