My Daddy Issue

My fondest memory of my dad occurred when I was seven.  

Because he had taken 15 years of piano lessons in his youth, I grew up with a full-size grand piano in the living room. One evening, my dad played Chopin’s Revolutionary Etude, an extremely difficult piece of music, without sheet music, for some neighbors who dropped by. That is to say, he played the entire piece from memory.

Here’s a link to Vladimir Horowitz playing this piece in 1975.  

As his fingers flew over the keys in a blur, my father’s brilliance was undeniable, and I was so proud to be his son at that moment.  His genius made me feel like anything was possible in my future, because I was his son. 

Here’s another piece he often played.  And here’s another.  And one more I remember well.

His three sons often fell asleep at night to the sound of him playing.  Sometimes I laid on the floor under the piano while he played, listening to it RING!

When I was older, my dad built a rowboat, from scratch, without instructions, guided only by creative instincts, his knowledge of carpentry, and his prodigious problem-solving skills.  

He handmade a set of life-size hollow wooden building blocks that hopefully his great grandkids' grandkids will get to enjoy.  

He also taught me everything about gardening.  

I’m convinced my dad could build anything, given enough time to plan it out. 

I had a good relationship with him until I became a teenager, when our relationship grew less close, which is typical of many fathers and sons.  I wanted a better connection with him, though; especially later, when I became a father myself.  

I yearned for meaningful conversations about what matters most in life, but this made him uncomfortable, and so our relationship remained stuck, at arms length, until his death.

Like any two human beings, my father and I shared certain beliefs, and we disagreed on others.  Whenever I pushed for deeper resolutions to family conflicts that arose, he would express disappointment in my tendency to “analyze things too much.”  

Understanding what makes people tick has always interested me, but like many of his generation, my dad was not fond of introspection, or of psychoanalysis, in any form.  Whatsoever.  Ever.

And so, he and I viewed the world, and the people in it, differently, but we also shared a tendency to assign an importance level to stuff that happens. All humans share this tendency. If kids are playing and one of them throws sand in the air, the others will inevitably decide, in a split second, whether the behavior is an act of aggression, or just harmless fun.

Categorizing stuff that happens as “good” or “bad” enables us to decide how best to go forward -- whether to go punch the sand-thrower, or to offer him another chance to play nice.  But since everyone does this math differently, conflicts happen.

We humans often interpret identical events differently, so we end up with different beliefs, which prompt us to align ourselves with different political or religious groups, which reflect the importance we assign to perceived patterns of behavior.

Anyway, because my first marriage ended in divorce, I re-examined beliefs that probably contributed to it.  I then prodded my dad to take a closer look at some of his beliefs, too, but he resisted, firmly.  

After a while, I stopped asking him to take a look at anything.  There was never going to be ANY re-examination of anything.  No learnings.  Whatsoever.  EVER.

I believe my dad loved me, but the net result of HIS beliefs was that our relationship remained at arms length.

Now he’s gone, and I must decide what importance to assign to this thing that happened – this choice he made.  What beliefs about it should I accept?  Was his choice a “good” or a “bad” thing?  

Did he want something else more than he wanted meaningful conversations with me?  If so, what was it that he valued MORE?  

Was there something I was doing that made him not want a deeper connection?  Was he right – that I analyze things too much??  Or, was my father just not comfortable letting his guard down?  Around anyone whatsoever.  Ever.

As I weed out suspicions generated by “the little voice in my head” as best I can, I know that whatever beliefs I hold about my dad’s choice will affect the way I connect with my own children, and for that matter, with anyone.  

One belief I hold is that you can never REALLY know what another person thinks, so a decision about what to believe often comes down to how much faith you have in yourself. 

By definition, faith requires a “leap in logic” that involves risk.  And risk is scary.

Being scared doesn’t feel good, so in order to feel more “in control”, I tend to give assumptions that feel good more weight.  But I also understand that “feel good” (ego-preserving) beliefs are the root cause of every conflict in the world.

The downside of living inside a moat of assumptions that keep out any “feel bad” news is that your creativity becomes crippled by the fear of validating an opposing viewpoint. You become unwilling or unable to afford making a mistake. 

Opportunities for intimacy are too risky. Arrogance and fear drive most decisions. Absolute power corrupts, absolutely. Eventually your mind becomes a fortress, with circles of defensive logic protecting core beliefs inside more circles of defense, until the center becomes, ironically, no longer worth defending; it is essentially a prison – not free.

Humans are constantly driven by fear on some level, but the good news is we’re simultaneously pulled by life-affirming desires, if we allow our "self" to notice them.  

Every human interaction is a test:  Am I safe being myself with you?

The secret to happiness, therefore, is to strive to be cognizant of actual danger while also allowing yourself to be pulled by deeper intentions.  Dwell as often as you can in spaces where you’re awake (aware of risks) but also allowing positive possibilities a chance at bat.  Real love is not possible without vulnerability.

I miss my father. He was a brilliant, well-intentioned, decent human being, who was able to teach himself many things.  He gave me confidence in my own ability to analyze and solve the problems life throws at me, and I will never regret trying to have a more meaningful relationship with him.