Father’s Day: a Glimpse at the Complexity of our Dad

Although I have often written about my relationship with my mother through the lens of caregiving, I have never written directly about my father. So, because today is Father’s Day, here is my first reflection about him and a glimpse into our relationship. Although he died almost 20 years ago, he lives on in our memories, our faces, and the well-crafted, durable work he took so much pride in completing.

  Our father was a complex person. He was an intelligent man who was largely self-taught; his knowledge of the world and its history was mostly gained by reading encyclopedias from cover to cover, as well as biographies and histories, especially of the world wars. He would quiz us at the supper table on the capital cities of countries around the world. I didn’t mind the geography questions, but it bemused and infuriated him that I could never answer his math questions, which to me always seemed impossibly difficult. He placed great value on friendship and especially family, and treasured the time spent together. However, he was also sensitive and highly-opinionated. These are not negative qualities, but combined with his quickness to anger and his struggle with alcoholism, it unfortunately often led to alienating those closest to him.         

                    Our father was a master bricklayer. He took pride in creating and completing lovely, durable projects. He paid attention to detail and was open to learning new skills. One reason why I am long overdue to move is because so much of my house, especially downstairs and outside, looks as it does because my father devoted a lot of his time in retirement to improving and personalizing it for me. 

          Although our father died almost 20 years ago, I still often think of him, not consciously, but randomly, naturally, when I have conversations about soccer or F1 racing, or when I look at my basement bookcase, my outside steps or my backyard. Of course, he also flits through my mind when I am caring for my mother, who still lives in the house they bought over 50 years ago. Almost immediately, he began the process of gutting it and renovating it in order to accommodate their six children. Together with the help and expertise of relatives and friends, many of whom had emigrated here from our parents’ village, and acquaintances who became friends, the house was transformed. 

          My siblings and I like to think we played an essential role in that. In order to save money and not waste good lumber, we were tasked with removing the nails from wood that our father took down from the existing structure and intended to reuse in the new one. From our perspective, he was a demanding taskmaster. He had daily quotas for us, which led to scary consequences when he came home from work if they were not met. My brothers and I, because we were the older ones, became quite adept at using a crowbar and hammer. 

          He had very high expectations for himself and for us. One of his mantras was “if you’re going to do it, do it right, or don’t do it at all.” As he got older, those words to live by became harder to sustain, but he tried. 

Yes, I think of him on Father’s Day, and I am grateful that my children are old enough to remember him as well. As long as we can do that, Nonno, the complex man he was, will continue to be with us.

I’d love to know what you think of this post. I will probably write more about him and our relationship as time goes on. Please leave a comment below.