We’re standing in his garage in our pajamas, with winter coats on. After a short drive around the block to bring the oil up to temperature, he pulls out the bright orange dipstick to teach me how to check the level.
Even though he’s never seen what’s under this hood before, he knows where everything is. Every nozzle for every fluid, every connector to every part. A sixth sense that all dads seem to have, like when a steak is cooked medium rare, and when the TV is just big enough.
This is the first time we’ve ever done something like this. A strange sort of bonding I rarely had in my childhood.
Inside, I’m showing him how to use Photoshop, to take the wrinkles out of his friend’s faces. Anything helps at this age, I suppose.
In my heart, I wish my dad had shown more interest in my photography. I wish he wanted one of the prints I brought, maybe to show other people and say that he was proud of me. But he didn’t. And I say nothing because it’s one of those things that shouldn’t have to be said.
He keeps bringing up his dance partner. The person who called him to make sure I arrived safely from the drive. He wears two new earrings in piercings that weren’t there the last time I saw him, a gift from her, and I wonder if “dance partner” is his euphemism for “mommy”.
I’m too scared to ask.
There’s no reason for me to stay more than a night, because there’s nothing more to be said.
“Inside, I’m showing him how to use Photoshop, to take the wrinkles out of his friend’s faces. Anything helps at this age, I suppose.”
That’s gently funny, in a bittersweet manner.
Hi Jeff. This post touched me greatly.
I could never really bond with my father who showed little interest in what I was doing. He could never say the things I longed to hear (until it was too late!) I found out though when illness began to overtake him just how much he did care and how proud he was of me from others to whom he had spoken about me. I found it strange that he could relate his feelings to friends outside the family circle when my mother and I were the ones who longed to know. That’s the way it is with some people, I guess.
But some good came from it when I realised that I was beginning to show a tendency to tread the same path. So I vowed then and there that I would be more open with family and friends and show them how much I cared for them. Sometimes you only get back from life what you put in. I’m richer for the experience.
My father outrightly scoffed at pretty much anything I did for years until I worked for the SF Opera. Then, even though it was not my best job since that time, I was suddenly worthy of a “Hmmph! How about that.” Dads are wierd birds, expect little and enjoy what you get. I still want to punch him even now mostly. But I just sigh and think he means well.
BTW, two earrings on a Chinese dad of yours’ age? That’s not mommy. Uh-uh.
@Dennis — I think it’s really sad that it takes something like an illness for true feelings to come out in some people. My father (and his father) are the exact same way with sharing things only to people outside of the family, but just as you say, I know never to make the same mistakes with my friends and family.
But it’s a bittersweet lesson, something I don’t think anyone should have to go through. Like saying that surviving some horrible tragedy has given someone character.
@Xibee — I don’t really enjoy what I get, but I do need to learn to expect less.
Jeff, it must be a Chinese dad thing :) (stereotypically speaking of course).
I love my dad, and I know he loves me too. However we never display any physical affection towards each other. I don’t think he and his father did either.
Sometimes I wish I can just give him a hug, but the concept seems so foreign to the both of us. But I’m OK with it. I’m OK with this comfortable, silence distance we have.
I didn’t feel close to my dad until I became a father myself. I began to understand why my dad did the things he did, from another father’s pov. I also think he tries to make up for the lack of display of affection towards me, by giving his full attention to my son.
Even though my dad never appraised me, hugged me or showed interest in what I do like my mother did, I feel his influence(positive) on me is enormous. It didn’t occur to me until I was older. It kind just snuck up on me.
I hear many Chinese fathers are like that too. But I’m not okay with it. I need more than what he gives me.
It surprises me to hear that you started to understand his point of view when you became a father yourself, when you’ve learned to give full attention to your son. You’ve been able to break the cycle, something your dad wasn’t able to do for you. I would have thought this would have the opposite effect; that you would understand even less why he was the way he was.