Mothers and fathers are two sides of the same coin. They usually possess differing strengths that added together, form a complementary whole. My mother and father were no different.
While my mom was the loving nurturer, my dad was the disciplinarian, the instructor. This is not to say that my dad didn’t love us. Both my parents loved my sister, brother, and I; there was just a difference in how that love is expressed. For it was out of a great love for us that my dad took on the role of disciplinarian and instructor.
As a young child, dad was the heavy hand. If we got into “real trouble” it was usually dad who handled it. He was the one who dispensed the spankings for big time offenses. He delivered the lectures. He was the one who grounded you. When I was little, there was no greater threat that could be delivered than the infamous, “You wait till your father comes home!!!” I think that phrase probably sends shivers down the spine of every child.
So at a very young age, he was the one who taught us that our actions have consequences. We learned in a very simplistic way what was right and what was wrong. If you do right, you avoided negative consequences. If you did wrong, there was hell to pay. Choose rightly young man.
As I got older though, the disciplinarian mixed with the roles of coach and mentor. In middle and high school I had big dreams, but not really the skills or motivation to achieve them. It was my father who pushed me harder than any person could. When I slacked off, he pushed me harder. Sometimes it made me hate him. Why can’t he let up? Why does he have to push ALL the time? He drove me to frustration. He was a hard task-master at times.
He was relentless when it came to my grades, my sports, and my life. I remember coming home every day from school and having to go through the inquisition. The daily litany of questions:
“What did you do at school today?”
“What did you learn in class today?”
“How was wrestling practice?”
“Did you run when you got home?”
“Did you talk to so and so?”
There seemed to be a million questions. It was frustrating. He was always there.
Then again, he WAS always there. Every karate tournament, every wrestling match, every volleyball game, every report card. He was hard on me often; he pushed me; he was lean with praise. But he was always there with tips and advice on how to get better, to hone that edge. When he did dispense praise, it truly meant something. There was no higher honor than to hear my father say, “I’m proud of you son.”
He also had another side to him. I remember growing up, hearing all my dad’s funny stories about when he was a hot-headed young man, more focused on partying than pushing himself. While they were hilarious stories, they had a message. Learn from my mistakes son.
When I wasn’t sure how to achieve my goals, he helped me figure it out. He took the time to discuss values with me, and explain to me why they were important. In time, I grew to have the skills to achieve what I wanted, I learned to motivate myself rather than depend on others, and I learned how to make decisions and live my life directed by values and not whims. These things became my own. I learned to be the master of my own life, and accept responsibility for it. Choose rightly young man. But if you fall, learn to pick yourself up and move on.
Then, when I became a young man, out on my own, his role again changed from the hard-driving coach to a valued and trusted friend. He was there when I was a young man at West Point, or a young officer, or a young father. He leant me his ear whenever I needed it. He received calls more than once at 2am and heard me out on something that was bothering me. He received letters from war zones. Sometimes he just listened, other times he offered his advice, other times he encouraged or chastised as I needed. Choose rightly young man. But if you fall, learn to pick yourself up and move on. Either way, your dad loves you.
Now as a father of two young children, I look to him for advice and his example.
What was it that dad did that was so extraordinary to me? He loved me enough to take the hard way over the easy course. He did the uneasy job of teaching me and passing on his values, despite my stubbornness. He pushed me when I didn’t want to be pushed because it was the right thing for me.
I look back on my life and the accomplishments that I have made to this day. I am overwhelmed with pride at what I have achieved, and where I am today. Looking back, I realize that my life bears the unmistakable fingerprint of my father’s teachings. I couldn’t be any more proud of who my father is, and the example that he has laid before me. I can honestly say this: that if I grow up to be half the man my father is, I will have become a good man. Happy Father’s Day Pa, I love you.
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