Fathers and Sons

When we were expecting our first child we decided to wait until the birth to find out what we were having and I have to admit feeling slightly relieved when the the doctor announced that I had a daughter. I am not the type of guy who watches football on Sundays, plays basketball with his buddies or participates in other types of “guy” rituals. It was bad enough worrying about the fragility of this little human, I did not want to also have to feel responsible for instilling his masculinity.

I settled easily into my new role of Dad. My daughter was an easy going baby who grew into a tenacious, confident child. As her personality developed I saw a lot of myself in her and we enjoyed a close bond. Ironically, she became the jock of the family.

My father and I had vastly different personalities, but sharing the title of “Dad” brought our similarities into focus. I always knew that my Dad had a way of calming babies as our extended family’s growth can be traced by pictures of him next to sleeping babies. The effect was mutual. He was a man who was always on the go, but in these pictures he was always asleep. On a vacation back East with my Parents, my Dad and I watched the baby as our wives ran errands. They came back to find all three of us asleep.

As easy as it was to settle in to his role as grandfather of a baby, he faced challenges as my daughter grew. He would jump into a disciplinarian role, even when her mother or I were around to correct her behavior. My Dad and I had vastly different parenting styles and I am sure that he did not trust me completely to get the job done. It was an uncomfortable conversation when I had to remind him that he was the grandfather and he should just enjoy his grandchild. By the time his second grandchild was born, he had perfected his role.

We knew before my son was born that he was going to be a boy. With the confidence of already having one child, I was not as intimidated by this prospect. That confidence was quickly called into question as my son was the exact opposite of his sister.

Apparently, stubbornness is a trait that runs in the males of our family. This manifested itself shortly after my son was born when he had a crying fit so bad that he actually popped out his belly button. His mother freaked, but a call to the pediatrician assured her that it was relatively normal. Our sanity was in more danger than his health.

As the youngest in the family at the time, my son did not like going to bed first. I do not think that he liked the fact that life was still going on without him and he would put up epic fights. One time I came home from night classes to find my wife holding his door closed, crying and pleading for him to “just go to bed.” He never got his way, but he still tried. Eventually, he would grow tired of the fight and simply just go to bed. I remember when these battles ended because the last time it happened he actually came from his room one more time simply to apologize.

My Dad was spending more time with my family at this time because he was building a new room in our house. He was present for some of these bedtime tantrums and in every case he stayed out of the fight. I know it was not easy for him, but he had succeeded in becoming “Poppy.”

During these trips my son became my Dad’s little buddy. He would come home from preschool, go right to the refrigerator and grab a beer for my Dad. They would then sit and talk about their days as my dad would actually take a break. All day, my Dad and I would struggle to maintain a conversation, but the two of them with days that had nothing in common talked with ease. I was content just listening in and being happy for them both.

In my dad’s retirement years and especially through my divorce, my Dad and I did grow closer. Conversations were no longer forced and we found that we had more in common than those days working on a room had indicated. I did not share his passion for the New York Giants, but we both ended up being very passionate about politics. It also turned out that negotiating divorce court required skills that were not too different from the ones he excelled at in his corporate life.

My son is at an age where finding our similarities are sometimes hard to find, but they are there. He thinks that I do not understand that videogames are his passion, but I remember spending my paper route money on an Atari 2600. The arguments against video games that anger him are not much different than the ones that were used against heavy metal when I was younger.

Uncharacteristically, my father had become a fan of Nine Inch Nails when we dragged him on a three-generational outing to Woodstock ‘94. Therefore, it seemed natural to ask my son to play the song “Hurt” on a piano for my father’s memorial service. He was unfamiliar with it but I was amazed as he learned and perfected his performance within a day. Up until this part of the service, I had been rather numb as I listened to people talk about my Dad. However, listening to my son play filled me with such pride that it brought the moment into clarity. My fears of having a son were unfounded.