I’m thinking about the fathers we all needed. I’m thinking about the fathers we really had. I’m thinking of the fathers who missed the mark completely. I’m thinking of the fathers who went to war and bled. I’m thinking about the fathers who lived with pain they didn’t know how to language. I’m thinking of their wounded hearts, their broken dreams and passed-down traumas. I’m thinking about the men who worked long days to keep us clothed and fed. I’m thinking about the fathers who didn’t make it. I’m thinking about the ones who offered love. I’m thinking about the life of your missing hero. And I’m thinking about the complicated man he was instead. I’m thinking about your grief because he’s no longer with you. I’m thinking about the friend you had or wished you knew. I’m thinking about the person you came to accept or parted ways with. I’m thinking about the soul you called Dad…
Superman
We all thought my father loved Superman. He watched all the old films in black and white, the spectacular action blockbusters with Christopher Reeve, the random ones I can never remember and without a doubt, any tv series throughout time devoted to the Powerful Being, himself.
When we were kids, we found a cardboard box of memorabilia in my parents’ closet, filled with scraps of faded telegraphs, old photos and mementos. What stood out was an original Official Superman Fan Club Membership Certificate with the name Bobby scripted elaborately across the aging paper. That was the first time I found myself considering my father being a child in need of a hero.
He grew up to become a hero in the only ways he knew how. He fought his enemy in a war and suffered an injury that left him with a limp and a purple heart. He went to work everyday and sometimes worked an extra job in the years we needed to make ends meet. He read voraciously. He had a stubborn and undying will made of steel. He tried with all his might to keep a family from falling apart. He couldn't stop feeding the hungry. And he loved his wife with all the strength of his human body.
My mother, I think, looked like a version of Lois Lane when he met her, and before the years of illness slowly took her from his powerful arms forever. After she passed away, I listened as he described how beautiful she was to him, his love for her, and his commitment to be there for her the moment she confided her greatest tragedy. In some ways I guess my father didn't love Superman, he loved Lois Lane. He wanted to be Superman. Her Superman.
My father had issues that become clearer as I grow older. The perplexity of his controlling behavior, temperament and stubbornness we were familiar with is long gone. Knowing more details and gaining a fuller understanding of what he lived through, the context of his traumas, as well as what was passed down to him generationally, I have more of an understanding about his challenges, patterns and reactivities. This isn’t to say it’s all okay, but it does help to inform and contribute to my resolution and healing.
Whether you’re someone who’s had a complicated relationship or no relationship with your parent, Father’s Day can feel loaded. I don’t want to be insensitive to your experience. My wish is for you to feel a sense of comfort to ease the invisible pain of this particular loss. The guidance, protection, support, affection and companionship, as well as emotional presence, we need as developing children and adolescents is detrimental to becoming functional adults. If we weren’t met in any of these areas, it can be felt as an emptiness needing to be filled. It can be a wound we must face and recognize so we are not locked inside a feeling of lostness.
I wish you love, care and strength today.
Susan
Reading your tribute to your dad and the 'Superman' metaphor brought a sense of sadness to me. Like your father, mine was the product of two World Wars and the Great Depression. His father died from Spanish Flu in a military training camp during WWI. His mother had to "farm out" her children to relatives who could support them. I suppose the "super power" our fathers possessed was perseverance - the ability to be traumatized and shattered yet somehow pull all the pieces together and survive.
An uncle took my father in and raised him like his son. Chuck studied petroleum engineering in college and was sent to England as an officer during WWII and later to Korea during that ill-begotten war. He later worked to establish the petroleum logistics for the new military service, the U.S. Air Force.
Like Superman, he was solitary and "a man of steel." He was from a different era, the old school of manners and honor. He became "an officer and a gentleman" living his life and embracing his death with stoic dignity. He showed me what a 'decent' man looked like and acted. He had his flaws, but they paled in comparison to his unwavering decency. Yes, decency is a super human trait in today's world.
I remember the Superman 'slogan': "Truth, justice, and the American way..." He lived his life by those values and I long for them in my life today. My dad, probably for survival, "steeled" himself away and was not easily assessable or demonstratively affectionate, but demonstrating that one's core values and dignity can survive the most devastating traumas is a super power that allows love to emerge beneath the scars. Happy Father's Day...