A Father's Day Reflection

“By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he's wrong.”

Dr. Charles Wadsworth (1814-1882)

I began to reach out to my father when he was well into his seventh decade, and I was finishing my third. By that time, I had been kicked around enough to know that I wasn’t as smart as I had thought. I needed some help. Life wasn’t turning out the way I had dreamed. Everything I touched hadn’t turned to gold. I was humbled. I was ready to learn. I started asking him questions about his experiences, our family’s history, about parenting, aging, and life. But, it was too late.

He was already beginning to slip. The slide into what we later realized was Alzheimer’s was a long and slow one. As I look back on it now, I realize that he was aware he was losing his mental prowess. In his early 60s he began to withdraw. His withdrawal coincided with my attempts to draw closer. Like a sadly choreographed dance, he took a step back with each step I took forward.

I think he was afraid. Not afraid of me, and not afraid of a relationship on a deeper level. His fear was far more basic. He was afraid of embarrassment. He began to answer questions in short, staccato sentences and monosyllables.

Like most bright people, he would take little side trips away from the thesis of the conversation later to return from the digression. Increasingly when dad took detours from the topic, he couldn’t remember the way back to the main road of the discussion. For a while he would say, “Now, what were we talking about?” But that didn’t last long. Soon, he stopped taking the risk of engaging in free ranging conversations. He began to play it safe. “Yes,” “no,” “ask your mom,” “I’m not sure,” ruled the day. My increasingly complex questions were matched by his increasingly safe answers.

My father has been gone for seventeen years now. He remains, to this day, the kindest man I have ever known. He also was a very wise man. Unfortunately, by the time I had the humility to seek his wisdom, he had already embarked on his long journey into the Alzheimer’s night.

I don’t have too many regrets as I look back on my life. But there are four things I wish I had done that I can’t do now. I wish I had served my country in the military. I wish I had served on a church staff before leading a church staff. (Did you hear that “amen” coming from the offices that surround mine?) I wish I had stayed at my education and finished my doctorate in my 30s instead of my 50s. But most importantly…

I wish I had taken the time to really get to know my quiet, wise father. Actually, I did take the time; it was just a little too late.

So, to all of you reading this reflection, remember a couple of things. Remember the reality of time. Remember that things change without asking your permission.

And for all of you who live, or have lived, at my house: if you sometimes feel that your father is trying just a wee bit too hard to stay close, please be patient. I’m not meaning to be intrusive. Without realizing it until now, I guess I’ve been trying to make up for lost time.