I find my father 2
Because of the nature of this “detective story” I’m challenging myself to write about subjects that are spiritual in nature; even the word “spiritual” isn’t exactly right. I had a friend who was very intelligent and I loved her powerful vocabulary. She once used the word “nebulous” to describe the kind of blahh day you get on Sundays…nothing getting done, feeling lazy and guilty at the same time. Maybe nebulous can be paired up with spiritual…I just looked up the definition of nebulous and it means “hazy,” “vague,” and “indistinct.” This story, where I found my father decades after his death, is somewhat nebulous.
The first time I was aware that possibly my father was right about me–that he and I were very much alike–came while raising my son. Michael put us through a terrible time; the school was ready to wash their hands of him and everyone involved–teachers, the school counselor, the principal–all decent people–told me that Michael needed psychological help.
Something came into both my heart and my head at this family crisis point. My husband, with his intelligence and strong character–even he gave up. I was the only one left and I knew I had to do something. I have nothing against counselors and psychologists–I’m a counselor myself–but I knew that a once-a-week visit would not be helpful. It had to be me, what ever had to be done had to be at home. So I will skip the details except to say that I re-organized our home and household routines in order to provide a very tight structure for my son. I was the disciplinarian, Peter could only follow my commands with gratitude that I was able to grasp hold of the situation. It was a success, thank goodness, but I had to stay in the role of disciplinarian up until Michael’s senior year. It was while this was going on that I thought about my father, how strong he was, unafraid to face difficult situations. Could he have been right about me?
A whole lot of time passed and in 2010 I wrote my memoirs. This was when I began to re-read the six letters from my father and wondered if he was right. This was the turning point. As a child I perceived him as “mean” and “not nice.” Prolonged bouts of thinking brought back a lot of small memories and the question arose: could the stern behavior be covering up a sensitive soul? As I aged I became comfortable with the idea that he and I shared a bond.
Here’s the final part which could be considered a little “nebulous.” In these letters, my father, who had a logical and scientific mind, outlined his way of solving problems. I began using logic and the scientific method to solve my own problems and amazingly it worked. Thanks Daddy. End of A Tree Planted By Rivers Of Water. 29 is enough!!
lgmwriting 