Why I am interviewing my dad for Father’s Day.
My dad moved to the other side of the country when I was seven. I have very few memories of living with him, but perhaps the most prominent memory is of cashing in on my new pack of baseball cards from my mom as a reward for spending Saturday nights at his house. I’ve been a mama’s boy from the start, and yet I’m always the one left teary-eyed from a tender father moment in a movie.
After he moved, our relationship consisted of a card with a small check on my birthdays, a big box of mis-informed presents at Christmas, and the occasional phone call. These brief moments of contact simplified to the occasional phone call to see if his job could add me to his insurance (never could), and a couple of visits to his house in Florida. He seems to have resigned himself to the fact that he just doesn’t have a relationship with his children. So far, my sister has been unable to forgive him. My feelings aren’t as straightforward.
The confusing thing is, he’s not a bad guy. The times we have seen each other, it’s been a lot of fun. He took me fishing when I visited in college and wowed me with his incredible foosball skills on another visit. He’s got a great sense of humor, and a pleasant, easy-going personality. But these are recent revelations. In general, I know very little about his life, feelings, dreams, regrets.
Working for a company called StoryKeep means that I often find myself in people’s homes, recording fathers telling the stories of their lives and saying beautiful things about their children. I learn precious details about other peoples’ fathers and can see, very clearly, the benefits of knowing the stories of your father. And yet, my knowledge of my dad could barely fill a pamphlet.
There has been a lot of talk in the media recently about the value of knowing where you come from. Over the past couple of decades, a lot of businesses have arisen to help people explore their heritage. And research projects are finding things like children who know their family stories have a stronger sense of self and end up more resilient in life. It’s impossible to know how my perspective might be different today if I had grown up as a child among my father’s stories.
I was made by this man who remains somewhat of a stranger. A friend of mine says “DNA partially make us who we are, and then there are the stories we are told.” I think my dad owes me some.
Stereotypically, dads are always telling stories, often lessons in disguise. There are the ones that I can gain strength from, such as when my dad endured a hardship (like losing his mom at a young age). Then there are the more frivolous topics. Upon a recent visit I was elated to discover that my dad believes in vanilla ice cream as the ultimate digestive aid; something I discovered independently years ago. As a chronically indecisive 26 year old, I want to know how my father navigated the whole growing-up thing.
The benefits of interviewing my dad could be two-sided. The greatest benefit might actually be for my father. The gift of listening is said to be the greatest of all. And chances are good that he has things he wishes he could say to me, but has never felt comfortable bringing them up. There are so many questions I would like to ask my dad– about moving from Naples, Italy to Staten Island as a teenager, or about his own father, who died when I was four, what it was like living away from his kids. The thought of interviewing him feels very scary. But only good can come from it. That is why, for this Father’s Day, I am going to do it. It will be for the both of us.
Read more on Father’s Day.
—Photo Janos Turcsany/Flickr