The Cat’s In The Cradle

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when"
But we'll get together then
You know we'll have a good time then
-Harry Chapin

It occurred to me that I have been lying. It was not my intention, nonetheless a falsehood. Contrary to what I have been saying my whole life, which is that I am one of six kids, the truth is that I am one of seven. My dad has a son from a previous relationship. My brother was not a secret in our family; he came to visit on two occasions. I have not seen him in over thirty-five years; however, recently, we have started to communicate. 

I know, I know, how is that possible, you ask? Well, it’s complicated. Adults made decisions long ago; above my paygrade, choices made on our behalf, and well, here we are. 

Do you want to hear the ironic part? In many ways, we have lived parallel lives. Similar themes played out in our worlds. It turns out we both navigated through heavy storms of abandonment, disappointment, rejection, anger & lies. Yet, today we speak of gratitude, positivity, and strength. Indeed we are cut from the same cloth as we take control and create the path forward. 

Hard truths unsettle me. Specifically, I am trying to comprehend why it took this long to connect. Why didn’t I reach out? Why didn’t I push my father and my mother for answers? 

All these questions feel heavy and difficult. Mostly because I am not one to shy away from tough conversations. I welcome vulnerability and gravitate towards the emotional. So, how did my brother manage to stay on the edge of my world? How did I allow so many years to pass?

This all changed when my sis had the insight to reach out and begin a conversation. Admittedly, at first, I was not sure how to proceed. But recently, I have decided to put the pieces together. I am now determined to be better and do better by him. To get to a place where we know each other.

We are starting to build, it is slow, but I am hopeful. As I discover nuggets from his life, I grow increasingly intrigued by nature vs. nurture. There are similarities to my father that are irrefutable. Our father failed him, failed all of us in significant ways. The major difference is that my dad has been in my life (sort of, a monthly call, a rare visit, etc.) But he (dad) did not influence my brother’s upbringing (notwithstanding the emotional impact). But, here’s the wild part: physical and mental aspects run deeply through my bro, which are very much traits of our father. In addition to being the spitting image of each other, they both embody a warrior-like mentality.

Our Father

The mere discussion of my father stirs up a gamut of conflicting emotions amongst my siblings. Just this week, we discussed the concept of honor and respect. More specifically, are we obligated to honor and respect our parents no matter the circumstance? Are honor and respect given freely, or are they earned? Also, what is meant to forgive…like, to really forgive? 

Memories

I flip through my childhood memories, and he is there, my dad, not always but in sections. Like the crazy uncle who shows up for a family reunion, everyone knows him, but no one has a clue where he disappears between the gatherings.

I have snapshots in my head of birthday celebrations, help with science projects, and all things fun. It was my dad that bought all the cool toys, organized family baseball games, and vacations. When we moved to the states, we spoke very little English; he became our translator. 

He has tons of charisma, is an animated storyteller, and is incredibly generous. He has a wicked sharp mind; we nicknamed him MacGyver; he can fix anything with duct tape and a paperclip. He plays music by ear and loves to invent gadgets. A skilled cat, he has had more than nine lives. He has a genuine zest for life; he’s the guy cheering the universe and throwing back a cold one. Sounds incredible, right?

But for all his enthusiasm, he proudly wears the victim badge; you know the type where life happens to them. It’s always some else’s fault. Hence, he is stuck in a narcissist merry-go-round of blame. 

He was just thirteen when his father was gun-downed, assassinated, a politically motivated killing. His functioning alcoholic mother raised him. He adored her. To this day, she is the only person he was ever loyal and committed to despite their toxic relationship. 

My dad is an adventure-seeking gypsy with brains to survive any situation. A devoted father and husband, he is not. Settling down in suburbia America was not sustainable. To be fair, he did try, kind of, until he tapped out. 

He Did His Best

After years of prodding and reasoning, we have reduced our father to a four-word phrase. ‘He did his best,’ we say; this is how we serve up his parenting skills. I used to push back; his best sucks, I argued. But then again, I measured him using my scale, not his. I felt betrayed by the get-out-of-jail-free card we handed him. Why do we set the bar so low? Why do we remove all reasonable expectations? Why do we excuse the inexcusable? Why do we rescue him? Why, why, why?

I’ll tell you why, because it is complicated? 

Is he a terrible father? Yes, mostly, BUT he also had a few epic chapters. He grew up fatherless (& arguably motherless); how could he know how to parent. 

Do I romanticize my father and his larger-than-life characteristics? Maybe, BUT he really can fix anything with duct tape. And since my memories are few and far between, these are the ones I’m sticking with.

Is he a bad person? No, not really, BUT he did make some terrible choices that do question his character.

Was he a good husband? Not always. BUT for a few years, he was a loving and dedicated one.

Has he earned our honor and respect? On paper, the answer is no. BUT if you were raised by the most astonishing woman who planted seeds of love, compassion, and kindness…well, then the answer is yes; you honor his ‘best’ and respect the ties that bind. 

Do you see what I mean? It’s complicated. The BUT is where I trip up; the BUT is the crux of this complex relationship.

And there is this, the undeniable BUT…If it weren’t for yesterday’s, we wouldn’t be here today, and today is fantastic. Can I regret my past and jump for joy for what life is today? 

I don’t think I get to have it both ways. I don’t think I get to be angry and resentful towards my father and be grateful for this moment.  

So, I choose to be thankful for the domino effect that emerged due to my fathers’ choices. Wow, look how far I (we) have come! Thank you, yesterday, today is magnificent! 

My aha moment came years ago during a rare visit. We stand outside the airport, in the smoking section. The day is frigid and crisp. He lights a cigarette, and the smell of smoke hovers in the winter air. This is it, the last time I will see him. Sadly, this is what comes to mind every time we say goodbye. Our visits are scarce; I am always prepared for it to be our last. I zip my jacket up to my neck and search for the perfect words to convey my feelings. I want to tell him that I wish him well, that I am happy, that I am fulfilled despite his absence, that I forgive him and that I love him. I begin to speak, and he quickly interrupts me.   

He looks at me with his big puppy eyes, and I sense that he, too, has something to say. I get lost in a childhood wish; perhaps, he is finally ready to say the hard things. Not so fast. He starts recounting an elaborate story about his days in the jungle (army days). I drop my shoulders and finally see him. Not for a larger-than-life character, instead, an old man, using his hands to tell an animated story. He is not being cruel or mean; rather, he is doing the only thing he knows how to do. That is, to share a story, the same story he will likely share with the stranger that sits next to him on the plane. He is unable to connect. Period. 

More importantly, I finally understand that it was not he who I missed or yearned for all those years. It was the idea of what a father represented. But this man, standing with me in the cold, was never going to fill those shoes. He was never meant to be a father or a husband. This old man and this story are him at his best.

These days my past shows up differently. It’s never boo-hoo poor me; look at what happened to me. Instead, I look back and allow my past to fuel me, look at what we did? Look at what we overcame? How we flipped pain into beauty. I am definitely not interested in using the hooks of my past to hang up on any shortcomings. I won’t allow my past to interfere with the choices I make today. 

Dr. Joe Dispenza says that wisdom occurs once we can recall a memory or trauma from our past without evoking an emotional reaction. This, to me, is also true of forgiveness. To get to a place of neutrality.

I am shooting for this emotional release with my brother. I want to get to a place where I can let go of all the questions and expectations. To be present, at this moment, to connect. To finally honor and respect his place in our family and my heart and just be.

Love All,

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when"
But we'll get together then, dad
We're gonna have a good time then
-Harry Chapin