Since the recent men's movement highlights a common antagonism that many men harbor for their fathers, I've been thinking about my own childhood. But I just cannot come up with anything bad about my father.
I guess I'm just abnormal.My dad died three days short of his 90th birthday. My brother and sisters and our families had gathered in Salt Lake City a few days before his birthday to plan a major celebration.
It never took place.
It seemed characteristic of Dad that he would assemble all of us in one place, visit with us appreciatively, and then leave before the celebration. He had always disliked fanfare.
Throughout his life, Dad was an incredibly cheerful and optimistic man who would invariably wake me in the mornings singing, "Oh it's nice to get up in the morning in the good old summer time. It's nice to get up in the morning, but it's nicer to stay in your bed!"
Then he would yank on the covers. I used to wonder how anyone could be so unfailingly cheerful in the mornings, but now I can see the direct impact on my life of my father's personality. For years I have found myself uttering his exact phrases at the dinner table and in other situations.
Dad was a gentle man with deep feelings, a strong sentimental streak and an easy tendency to tears. Unfortunately, I have inherited that tendency. Dad was embarrassed about it, just as I am. In public he would make obvious, awkward efforts to mask his tears by loudly clearing his throat and coughing.
All my life Dad taught me to work and to never quit one job until I had another.
His own love of work was self-evident as he gave his all for 28 years to the D & RG Railroad, and another 19 years to a privately owned water system.
I worked with him at home and at the water system. Although he occasionally showed mild impatience when I brought him the wrong tool, he never embarrassed, belittled or criticized me.
Once, when I was hurt by a falling water meter box, he raced to my aid and took me home with great compassion.
He was happily married for 54 years to my mother, and when she became ill during their last years together he became her nurse, filling her every need without complaint.
When she died, he was devastated. He missed her desperately and continued to hear her voice calling him in the middle of the night. Theirs was an unabashedly romantic relationship.
In their dating days he took her rowing at Liberty Park, sang "Row, Row, Row," stopped and tried unsuccessfully (according to Mom) to kiss her, and then he sang their song, "Let Me Call You Sweetheart."
When Dad bought Lizzie, a new 1928 Chevrolet, he'd take Mom for rides all over the valley - from Ogden to Provo. It was during one of those long rides that they got engaged.
Dad was genuinely shy. He never accumulated wealth or harbored ambitions for power. He enjoyed working, loving his family, and helping his friends and neighbors. When he died, the statement I heard over and over from those who knew him was "I want you to know that I loved him."
Looking back I can't pinpoint any way that he exploited me or treated me unfairly. He didn't even scream at me.
So when I attended a men's movement meeting so I could write about it, I was invited to participate freely and share my feelings.
Virtually everyone there recalled disturbing incidents of verbal, physical or psychological abuse from their fathers.
There was nothing I could say.