Dad? Is That You in My Mirror?

“In 69 I was twenty-one and I called the road my own

I don’t know when that road turned onto the road I’m on”

Jackson Browne, “Running on Empty”

As is true with most young men, when testosterone levels take mastery over common sense, I was sure that my path would be totally different than that of my father. He was the establishment; I was a rebel. We were miles apart. But even as I told myself that, much as I fancied the image, I knew the hardest person to convince, was myself.

There would be no suit and tie for me, no office filled with artificial light and small talk. I harbored undisguised distain for the confining uniforms of the white-collar world, and expected to live a life free of such structured standardization. But in college, I shuffled along to classes, exchanging small talk with my peers, all of us “tangled up in blue”, bell bottom jeans dirty and frayed at the bottom, adorned with Zig Zag patches and bright green ganja leaves. They performed much the same decorative function as the multicolored ties that distinguished one suit from another in my father’s world.  Navy Pea coats from the Goodwill store were our jackets. Uniforms worn daily to classes, where we sat, bathed in artificial light.

Over the years, I’ve seen how my father’s life and mine were different in our priorities and expectations, but the deeper I look, the more undeniable the similarities. I am my father’s son.

We both share a love of bad limericks and good prose. A healthy skepticism is our natural filter, especially when it comes to anyone who claims to have insider information about God’s will. Dad never called himself an atheist, he knew Mom wouldn’t have liked that, but I know that he didn’t believe in a personal god. The laws of nature? Definitely. He and I both believe in science and logic. If you take two Hydrogen atoms and one Oxygen and combine them under identical conditions anywhere in this universe, you’ll get water. The laws of nature, absolute and irrefutable. A God who suspends the laws of nature to grant favors, maybe heal an unseen tumor on Bennie Hinn’s stage…not so much.

When I was home from college, he and I could enjoy the Hell out of, or in,  a TV preacher. We found comedic common ground in their absurd spin that always lead back to “send money”. At one point, we also shared common ground with the Dick Van Dike Show, more specifically, our mutual appreciation of Mary Tyler Moore in Capri pants.

Dad was an introvert, happiest at home or in his office. Me too. Mom had to really push him to go anywhere new even though he usually enjoyed it tremendously when she was successful in getting him out. Then he would make a verbal commitment to travel, to go out more frequently, but unless Mom started pushing again, it wouldn’t happen. Carla does the same with me, and I make the same claims to be a new, improved, traveling man, knowing it’s not going to happen.

Every night after work, Dad had to watch Lawrence Welk. I thought it was embarrassingly corny, even though I secretly liked some of the music, and one or two of the Lennon sisters. Now, l watch The Marty Stuart Show. Although I love the music, I’m sure that our girls must think it’s embarrassingly corny.

Other than Mom, dogs took the main prize with Dad, as they do with me. We both like people moderately, but love our dogs way more than most humans we see.

My father was a quiet, gentlemanly man who almost never made a fuss in public. He hated bullies with a passion though and was unafraid to call them out, knowing that he was armed with the most powerful of all weapons, an articulate truth. My feelings exactly.

Mom was the center of Dad’s universe. That was true until he drew his last breath. Now Carla and I are in our 40^th year together and I’m as smitten with her as I was on the day we married.

Now I see myself through my father’s eyes, and see him in my own. Differences that once appeared so obvious to me, insurmountable in their width and depth, have slowly merged and become almost undetectable. The mirror tells me that I am my father’s son, and always have been. I hope he knows I understand that now and am proud of him. Proud of us.

Here, in my advancing dotage, I not only look like my father more than ever, but we even live in a place that is also called “The Shores”, and yes, I frequently nap on the couch with a dog induced slouch.