Daddy was moody. Some of those moods were light-hearted. He had a sense of play and there was a lot in life he enjoyed. But he could also be dark and sullen, or sharp and sarcastic, tight-lipped and private He was sometimes passive-aggressive because he didn't seem to know how to say what he wanted. He never, ever talked about his feelings, not physical nor emotional. When his beloved wife died, lots of people attended, and there were no dry eyes in the chapel - except for his.
I worked hard to feel close to him, to understand and like him. I went to movies and Dracula Society meetings with him so that we could have something to share, but as a child I was often afraid of him because there was no telling when his mood might change. As I grew older, that fear became impatience and resentment. I knew he loved his kids, in his way, but he didn't seem to be able to say "I love you", and he wasn't a hugger.
He's been dead now for 8 years, but of course he is still and always will be a reference point for me. Even now, I continue to try to understand him, maybe partly because I'm more like him than I am like my sunny, cheerful, loving mom.
Last night I found myself wondering if maybe, possibly some of his moods were because he didn't have the life he wanted. He had the life he was supposed to have, was expected to have, the life of a husband and father, a working man who put on a suit and tie every day and fought the traffic to go to his job as a petroleum engineer. But was that what he wanted to do and be?
He loved movies, especially horror movies, and delighted in being around celebrities. He was also an inveterate armchair conductor, and feasted daily on classical music. He played the piano as a younger man, and would practice sometimes, but simply didn't have room in his life to focus on that or most other elective pursuits.
I wonder if maybe he wanted to be in the movies, or at least behind the camera in some capacity. Or did he long to be a musician or conductor? Some of his happiest moments were the three times he earned the opportunity to conduct fairly simple musical selections for the orchestra of whatever city he lived in.
He did love his children, but I don't think he really liked to be around kids. He enjoyed us more when we got older. Had he really wanted to be a father, or did he just see that as the right, the expected path for a man to take?
I think perhaps men of that era might have been almost as restricted in their choices as women were, at least a man like Daddy, to whom doing the right, the expected thing was very important. I'll never know what bigger, wilder, more creative dreams he might have had for himself, how much of a sacrifice he was making every time he knotted that tie. So I'm left to wonder, with a sympathy for him I didn't always have when he was alive. And also with gratitude, because the way he lived his life made it possible for me to live mine exactly the way I wanted to, to follow my dreams and passions and interests and hardly ever do what is expected.
So thanks, Dad. I wish I'd understood you better.
