My father passed away seven years ago after battling renal failure along with a host of other ailments. He lived a good life. He worked hard and saw all four of his children earn college degrees, get married and have children (in that order). He just turned 78 a few weeks before he died. It dawned on me that I haven't celebrated Father's Day for seven years. I think about my dad a lot. I wish I got to know him better when he was alive. But he was always working; he had two jobs for a good part of my childhood. I would only see him at dinnertime or the few hours when he wasn't working on the weekends. When he was home, I remember he'd often be on the couch taking a nap and snoring.
Now that I'm a parent, I understand him better. I understand how tired he must have been working so hard for his family. He wasn't a tiger dad (as in Tiger Mom), but he did grow up in a Chinese family who did not show their outward affection much. So I barely remember him playing with me, hugging me or being more than a figure head. I knew the love was always there, but it just wasn't demonstrative. It was all internal. I love my dad, and I know he loved me. Before he died my siblings and I each got to show our love for him and we know it was returned. My own husband interacts much more outwardly toward our children in a way I'll never know. But the bond with my dad was strong nonetheless. These are the ways I know my dad loved me and what he taught me:
Whenever I was sick he always brought me ginger ale. I could tell from the way he talked to my mom that he was worried whenever I wasn't well. I know this seems trivial. But every time I have ginger ale I think of my dad.
He was a worrier. I always knew he worried about me, which made me equate worry with love. He would always be waiting up for me whenever I got home late when I was a teenager. I loved that he worried about me.
I saved all his letters to me. He could write wonderful, thoughtful letters that he would always sign, "Love, Dad." He was more affectionate and revealing in his letters than in person.
He worked hard at two jobs. Years later, after talking to my uncle and aunt, I learned that he worked hard to pay off a debt his own father left behind. His love taught me responsibility.
His sense of obligation. My aunt told me that my dad's sense of obligation was so strong that he gave her change from money she sent him which was meant to pay for their dad's medical bills. I have that same sense of obligation.
He lectured me. As a lawyer, he was a good lecturer. He always had a good lecture for my siblings and me. We would not always listen, but he always had a lecture. I equate his lecture with love.
He loved my children. It wasn't until he was much older that he hugged more readily. When I saw him holding and bouncing my children on his knee I saw a side to him I never experienced. I know he wished he could have been more like that when I was younger. I love how he loved my children.
On his deathbed his last thought was about my mom. When he was quite ill, my mother, sister and I took turns caring for him at home. Just days before his death he had a burst of energy and urgently told my mom to get a binder he had prepared. It contained all of their legal and financial documents. He wanted to be sure before his dying breath that my mom was well taken care of. His sense of love and obligation were strong.
My father and I never kicked a soccer ball, swung a tennis racket, or biked together. His own upbringing made it hard for him to be demonstrative with his affection. I barely remember him hugging me or telling me he loved me. But I'll always know that he did, and I'll never doubt that love.
To all of you out there with a dad, don't waste time. Tell him you love him and give him a big hug and a kiss. Don't wait until he's gone to understand him better. Take the time to understand him now. That's the best gift a dad could ever get.
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