I remember the first father's day without my father. It was June 1970. I was wrapping up being in the 4th Grade and we were still in school back then well towards the end of June. I only wish my children spent as much time in school now as we did back then. We would go until the third week in June, start back up the day after Labor Day. We did not have "Institute Days", "Half Days", or "Teachers are just sick of teaching so keep all your kids at Home today". If we wanted to stay home for a personal reason such as a religious Holiday, an illness, or a death in the family, a note was required. It was more like a Vacation Day taken from a full time job if you were lucky enough to have a job that gave you Vacation Days. I have no idea if my father's factory job at Zenith offered him Vacation Pay, but I cannot imagine it did. I bet he had a time card and would have to punch in, but I will never know.
My father died in March of 1970 in a car accident. Decades later when a co-worker of mine lost her father she came to my cubicle seeking a soul mate, someone who could "feel her pain" and understand what she was going through. Soon our office mates, joined us. We were a close knit group of young women working long hours for pennies at a non-profit agency and everyone had gone to the Wake the day before. Her father died of some disease. She asked me how my dad died and I said "in a car accident". Then in all her innocent overwhelmed state she asked me "Was it a bad accident." At which point I said in my now polished dry dark humor that one can only develop if their childhood has seen a trauma or two: "Well, he did die, isn't that bad enough? I don't think it gets "more bad" than someone dieing." I started laughing at my own joke and soon everyone who had gathered in my cubicle was hysterically laughing including the girl who had just buried her own father. It was probably my comedic delivery with the exaggerated waving hands and escalating voice that drew the laughter, but no matter, it still provided a much needed emotional release .
I learned at a very young age to use humor as a way to cope with answering awkward questions. I guess I have my father to thank for that. But back in 1970, I was a 9 year old child faced for the first time with the dilemma of getting out of an uncomfortable situation. Mrs. English my fourth grade teacher stood at the front of the class and said that the day's Art Lesson would be to make a Father's Day card and she passed out the construction paper and some other things we could use to decorate the cards. We sat in rows of wooden desks that were nailed to the hard wood floors along with our chairs. None of the furniture moved so if a kid had a hard time "squeezing" in between the desk and the chair attached to it, it was only one more incentive not to stick out by being overweight. The first person in each row was give 10 sheets and told to take one and pass it back and that is how our system worked: Take One and Pass The Rest Back. I got my piece of construction paper and passed the remaining pieces behind me while trying not to turn around and let any of the other children see my frightened eyes. I did not know what to do. Everyone in the class had a father except me. Or at least that is what I thought. I can never know for sure I guess. But everyone knew I did not have a father. They knew when I did not come to school for an entire week that previous March. They even had a Art Lesson where they made "Condolence Cards" for me which one student and her mother brought over to our house while we were sitting shiva. I will be 49 this July and I still have the box of those little hand made condolence cards from my fourth grade classmates. Was that their first experience at having to express sympathy? More things for me to never know. I was going to have to figure it out for myself. Mrs. English did not offer up any alternatives for those of us who may not have fathers, or who may not know where their fathers are, or who may be wanting to write something other than "Happy Father's Day" like "Please stop hitting us when we make mistakes" or "I wish you could hear me when I talk to you" or "Please Stop Drinking so Much."
You see, I learned early on that most of us really don't know what is going on in someone elses world. Some people never learn this lesson and for others it takes adulthood and all that comes with it. But when you get to "become an adult" while you are still a child, life hands you many insights, and suddenly you are filled with secrets you think no one else will understand. As a child, your home and your family IS your world. You don't know what all those "other" worlds look like. As an adult I figured it out when we all start talking honestly about how we grew up and what went on in our lives, the alcoholic parents, the divorces, the physical abuse. It was there, but we kept it to ourselves either because we were embarrassed or we simply did not have the tools to really understand and express what was happening. Now I realize that is how all those kids with bad behavior were simply manifesting some toxic experience in their family. It always has to "come out some how". That is what I tell my best friend. The goal is to experience and release it all in the least damaging way possible. And hopefully learning those coping skills will transfer to other areas of one's life. It is not what happens to us as much as it is how we cope with it all.
On Father's Day of June in 1970 I quietly sat at my desk and made the most beautiful and meaningful Father's Day Card of my life and it was addressed to My Mother. It was the beginning of many years when I would give my Mother a card on Father's day. After all, she had to do both jobs after my dad died, hers and his. So Mom, Happy Father's Day. I love you.
Benita
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