Happy Father’s Day!
[NOTE: This a slightly edited version of a previous post of mine.]
Father’s Day. A sort of poor stepchild to Mother’s Day, although fathers themselves are hardly that. They are central to a family.
Just ask the people who never had one, or who had a difficult relationship with theirs. Or ask the people who were nurtured in the strength of a father’s love and guidance.
Of course, the complex world being what it is, and people and families being what they are, it’s the rare father-child relationship that’s entirely conflict-free. But for the vast majority, love is almost always present, even though at times it can be hard to express or to perceive. It can take a child a very long time to see it or feel it; but that’s part of what growing up is all about. And “growing up” can go on even in adulthood, or old age.
Father’s Day—or Mother’s Day, for that matter—can wash over us in a wave of treacly sentimentality. But the truth of the matter is often stranger, deeper, and more touching. Sometimes the words of love catch in the throat before they’re spoken. But they can still be sensed. Sometimes a loving father is lost through distance or misunderstanding, and then regained.
There’s an extraordinary poem by Robert Hayden that depicts one of these uneasy father-child connections—the shrouded feelings, both paternal and filial, that can come to be seen in the fullness of time as the love that was always, always there. I offer it on this Father’s Day to all of you.
THOSE WINTER SUNDAYS
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house.Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?
What’s good for the goose is good for the happy Father’s Day!
Happy Father’s Day to all you fathers of invention…
A poem so on target. Many thanks, diligent Neo.
My dad has been gone for 14 years. I miss him a little more each year, though with less pain and more gladness for the good parts. It helps that my sons and son-in-law are fathers now.
The Sulzberger Birdcage Liner has assigned this year’s father’s day tribute to an editor named Susannah Meadows, who has made use of the occasion to trash her own father (still alive at 92 resident in Beaufort County, South Carolina).
A great poem!
Neo thank you for posting this. I am sunk deep in reflection on my long dead father. What did I know…
Indeed, as implied, many people do grow to appreciate the efforts of the man of their house.
It can take years, or sometimes infinity, to understand.
And sometimes, the truth is … a net negative.
For us, Father’s Day is simply painful.
My daughter got me a nice gift for father’s day. She asked what it was that I wanted. I told her exactly and where to get it. (An Omega watchband). She did so. She told me I was the easiest to shop for as I present her with exactly what I want. The band was 230$… so I sent her 200$… A father’s day gift shouldn’t be too expensive. Knowing she would willingly pay for it was enough.
She is a bright girl. She also got me the spring bar tool without me saying anything. I forgot to mention I would need one.
Now, if only she wins the lottery. I would like a new omega watch, hahaha.