These days when I talk to my father, he says I Love You. I do not have many memories of him saying that when I was younger, although I’m sure he did. Honestly, I only think he says it now as a response when I say it. However, my father says I love you in many other ways, I just needed to learn his love language.
Last Saturday I was sitting by the pool reading Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
“To be engrossed by something outside ourselves is a powerful antidote for the rational mind, the mind that so frequently has its head up its own ass—seeing things in such a narrow and darkly narcissistic way that it presents a colo-rectal theology, offering hope to no one.” – Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird
Later that afternoon, as I was running, I stopped to do a few pushups and noticed a dandelion a few feet from the edge of the sidewalk. As I stood, I recalled Anne’s words and felt myself materialize back into the moment as if my consciousness was beamed down from some other planet. Or, felt my head come out of my ass. Next to the dandelion was a newly plowed field. I walked the length of the field as it ran parallel to the sidewalk, noticing how the plow had laid open the earth exposing roots and rocks that had—until recently—been buried in darkness.
As I reached the end of the field, I noticed the familiar pattern left by tractor tires. Patterns left by a dance between man and machine performed at the end of every field. As the tractor reaches the end of the field, the operator pulls back the throttle with one hand then quickly pulls another lever, raising the plow, then hits one of two rear brakes while spinning the steering wheel. Within seconds, the tractor spins 180 degrees as the entire process is reversed—throttle up, plow down—as it heads the opposite direction—the plow letting out a sigh upon entering the earth once again. It is not easy, and it takes practice. I know, my father taught me this dance.
My mother taught me how to throw a baseball, slide into second base, and build a tree house. My father was around, but was always working. He built us a brand new house around the time I was born in 1970. My father worked construction but had always wanted to farm. So when I was five years old, he sold the new house and moved us into a run-down old farm house in the middle of the country. During the day he still worked construction and would farm at night and on weekends. We had some good years, but in 1984, we were forced to sell the farm. I still remember the auction, standing there watching strangers carry off all our stuff. My mother told me years later, that was the first time she ever saw tears in my fathers eyes. I can’t imagine how that must of felt for him… standing there watching his dreams go to the lowest bidder.
All my memories of a child growing up were on that farm. I have a sister who is two years older than me. You learn how to get along with each other when there isn’t anyone else around to play with. We had a few cows, some pigs, chickens, and even a fawn we named Spot that hung out with the cows. That old farm house was so cold in the winter, my mother would heat up bricks on the wood burning stove, then wrap a towel around them and place them in the bottom of our sleeping bags to keep our feet warm. When it was really cold, we would all sleep in the dining room around the wood burning stove. I have a memory of my fathers butt in the air as his head and torso were stuck through a hole in the dining room floor trying to un-freeze the water pipes with a blow torch.
To sell a new house and move into a “fixer upper” took a lot of courage. I recently told my father how much courage that took—to follow his dreams. His response, “dumbest decision I ever made.” I said “at least you gave it a shot! I admire that.”
Several years ago as I went through a lot of reflection of my childhood, I decided my father didn’t love me enough. After all, it was my mother who taught me how to throw a baseball, my father was always working. If I wanted to spend time with my father, I had to be where he was, which was usually on a tractor. I was amazed that the only great memory I had of my father and I was when he surprised me on a trip into town to buy me a motorcycle. Yes, something material is what I remembered. Wow.
As I’ve learned more about myself as a spiritual being, I’ve learned to accept the way others communicate. From the prayer of St. Francis, “to be understanding rather than understood.”
It is up to me to learn my fathers love language. All those years he was working, he showed his love in different ways. I can see it now. Teaching me how to drive a tractor, taking me with him to the sale barn on Sundays, attending my sporting events when he could, making sure we had a home and food on the table. I look back now and realize he showed me love the only way he knew how. And he showed me a lot of it.
Sometimes I wish my father and I could talk about deep emotional things… you know, feelings. When I try he usually says something like “hey, come check out the boat, I finally got the motor back together.” But that’s OK, I understand what he’s saying.
I love you too dad.
Photo credit: Steve Kay
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This post is wonderful. It nearly made me cry, it was so well written. Your father is lucky to have a son like you.
Thanks. I’m lucky and grateful to have a father.
A very moving story. My dad is the same way–he’s made many sacrifices for his family, and that’s how he shows love. It’s difficult for him to talk about emotional matters. But underneath it all, there is an understanding.
I left you a comment on Lance’s site but thought I’d add it here as well:
I am blown away by your blog. Beautiful work. You piece about learning your Dad’s love language is astounding. Brilliant! And one so many people not only need to read, but seriously think about and let sink in. Essential reading. When we can see beyond our expectations and realize each being expresses love in different ways…then we REALLY find abundant love everywhere. But for as long as we hang onto “I want love THIS way and if I don’t get it THIS way then they aren’t giving it me, we will end up very lonely in our score keeping. Thank you for such depth of insight.
Thank you Robin. Expectations, wow, what a great topic. Reminds me I need to get a post going about that one! “Today’s expectations are tomorrow’s resentments.” So many good sayings on that topic. I was in a relationship before when I had no idea how to express myself or what I wanted. As a result, I would expect the other person to act in a certain way, all the while never “filling them in” on what I expected. I was miserable and disappointed constantly. It wasn’t their fault, I would be mad at them and NEVER even let them in on why. It truly wasn’t fair. Life has become a lot more enjoyable and blessed once I stopped placing unreasonable demands on myself and others. It is my responsibility to express what I feel I need–physical or emotional–just as it is up to the other person to determine if that is something they’re willing to give. Albeit, I need a lot LESS these days since what I really need is inside myself, but the concept still applies.
Oh, and score keeping, is still being stuck in the mindset that someone else is responsible for our own happiness.
Thanks again for the kind words.
About 3 days before my father died he told me he loved me – out loud.
He made me promise to do 5 things for him over my lifetime. I have now completed all 5 things.
My sister and brother had to ask my mum if our father loved them too, I found out when she was about to die.
He seemed to be always off saving the world, asking so much of us, asking us to be the best we could be and always questioning what we were doing. He was Scottish – Canadian and a very formal gentleman.
Now as I approach the age of his death, and I have completed his 5 promises do I understand how profoundly he love me – what a gift of discovery.
You write your story so well and your conclusions are so insightful.
You made me remember so much and little things too…that is a sign of good writing to me.
Thank you
@Patricia,
Thanks for sharing the story about your father.
Jared,
Thank you for the email response and for being such a good writer – a joy to read your post again this morning. It has inspired me to write about my Father for Father’s Day.
Well, after you posted on my blog, I couldn’t resist coming over and checking yours out. :)
I am the oldest of four girls. My life was hell with my violent, alcoholic father, so my first “experience” with men wasn’t so great, shall we say.
My subsequent relationships with men only reinfored and solidified what I had come to learn…….men inflict pain and damage.
Fast forward to my first child. I wanted a son. Now that I think about it, maybe it had something to do with wanting to understand men? I don’t know. My first born was a son.
He is now 18. His own father died from alcoholism 4 years ago from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the mouth. He (my son) has suffered. He has also been to me an enigma. I couldn’t understand his male experience. I couldn’t relate to his male heart. But, he has taught me so much as I watch him find his way in this world and develop his own masculinity and identity as a young man.
He is in couneseling with a wonderful counselor who is focusing on this with him. helping him to idenfity and understand what it means to be a man. To help him cut through the lies and the misundersandings and identify his “maleness”.
My husband is a retired military officer. High-ranking at that. He is the offspring of a hard-driving, unrelenting, Midwestern farmer. His notion of masculinity and worth is W-O-R-K. You are NOT allowed to slack. Ever.
Though my husband would likely not agree, I see him suffering horribly with this definition of masculinity. He fails miserably all the time and carries the burden of shame and guilt on his shoulders. All because he too, is trying to find out what it means to be a man.
His relationship with my son is horrible. He has mistreated my son in ways that are too painful to articulate. Never in physical ways. He has not harmed him physically. he has harmed his heart. But, I know it is because his heart is broken too. He is confused too. He doesn’t know what a man is either.
So, I watch these two men in my life suffer horribly. I cannot seem to find what to say to help. I can only watch from the sidelines and cry.
I pray for them both. Mostly my son though. But, I am fascinated with the male psyche. Totally fascinated with it. Now, at 52, nearly 53, I’m also beginning to understand my father’s pain too.
I used to think that w0men were the one’s who suffered. But, I’ve reevaluated that presumption. I think men suffer terribly too. It makes me sad.
Great blog Jared.
Magnolia,
Wow, thanks for sharing. My wife and I were just talking about this a few days ago. About the weight that most men seem to carry around. And our… for lack of a better term, stunted emotional maturity. My wife (married Dec. 08) had a similar situation with her previous husband and her son. It was difficult for everyone involved.
Ego and pride can be so damaging. And it’s all to cover up fear, fear that I won’t be loved for who I truly am. At least in my case it was. I like the acronym for EGO – Easing God Out. But you know, the real kicker was that I had no way of allowing others to love me until I truly loved myself. I kept everyone at a distance and measured my value by how hard I worked. As does my father. When I was lying in a loft apartment drinking myself to death, my fathers comment was, “how are you going to pay for your bills? What will you do for work?” That’s the only way he knew how to relate to me. But as this story illustrates, that’s OK today. I wish dearly that we could have a real conversation about emotions and fears, but I’m not sure if that will ever be possible. It is getting better.
I remember lying in my sisters bed right before I went into a treatment center this last time. I said to her, “I do not love myself.” She said she would love me until I could. The hard thing is, no matter how much parents tell their children they love them, no one can give someone self-love. And for me, I could not truly share my emotions until I could identify what they were. To know what they were, I had to learn about myself; fears, wants, needs, dreams, etc.. It was a long process, one I continue to work on each and every day. Today, I do love myself. I love myself because I’ve discovered that happiness must come from within. That no job, person, or material thing will bring me happiness.
The question of how could a God allow such horrible things to happen seems obvious to me. God is like my mother, praying for me as she watches me slowly kill myself. Knowing she gave me life, and with that comes the greatest gift of all, the free will to live it. I’m one of the fortunate ones, at least today. When the decision came down to suicide, or ask for help and admit I don’t know crap about livig life, I chose to live. Or at least try it one more time. I don’t want to have to make that decision again, I don’t know if I can. Since then, every decision has been a no brainer. It’s either taking me closer to God and self-love or farther away. Every decision I make is either towards a solution, one of peace and serenity, or towards my old way of thinking filled with self-will and self-centeredness. I did not live that way (full of selfish actions) because I was a bad person, I just did not know any better. I didn’t know what I didn’t know.
Everything in recovery and everything that has led to finding inner-peace, happiness, and serenity, comes back to being OK with who I am. Self-acceptance, accepting the consequences of being myself. And that especially includes acceptance of all emotions, especially my fears. But once I learned how to truly love myself, I become truly open to being loved and loving others. A by-product of all of this, I no longer have a need of putting others down to inflate myself and my ego. I do not feel inferior to anyone, for I know I am unique (just like everyone else) and that I am being the best me I can be today.
I apologize if I got off topic of responding to your comments. Most people never do find what they’re looking for. I found it because the pain became too great and I surrendered to something more powerful then myself. It was either give up everything I thought I had and find something else, or die. I had knocked down every door on the block looking for an answer, and the last house was occupied with a spiritual solution. It truly was the last house on the block.
Thanks again for your comments.
I find it amazing the clarity that ensues when we throw off the shackles of self-delusion and speak the truth with ourselves.
Your insight and self-understanding are inspirational. I would just be willing to bet that you did not have this insight when you were in the web and rut of addictive thinking.
Addiction takes many forms. It can be alive and well even with no substance abuse issues. I think addiction is a frame of mind with a lot of crossed wiring that compells us to self-medicate – which often includes durgs or alcohol, but not always. Food, shopping, sex, work, emotional drama. All of this can be a medication for soothing the short-circuits of emotional wiring.
Anyway. Your blog is great. I’m really impressed with both yours and Patrick’s. I still can’t remember how in the world I found Patrick’s, but it’s been a pleasant surprise.
I’ll be around again.
Congratulations on your new marriage and life.
Magnolia,
Thank you for your insightful comments. I agree that addiction can be present without a substance such as alcohol or drugs. I’ve often said I can be obsessed with a chunk of dirt if I get relief from dealing with myself by concentrating on it.
You’re welcome. And thanks to you for having such a great blog. I read a couple of your posts to my son last night. We also listened to a couple of your songs on youtube. It touched him. :)
Plus, I wanted him to see and hear the words of someone who has been down in life and has risen up again. It gives people hope. And don’t we all need hope.