Joseph Pereira’s father can’t hold him anymore, but that doesn’t matter.
He was tall, strong, always kind and bigger than life to me—his son; someone he would break his bearing for, to lean over and welcome me into his “space.” I always looked forward to this, from as young as I can remember to an early evening in my early 20’s when we unknowingly exchanged our last hug. He died a few hours later, but his fragrance and essence never changed nor waned from my memory over time.
Through all these years since his passing, as I’ve argued, rebelled, mourned, finally settled on the event and just plainly missed him, I find myself returning to those memories for comfort and reprieve, always reaching the same conclusion: that he is my champion and my “hero” still. To hell with the undeniable physics of matter, space and time. For that which is vibrant in one’s heart, mind and spirit truly is “real” in a most powerful way, and so it is still between my father and me.
His presence remains through powerful memorable moments: tagging along for an evening gathering with his friends and invariably dozing-off on his lap—head leaning on his strong chest, small hands holding on to his large thumb—while they chatted away or listened to one of his friend’s piano rendition of a Chopin sonata. The safety of his arms combining with his fragrance and the languid melodic sound told me all was well with our world; the memory does so still.
Whether holding me as a kid and, much later, finally relenting and letting me go start my own adventures, my father exemplified, rather than spoke, the constancy and power of his love for me—the first son of the first son, an unbreakable link regardless of circumstances.
As far as I can tell, my father lived his life as a constant, with authenticity and balance between who he was as an individual—the elder sibling within a long-established clan, the steady head of our family, the creative professional, the wise leader and as my father. Growing up, he embodied and demonstrated all I eventually determined to be wholesome, bold, and desirable for myself: a personal ethos worthwhile striving to mimic and achieve.
Heading toward this Father’s Day, several decades and much life later, I find that I’m still actively working on understanding and practicing his essence, trying to reach parity with his deeply rooted baseline, as I had aimed to achieve back when I ventured out on my own.
So you see, Dad, although everything is different from what you and I thought and knew back when we were together, nothing has changed between you and me. Your essence reaches and holds me still when there’s need for your inspiration, wisdom, and love, and you are loved back unequivocally, with a quality and will that perhaps would not have been possible to feel or manifest had we remained within our physicality—the connection’s strength and trueness somewhat diluted by mundane events and circumstances.
I celebrate your name, your life, and your memory, father. May you rest in peace and know you are loved well.
About Joseph Pereira
What you had between you and your Dad is only what I can describe as “awesome.” I never got a hug from my father until I was 30 years-old, and that was the night we discovered that my sister had died suddenly. They still come occasionally, but I must initiate.
Maybe its a “generational thing.” Maybe not. But I grew-up in a home where ‘touch’ simply did not exist. And, in keeping with the theme, emotional connection did not exist either. But I’ll never know, first-hand, what it is you describe. Never.
He wonders why I never told him about “that.” About what the older boys used me for. How do you tell a father (not a Dad) about something like “that?” You simply don’t. Why would you? What’s to gain?
He made it perfectly clear that he judged a “man’s worth” by his bank-balance and by the nature of his vocation. “Teachers” he said, “are life’s losers…as are factory workers, cops, dentists, ditch-diggers….” So I became all he demanded and expected of a worthy human. I had even hoped that with my high-income, I would be able to justify the trip to Fenway Park that we never took….that I always begged for. It turns out that expense was not the issue, nor was giving-over hundreds of dollars to stupid people the issue. Rather, fathers with no emotional connection simply don’t want to go to ball-games with their son.
The up-side; I took every trait of his and reversed it with total confidence that it would be a grand experience for my son and me. My father makes it perfectly clear that he objects to my ways, priorities and connection with my children. But what does his opinion matter?
Because of him…because of his methods…his heart…I lived in a loveless childhood of terror.
Joseph, you are one fortunate man and now I’m sure, a truly great Dad. Thank you for sharing this gem of your life with us.
Dear Rob… thank you for sharing your experience and thoughts with me; for letting me know how this little essay touched you – even if in a painful manner.
It is difficult for me to imagine Life without touch… without such fundamental and essential exchange of spirit and energy as may be silently expressed through a caring embrace. But, I smile easily at the thought of all that “saved-up” desire and love of yours being physically and freely transferred to your son – and others you also care for lucky enough to be nearby – in the present.
We humans are a quirky, troublesome and ever-changing species. It isn’t too hard for you and me to imagine that sometimes, those who put forth such a hardline stance as your father does, do so as a subconscious “front” to their opposite fear-ridden true selves. And then, sad to say, there are some that are just mean assholes.
The point is we don’t truly know even if we were right “there” as you’ve unfortunately experienced. None of us can truly understand what may cause one individual to lay down his or her life for a complete stranger and another right beside them to not be capable to hug his son. Unless… we choose to “go there”; to make a conscious decision that such memories and emotions no longer serve us and thus, once and for all address them head-on with the culprit or… let them go thankfully and without further judgment.
Forgiveness and gratitude are powerful beyond explanation; the ability to forgive others and ourselves and be truly aware and grateful for the very real and present big and small blessings that bring to life the essence of who WE are this moment of this day, are the motivators that keep us all moving forward.
Every single one of your experiences matter… they are what makes you the amazing person I sense through your note.
Your son is a fortunate man indeed.
This was beautiful. When my father had a major stroke last year, I lost a lot of who he was for what may be forever. Your essay above reminded me that I wouldn’t have been able to get through the last few months had it not been for the lessons in strength my father showed by example his whole life. Thanks for making something sad seem better.
Because I know you, because we’ve hugged and thus, I felt the LIFE in you, I know you know that your father is vibrant and well both; within his defective body and within your perfect one.
I can imagine how very difficult and frustrating this situation is for the two of you, especially since you both have known the way life and things used to be. But… what if YOU were to “reset” and transform that knowledge into an unconditional acceptance of the present moment as I imagine you are trying?
What if – armed with all of the love and strength he fostered in you – you can see and experience him as if you two were meeting for the first time?
Nothing as essential as such mutual connection is ever truly lost.
I miss you my friend.
Joe’s article reminds me of one song Dan Folgelberg’s “Leader Of the Band”.
Growing up in a family with ten children, I never hav the good fortune of intimacy wit hmy father like Joe had, and he reamins someone I can only interact remotely – both physically and spiritually. He also passed away during my early twenties, but his presence is still strong and powerful in my mind, for not particualr reason other than that he is my father, and I carry a bit of him. His determination and industrious working attitude shaped me, and all my brothers and sisters. I may share different feeling about our father, but the nature of the feeling is the same.
A good song this one is Tony… we should try our own rendition one of these days.
Knowing you as I do – a colleague and one of my dearest friends – I fully agree with your conclusion.
I of all people, can also well imagine the immense weight of responsibility your Dad carried whilst doing the best he knew how for his large family. How he may have dreamed about what he was not able to physically provide.
Knowing you, I’ve no doubt about your Dad’s caring strength.
Yes, the feelings are the same… we both love and miss them still.
So touching…thank you for feeling and writing… Just perfect!