His highly creative father taught him chess and a love of the wild but he wouldn’t teach him his native language.
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My mom told me that I’d follow my Dad around, once walking became an easy thing to do, “like Mary’s little lamb.” Perhaps I did; I’ve no personal memories of that age. For sure, I felt a lovely bond with my Dad. But there are many things I never told him. And he’s gone now. I can’t tell him any of the things that really matter.
Here are just a few:
Your language is important to me
My Dad was an immigrant. After growing up and surviving the war, he left Holland. As far as I know, he resisted ever speaking Dutch again. Apparently, when his parents visited us (I was two years old), he wouldn’t even teach me how to greet them in their language.
Your language is a link to my past; it’s important.
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I wish I’d told him that I wanted to hear him speak it, that I wanted to learn some of it. And from him, not from textbooks or other people later.
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Your history is important to me
I grew up a world away from the childhood he’d had. Europe, before the internet, was a long way away and mystical.
Your past matters to me; it’s my history too.
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I’ve often wondered why Dad left Holland and never looked back. Much later, scraps of stories floated down from others. But while Dad was there to talk to, I didn’t stop to think how much his past meant to me, or the relatives we had there, or the places he’d lived.
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Your stories are important to me
My Dad’s life was short, yet rich. He’d traveled to the far side of the world, in a time before the first commercial jet was built; what an island-hopping adventure it must have been.
I want to know about your travels and your choices.
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I watched him build a house, work tirelessly in community organisations, and make impressive models for a prestigious firm.
I wonder why he did some of these things.
If I’d listened to a few of his reasons for taking the road he did, it might have helped my own choices.
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You gave me a love of the wilds
He often walked in the wild parts of parks, where no one had ever cleared the old forest trees and undergrowth. Or he walked on the cleared-for-farming, grass-covered hills. Out there, it’s peaceful and quiet. He made small signs for the trees on our land, so his children would learn their names.
You gave me an appreciation of nature.
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I admired his books of pressed leaves and flowers, carefully gathered.
Did he keep them simply because he found the green treed landscape so different from his homeland?
I don’t know. I wish I’d asked. And I never told him how I love the patterns leaves make, or the way sun filters through a forest canopy.
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I appreciate you letting me win at chess
My Dad taught me chess; I never persevered, so never got much good. We read about the Fischer-Spassky battle as it was reported in the paper, and replayed some of the games. Some Sunday afternoons, we would play a game or two. I was inattentive; a poor student. But I wanted to win!
Allowing me to beat you at chess helped me believe in myself.
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We were a lot alike, so I guess he probably wanted to win all our games too. But sometimes I managed to overcome him.
I’m sure he manufactured every win.
It was only long after we’d stopped playing that I realized I’d never told him how much I had enjoyed it.
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Your design philosophy is important to me
I grew up in a home my Dad was building. It was an embarrassment to my mom; it was littered with construction mess, full of half-built things and wood and bricks. Visitors stayed away, but they missed an adventurous design.
I want to know why you built the house the way you did.
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I always intended to be an architect.
And I have spent some of my years designing homes.
But I never asked my Dad about his philosophy. Pre-war homes in Holland were very different to those in the suburb I grew up in.
I should have told him how impressed I was that he’d built a house without knowing much about the building process. And I didn’t understand, till long after, how he’d instilled in me a belief that I could learn whatever I had to learn.
And so I didn’t think to tell him I was grateful.
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I love every moment we have together
Life was always better when my Dad was somewhere near. I felt safe, watched over. I know I got more difficult to corral as my teenage years approached; I wanted to break away, as children do when adulthood appears enticingly over the horizon.
Tell me your best memories of my childhood.
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I didn’t spend any time telling him how he lit up my life when he was close enough to touch.
And I know I didn’t spend enough time listening, because I remember very little of what he said to me. I didn’t tell him what he meant.
Perhaps I guessed he knew. But I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell him. And now I can’t.
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Don’t make my mistake.
Tell those you love about your feelings, while you can. You may not think tomorrow will ever come. But it will.
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This post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
I lost my father 23 years ago and I can relate to what you are talking about. We are lucky and fortunate to have had the time with our fathers that we did. I also wish I could of learned more from my dad, he was a very wise man who worked hard for his family, however life works in mysterious ways, and we have to be thankful for what is given to us. The best way we can honor our fathers, is by being the best dads we can be to our sons and daughters. I am glad you… Read more »
Thank you for sharing that, William. And I’m pleased you have those good memories. Take care.
Thank you Anthony. Somany of the things you said are things I wished I would have said to my own dad. He’s been gone for 40 years, I still miss him a lot. When I visit him at the cemetery, I know he’s listening to me when I speak the words … I just wish he was here in front of me to hear them. THrough the years, you will remember a lot of whet he said. Something somewhere someone will trigger a memory. In my case it’s often been times while raising my won kids. I’ll stop for a… Read more »
Thank you for taking the time to comment, Tom. My Dad has also been gone over 40 years. It’s a very long time, and yet, it’s just yesterday. And my thoughts of him remind me how short life is, and not to waste it.
Take care.