Rough-housing with Dad is often a natural part of a boy’s development, but what happens in that moment when the father is eclipsed by the son? The transition is not always smooth and easy.
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I was seventeen years old the last time I wrestled with my dad. He was forty, two years younger than I am now.
All my life he’s been an enigma to me, a problem I could never quite solve.
“It felt good to have his solidness to go up against. I lived secure in the knowledge that my dad was strong and could handle whatever might happen.”
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Dad was an intense man, dark, extremely intelligent and in general very much at odds with this world. He never quite fit. He didn’t have close friends — associates, yes, and co-workers, but never anyone intimate.
As I grew up I constantly searched for ways to fit. I learned to mold myself to others’ expectations in order to find acceptance. I don’t think that idea ever occurred to him. He was always his own man.
When my brother and I were little he would play with us a lot. It seemed like there was always a chance to wrestle on the bed or rough-house in the back yard. There was such a sense of security in those times. There was frustration, sure. He was always stronger, always had the upper hand. But he was always gentle, we rarely got hurt and even then it was just a matter of a knocked head or one of us had fallen off the bed. It felt good to have his solidness to go up against. I lived secure in the knowledge that my dad was strong and could handle whatever might happen.
And then the divorce happened.
It was ugly, it was loud, and it was public. There was significant fallout. Both of my parents behaved badly, but there is a connection that mothers have with their sons. Her anger just doesn’t seem as scary as his. In the divorce I took her side and my relationship with my father was forever altered.
From the time I was eleven until seventeen I can’t remember ever rough-housing like we used to. Part of that was just the lack of opportunity. We saw him the first and third weekend of every month, a huge inconvenience in our teenage lives. Beyond that there was a wall.
“I knew in that instant that I could take my dad. I was stronger than he was — and it freaked me out.”
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We could never get past the change. He had scared us, bad. And I don’t think he knew how to make up for that. He kept waiting for us to come to him and we kept waiting for him to come to us.
It was a spring afternoon and I don’t even know how it happened, but there we were the three of us, my father, my younger brother and I, wrestling and laughing and carrying on. At first it was just like before. I was a little kid again playing with my dad.
But all of a sudden, it was different. I pushed and he gave. And not in some resilient martial arts kind of way. This wasn’t a feint. He gave. He crumpled. Without really trying to, I had overpowered my dad. I stopped immediately. That had never happened before. I knew in that instant that I could take my dad. I was stronger than he was — and it freaked me out.
I wasn’t ready for this at all.
Dad was the one with the answers. He was the strong one. The one I bounced off of. He was the fixer of problems, even if that just meant opening his wallet to do so.
On some primal level being the strong one meant I was replacing him, becoming the alpha as it were, and I wasn’t ready for that at all. Nothing in my life had prepared me for that moment. Sure, I had the cocky false bravado of any teen-aged male, but no real sense of self esteem. I immediately shied away.
Over the remaining years we had a nominal relationship. We saw each other on holidays and called when we needed something. For me that usually meant I’d gotten into a financial bind and needed digging out again. He was always there.
In February of 2010 I saw him after a break of several months. He seemed to have aged terribly. He walked with a cane due to some low back pain that had plagued him for months. After a year of visiting different doctors and pain specialists he was diagnosed with a recurrence of the bladder cancer he’d suffered in 2006.
In December of 2010 we finally switched places. My dad was dying. There was nothing to be done but make him comfortable and it became my job to take over.
Like it or not, ready or not, here it comes.
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–Photo: snarklemotion/Flickr
Absolutely, Neil. That moment for me was too much too soon and I avoided it for years. But in the end, I’m afraid you can’t
Wow, thank you for sharing that Dave. It really touched me. Great article and though my story is very different there is a lot I can relate to.
I read somewhere once that the boy needs to ‘kill’ the father (psychologically) in order to become the man. I remember that moment and it takes some adjustment…..