I’m inspired by one example from a friend of mine. She and her father are the quiet ones in the family. While perfectly articulate when in his corporate world, her father just couldn’t bring himself to talk to her. There was always hesitation from his end, she said. She mirrored this by not talking to him much either, though she did desperately want to build a bond with her father. She sensed he wanted to build a relationship with her too.

One evening, she left a note on his desk. “Dad, may I have money for a textbook I have to buy for class? Thanks. I love you.” The next morning, after her father had left for work, she approached his desk and found a note addressed to her. “Here’s the money. Good luck with class. I love you too.” As a hardly expressive duo, leaving short notes helped them open up little by little to each other without the awkwardness of confronting each other.

And so began an exchange of overnight notes and conversations. She would leave a note to tell him a little about her day. He would write a quick reply and tell him a little about his. “I made the debate team today, Daddy. I’m so happy!,” she wrote once. “I’m proud of you! Looking forward to watching your matches!,” he wrote back the next morning. They would continue to pass each other quietly in the hallway at home, but the exchanges of notes was enough for them to acknowledge that they were building a relationship they were both happy with.

Talking as a form of communication may be ideal, but perhaps it wasn’t the best fit for this father and daughter. Conversations in short notes was their own way of communicating with each other, and it was the best way for them to build a relationship all their own.

Image: Astrakoo

Post from: Blisstree

Communicating through short notes

My dad is sooo cute!

Perhaps I was. I was running away from that little girl I always was. Trying to grow up. But unlike my mother, who claimed to have moved 2,000-plus miles from her parents to feel un-smothered for a change, I wanted to be smothered. I wanted to be flooded with undivided attention and pathetic love. I wanted to live in the nest of their security for…ever. Instead, my parents insisted I grow up. My senior year in college, my father told me that once I made it into college I would live outside the home. That if I considered going to a local college, I would still live in the dorm because, godbedamned, I needed some growing up. He was right.

And he loved me. He loved me the way enthusiasts love tall mountains to hike. He said I was programmed to be like he was – climbing at my own pace, stopping to take mental snapshots of the view at every other step. Enjoy life at every pass, he’d say. Once, when we walked together to Union Avenue get frozen yogurt, he told me that reality had far surpassed his dreams. And I remember that, the way I looked at our sneakered feet, keeping pace with each other, step-by-step. I wanted so much to be just like him. To find that peace that hung over his shoulders like a tallit.

Once, at our annual Christmas Eve party, someone asked me, “Who are you most like, your mother or father?” And before I could speak, my father answered. “Me. She is most like me.” And I glowed for week. A month. A lifetime. I glowed the way a firefly completely lights up a millimeter of space and time. That brilliant light that makes you wince and glean with pleasure because life is good and warm when fireflies light.

Becaue I am my father’s daughter, I moved 350 miles away. I thought it was what I was supposed to do. I left my family to follow a career  – the way my father did – which in my case was to Alabama, the only newspaper in a 350-mile radius that would hire me right out of college. And my life rooted here. I have a wonderful husband now. A beautiful son. My life may not have played out the way I had hoped or expected (I’ve yet to write that novel), but I eventually grew up. And isn’t that what a parent’s job is anyway?

If you ask and I were to reflect, I would say that yes, life has surpassed my dreams. I have found that inner peace my father spoke of. And in that respect, I am just like my Dad. 

Happy (belated) Birthday, pa!

photo, JWJourney 

Post from: Blisstree

After All, I’m Just like Dad