Legacies and Lessons from Our Fathers

Every so often when my baby is teething, restless or generally irritable, I will take her back to her room and soothe her in our rocking chair. As soon as I sit, she lies her head against my shoulder, her breathing slows, and she visibly relaxes as we rock. This rocker, a gift from my parents as we welcomed our last baby, is more than just a rocking chair. It’s a little piece of my childhood. It was purchased by my great-grandparents for my grandparents, presumably used by all the above to rock and soothe my mother and her siblings. Next it became a fixture in my living room as a child, draped in 1980s yellow-brown fabric and bearing little nail marks on the wooden armrests, signs of generations of idle thumbs rubbing the smooth wood as little people were put gently to sleep. I can still feel that chair and the strong arms that held me. And now, dressed in a cheerful turquoise, it cradles me as I cradle another little person, descended from a long line of caring people, big and small, who could use a cuddle.

Why do I care so much about a chair? Because the strong arms that rocked me in that humble piece of furniture, odd fabric and all, belonged to my dad. Understanding the way this chair makes me feel is a good way to understand how I remember my dad, from the earliest points of my life. Sitting across his lap, sipping a flat 7Up, trying to ease a troubled tummy, I remember how easy it felt to lean my head against his chest, dozing as I listened to his steady breathing and heartbeat. Soon, I would feel him stand and carry me to my bed. Even now, as a grown mama in her own home comforting her own babies, I remember those times and feel like my dad, by extension of the chair, is comforting me.

I thought it would be a worthy conversation to ask people around me, from all ages, stages and places, what they remember about their father figures. Here are some of the answers graciously shared with me. May they be a potent reminder to all the fathers and grandfathers out there that even the littlest things echo through time and memory.

It’s Complicated

My husband Jon Kobilnyk, whose relationship with his father was perhaps more complicated than some, recalls being in line at the bank with his dad. To pass the time, his dad asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Jon looked up at his daddy and quickly replied, “I want to be just like you!” Jon remembers now the look that crossed his dad’s face as the magnitude of that sentiment sank in. We can only guess now what he must have been thinking, but I like to imagine it woke up an appreciation of how vital his role was to this young, impressionable person. I like to think that this notion inspired growth, change and introspection. Our work as parents matters, after all.

Kelly Hunter also had a complicated relationship with her father, but even as she spoke to me about the sad series of events that permeate their relationship, she had one glimmering memory. Michael Keaton’s Batman had just been released on HBO, and she remembers sitting down with her dad as a very young girl and watching it six times in a row, so great was their shared love of the Dark Knight. To this day, she loves the character of Batman and feels a fondness for what she called “a core memory.” Dads, like brooding vigilantes, can be pretty complex.

When Kelly told me about her grandfather, with whom she shared a close relationship, she told me he’d walked around whistling and talking to himself. She would ask him, “Who are you talking to?” and he’d reply, in a warm tone, “There’s always a good man listening.” At the time, she had thought he was referring to himself, only realizing as she got older that he had meant God. The good humor and faith in that little exchange has echoed through Kelly’s life and gives her joy.

Bringing Comfort through Sickness

Melea Carrington recalls when she had her tonsils out and how scared she felt as she clung to her father’s neck. He was with her through it all, “present and there and comforting.” She teared up slightly as she sighed, “He was a good daddy. He was always there.”

Stories of fathers and grandfathers helping their young ones through sickness was a common thread in conversations. Austin Arnold recalls getting sick in the night, and though he feels he “exaggerated 100 percent,” his dad was unfazed as he took it all in, cleaning up the mess and helping Austin feel safe again. “He just was there,” Austin told me, a note of maturity and reflection in his voice. Austin’s father walked him through that moment of big, scary feelings and modeled what it means to be a caring and connected parent. Even at 15 years old, Austin seems to understand the lasting impact of that gift.

Joyful Memories

Kayla Cervas’ father introduced her to Harry Potter, something she still enjoys today with her own children. Lisa Barnes’ grandfather was such a fan of cooking Sunday morning waffles for the entire extended family, that even today his loved ones continue to make waffles a big part of their “family breakfast culture,” as she put it. She recalled that there were two waffle makers going at once to accommodate everyone. If you asked for a regular waffle, you would be eating much more quickly, but if you were willing to wait, you would be rewarded with a coveted and clearly magical Mickey Mouse waffle.

Kelsey Evans laughed as I asked about her grandfather, who was playful, good humored and often played tricks on the grandkids. Hiding in trash cans to spook them as they came to trick or treat, using colorful language inadvertently to chase off opossums and handing out Altoids and caramel candies from his permanent pocket supply. His legacy of joy and lighthearted play clearly has carried through to the young ones he obviously delighted in.

Lessons Learned

The professions and gifts of dads carried through in the memories of their children quite strongly as well. My own father, David Owen, talked quite a bit about his dad taking his sons fishing in the same, secluded spots he used to take paying sportsmen when he’d been a young man, earning money any way he could during and after World War II. My grandfather knew how to maneuver a rowboat quietly, how to fetch a lost lure and where to find the big fish. He’d had to scratch together everything he could to make a good life, but he held it out to his loved ones with an outstretched palm, sharing freely and modeling generosity. My grandfather, as best he could, taught my father how to love. There could be no greater lesson than that.

Sara Carter told me about her grandfather, whom she called Papa, with powerful feeling. The two of them would take after-dinner walks around the lake.

“I remember the smell of his pipe, the feel of his large hand wrapped around mine, this constant teasing (in a good-natured way), feeding the ducks and endless chatter mixed with comfortable silence,” she said.

Dads teach us about so much more than what they might aim to. Briana Gray’s dad is a mechanic and spent lots of time letting her hold a light for him while he worked on a car. Sometimes he would be building something, like a custom Barbie house, and watch her as she collected the scraps, a hammer and some nails to build her own Barbie furniture. Knowing her dad, I imagine the “scraps” were probably more generous and ample than they would have been had she not been there, so eager to build like him.

Kim Latimer’s dad was the impetus for her to learn how to ride a bike without training wheels. She’d been content to leave them on, but her dad patiently encouraged her and motivated her to try the next step, the next skill that he knew she was ready to master. As we talked, she reflected how he had, over and again, been a teacher to her: patient, empowering and present. In her life now as a social worker and educator, Kim’s carrying on the skills her father modeled for her throughout her early years.

Thank you, Fathers!

Whether you remember hiding in the same spot behind the shower curtain each day, like my daughter Hannah, as your daddy came home or the elation of waking up hearing a familiar voice that belonged to a grandpa who lived far away, like Lauren Arnold, it is the smallest and most ordinary things that seem to come to mind when we remember our fathers and our grandfathers.

Though we are not all so blessed, I pray there was (or is) a man in your life who was there with you in your early years, giving you lessons and memories to treasure. To all the fathers, grandfathers and other folks out there making life sweeter for the children around you: Thank you and Happy Father’s Day!

Alicia Kobilnyk is an Early Childhood Educator who works with young toddlers. She finds joy and inspiration to write in their cheeky shenanigans, as well as those of her three daughters.