My father was raised in a very strict and oppressive environment. Family values were stern, and different rules applied to boys and to girls. The girls, for example, we're allowed to complete high school. The boys - namely my Dad, the only son, was working in the coal mines by the time he was seven. Relationship with his father was distant and fraught with tension. Much was expected of him, and he was punished if he failed to live up to expectations.
As a result, my father grew up with a very narrow and constricted understanding of parenting, and of fatherhood. Consequently, he and I had a distant and puzzling relationship - at least puzzling to me. I don't recall any conversations with my father taking place before the age of six. I remember being carried on his shoulders for a long walk, and being punished afterward because I cried along the way, for some reason. At age six, my father went away to war, and I didn't see him again until I was twelve, and just launching into adolescence, with everything that meant for North American boys. Once agai, I recall few, if any, conversations with me, and plenty of tension when my behavior did not match his expectations. (I recall the dictum applied to school matters: if you get In to trouble at school, you'll be in trouble at home. A far cry from the parents who today are ready to sue the school if little Jimmy isn't treated with kid gloves).
As a result, my father and I were never close.
During my high school years, we had few conversations, and those we had were usually vaguely hostile, with him disagreeing with most opinions I held about most topics. My father died in 1988, and I have found myself reflecting on hi and his importance to me many times in the subsequent 24 years. I have come to realize how important a figure he is for me now, in retrospect, than he ever was during his life!
As you might expect, my son and I are not close. During his early childhood, we had a lovely relationship. Even during his adolescence we were quite compatible. During his earl twenties, decisions that I made had a huge negative impact on him, although he never shared much of that with me. He was hurt, angry and confused, but only rarely did he talk about that with me at the time.
As time passed, it seemed that his feelings around my life changes grew stronger and deeper. We talked far less, and then mosly about non-personal matters, or things technical. Now that he is middle GED, and I am an old man, we ear to have little or no relationship. Although I have made attempts qto open conversation with him, he responds neither to written or spoken messages. I feel like a door has been closed rather firmly in my face, and that I will not speak to him again for a long time, if at all.
As I reflect on this possibility, I am profoundly saddened. It as though my sone might have to go through a repetition of my own experience, reflecting on the importance of his father after my demise.
Edwin Friedman, in Generation To Generation, writes about the repetitive patterns in families and other institutions. It seems clear that such a pattern is at work in my paternal family.
As a result, my father grew up with a very narrow and constricted understanding of parenting, and of fatherhood. Consequently, he and I had a distant and puzzling relationship - at least puzzling to me. I don't recall any conversations with my father taking place before the age of six. I remember being carried on his shoulders for a long walk, and being punished afterward because I cried along the way, for some reason. At age six, my father went away to war, and I didn't see him again until I was twelve, and just launching into adolescence, with everything that meant for North American boys. Once agai, I recall few, if any, conversations with me, and plenty of tension when my behavior did not match his expectations. (I recall the dictum applied to school matters: if you get In to trouble at school, you'll be in trouble at home. A far cry from the parents who today are ready to sue the school if little Jimmy isn't treated with kid gloves).
As a result, my father and I were never close.
During my high school years, we had few conversations, and those we had were usually vaguely hostile, with him disagreeing with most opinions I held about most topics. My father died in 1988, and I have found myself reflecting on hi and his importance to me many times in the subsequent 24 years. I have come to realize how important a figure he is for me now, in retrospect, than he ever was during his life!
As you might expect, my son and I are not close. During his early childhood, we had a lovely relationship. Even during his adolescence we were quite compatible. During his earl twenties, decisions that I made had a huge negative impact on him, although he never shared much of that with me. He was hurt, angry and confused, but only rarely did he talk about that with me at the time.
As time passed, it seemed that his feelings around my life changes grew stronger and deeper. We talked far less, and then mosly about non-personal matters, or things technical. Now that he is middle GED, and I am an old man, we ear to have little or no relationship. Although I have made attempts qto open conversation with him, he responds neither to written or spoken messages. I feel like a door has been closed rather firmly in my face, and that I will not speak to him again for a long time, if at all.
As I reflect on this possibility, I am profoundly saddened. It as though my sone might have to go through a repetition of my own experience, reflecting on the importance of his father after my demise.
Edwin Friedman, in Generation To Generation, writes about the repetitive patterns in families and other institutions. It seems clear that such a pattern is at work in my paternal family.
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