Dad

It's finally time.  After two decades of trying to accept my father's death, I think I can do it.  I believe my sisters and I have idolized our father too much.  We have compared him with Mom, and he always seems to have been the perfect, caring parent.  But if I am honest with myself, I can see that he had faults and was maybe not as perfect as I would like to believe.  I'm sure you noticed that I said maybe.

Dad was very good at aggravating Mom.  He knew just what to say to get her going, and would say it at least once every day.  She would always fall for it, and get mad at him.  Dad would just smile and, if one of us were in the area, give us a wink.  He knew exactly what he was doing and he was enjoying it, while Mom was working up to getting madder at him.

In the past, I've looked at Dad's behavior as somehow my mother's fault.  She was too demanding; she ran his life; they always had to do what she wanted.  He seemed to be just going along.  Now I wonder if that's at all true.  Maybe Mom had to take charge, or her life would have been much emptier.  Maybe if she didn't make plans, no plans were ever made.

Today I wonder at the dynamics between my parents, and the impression they had on me.  Both my sisters and I have grown to adulthood thinking that Mom was the bad guy and Dad was the good.  The truth is probably not nearly so black and white.  As I go through the rest of my life, I will try to remember that both my parents were only human after all.