The Gifts I Got From My Dad

This Sunday is Father’s Day and it’s making me think a lot about my dad, who died a little over six years ago, a few months before my daughter, Betsy, was born.

In one of the last conversations I had with him, I read him a list of 11 things he gave me as father. My dad didn’t take it well. I think getting compliments made him uncomfortable.

One of things I thanked him for was teaching me good manners. In fact, people still tell me that I have good manners to this day, and that’s all thanks to my Dad.

The reason he had such a hard time taking in the compliments I gave him was he couldn’t forgive himself for getting into some legal trouble around the year 2000 that sent him to prison.

His guilt and shame about that overshadowed some of the good things he did as a father.

Last week was Betsy’s last day of Kindergarten. They had a ceremony for the parents at her school where the kids sang a song, we watched a class video and each kid got an award.

Betsy received the "Ms. Manners" award "for always being respectful and courteous to everybody," which immediately made me think about my dad. I was proud of her, and I was proud of myself, too, for being able to pass down to my daughter one of the 11 gifts that my dad gave to me.

Had my dad been alive, he would probably would have had a hard time taking any credit for it, though. He probably would have said, "I had nothing to do with it. It was all your mother."

But even though he wouldn’t have been able to acknowledge it, I know it was him. I’m giving him most of the credit.

I read a book recently where someone said that their relationship with their father improved after he died. That was true was for me.

My dad and I had a complicated relationship. I believe most people have complicated relationships with their parents. But it’s often a hard thing for people to get in touch with because they feel like if they say something like that, it means they don’t love them.

I love my dad more today than I ever have, and that doesn’t change the fact he and I had a complicated relationship. I think I’ve learned more from my dad now that he is gone than when he was still here. Being a father helps, too.

My Dad and I shared one tragic flaw — we believed that to be loved, you had to accomplish something. But I’ve learned that being loved or admired for your accomplishments isn’t real love. Real love was right in front of him all the time, in his five kids, but he couldn’t really see it.

I’ve never felt more love than from my child. And in my dad’s case, times that by five.

I think my dad finally understood this on the last day I saw him, which was also his last day on earth. He was on morphine. He could not speak. I said I loved him, and he waived backed. And in the that tiny gesture I felt he loved me too.

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