Esther Brady Crawford - faintstarlite

It’s one of my earliest memories – being five years old, crowded around a little table with the other girls in my Wednesday night Missionette class at church. Father’s Day was that Sunday and our assignment for the next hour was to create pretty gifts and cards for our dads. It was assumed my dad was somewhere in the building, lovingly seated next to a stay-at-home soccer mom – soaking in the evening’s sermon.

I never let on that the card I was making might never make it to my dad because it was embarrassing and the truth was I felt hopeful. When I picked up the paper with little ties to color in I distinctly recall my excitement – I really thought perhaps if I could stay within the lines and create the best card in the world that my dad would want to be my dad. I ended my note with what I believed he could be, Super Dad.

For a lot of years I wondered if I’d made that entire memory up. But then after he died my brother handed me several stuffed manilla envelopes (a favorite filing technique he used)… and they were full of every card, letter, picture and drawing my mom had ever sent him. And in the stack, I found the Father’s Day card with purple ties I’d colored in.

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Being a new parent has made me take a second look at my own parents – their successes and failures, and what I’d like to do differently. Since it was just Father’s Day I decided to pen some words about our relationship:

I sent a lot of cards and notes to my dad from ages 5 to 8 (such as the poem below), although usually there was no response. Suddenly, almost magically, not long before my 8th birthday he called and said he wanted to meet me. He’d said that one other time, the only other time I’d talked to him on the phone when I was 4 (quite possibly my earliest memory)… but that had not ended well. Mostly a lot of tears and confusion on my end since he never showed, but this time things really were different. What changed his mind? I’ll never know for sure since we didn’t talk about it, but those stacks of manilla envelopes provide a window – both he and my mom saved every scrap of correspondence which has given me some insight into the cat-mouse game they played.

My parents always had a sick relationship with each other & money. My mom thought of my dad as her ATM (particularly since she had raised me alone with my Nana for the first 8 years & felt he owed her). You’d think he would’ve nipped that in the bud asap… but the trouble was he enjoyed having the control & power, and she was happy to sell it off for a cheap price. To be fair, he was born in a different era with radically different expectations about parenting – he believed parenting was about providing, and while that is part of it… what I’ve realized is that being present and being affectionate is worth more than anything that could be bought or given.

It was awkward being the one who had to ask for money from my mom all the time. Case in point – after we moved to Oregon to live near my dad he provided my mom with monthly financial support, and although most people would’ve just sent it in the mail…. he insisted we come and pick it up. So each month, from 4th grade til I left for college, I pretended to just casually ‘drop by’ on the first of the month to see him… even though we both knew I was there to exchange money I sensed he preferred if we keep the pretenses up. [To this day I hate asking anyone for money, even if it's owed to me because it brings back that anxiety I always felt when I had to ask him... and that feeling is rarely worth the $$$.]

As much as I loved my dad I never felt entirely at ease around him. We couldn’t seem to have a ‘normal’ father-daughter relationship… I was especially guarded after seeing how tumultuous & volatile his relationships were with other siblings. I worried that if I made the wrong move he could get rid of me by sending my mom & I back to California; as a result, I carefully crafted my persona around him, never wanting to appear too weak – I wanted to be clever and smart, and grateful.

He complained tirelessly that I preferred my church over his church. While it’s true that I found the Catholic services to be boring in comparison, the reason I disliked going so much was due to the fact that for several years he introduced me as his daughter Diana. I’m guessing he didn’t want to have to explain why he suddenly had a new kid… it was easier if he didn’t. So I just perfected my poker face and pretended I was his wife’s daughter to ease his public embarrassment over having a child out of wedlock.

There were certainly moments when he let down his tough exterior and let me in. I know he loved me, but I always wished things were different. Over the years I forgave for various offenses and realized that he was just a normal guy, often stuck between the man he wanted to be and the mistakes he’d made along the way. No matter how flawed and confusing things could be, the complexities were always worth the struggle. There’s no doubt I’ll always love him – and in my heart I believe he tried really hard to make things up as I got older.

This Father’s Day feels like one chapter has ended and a new one is just beginning – it’s no longer just about me and the dynamic I had with my dad, the story gets to move on. In only 6 short weeks I can say without a doubt that Nick is exactly the kind of dad I hoped to give my kids… the truth is he’s the kind of dad I always wanted mine to be.