Father and Son

[sergebroom]

My father died in Quebec City on Saturday, February 12, 1993... I remember the last times I saw him alive. I was visiting from California in 1990 and 1991 and he and I talked about personal things. Note that this is someone born in 1925, from a generation where people just didn't talk about that, especially not with their kids. He told me how, when I was born, he was so scared because he had never done this, and he was afraid he wouldn't do a good job of raising me. It's weird even now to realize that all this had been going on in his head. He made mistakes, some with long-lasting consequences, but I didn't say anything about that because he did do the best he could and because those were not the words he needed to hear. I told him he did good.

Comments

[miltonthales.livejournal.com]

My dad died in August of the same year; he was born in 1924. As you say, that generation was closed-mouthed, and he had 33 years of US Navy officer training to compound his leanings toward silence. We never really had a discussion like the one you describe, unfortunately; by the time I'd have been ready to have it he had an incurable brain aneurysm and could barely communicate at all.

He was a good man and a good father.

[fledgist.livejournal.com]

That last is the important thing.

[serge-lj.livejournal.com]

Being a father is a job I have never held, and yet I can see how scary it is.

[fledgist.livejournal.com]

You do your best, and hope you got it right.