Tonight, the kids and I were watching “The Voice”. We know how to party. Hardily. The artist that stood out was the son of the owner of an oil company. His dad wanted him to go to college and follow in his footsteps in the family business. So, he did.
But, here was his son, getting the chance of a lifetime, about to sing before millions of people. His dad was there for him. Well, he showed up anyway. His version of support was bull shit. Right before his son hit the stage the dad coldly said, “We’ll see how long this lasts.” He couldn’t even look at his son.
His dad was basically saying, “I’m here for you son, as long as your choice is to join me in the family footsteps.” I’ll show up, but I’m not going to root for you. My box is too small to believe that you can have success outside of the way I’ve had success. But, by all means…get out there and knock ‘em dead.
What better feeling going into the biggest moment of your life than the doubt of your father, right?
And the son was left to make a joke rather than feel the pain of a dad who only believed in him if he took his dad’s path. He said, “Lots of confidence my dad has in me.” And gave it a mock fist pump.
Shit. That’s a painful feeling. That...“If I’m going to make it, it’s going to be in spite of my dad” feeling.
He didn’t make it. None of the judges turned around. And that asshole “father figure” gave him a half-ass one arm hug that wasn’t “I’m so sorry that your dreams got crushed” but instead was “I told you so. Welcome to the family business.”
Fuck the family business. I hope that mother fucker keeps playing music. George Michael is a better father figure than his dad. “Put your tiny hand in mine,” Michael used to sing. That’s what it’s about. Feeling loved by your dad.
There was another kid on the voice last week. His dad was the pastor of an 8,000 member church. Unlike the oilman’s son, this preacher’s kid actually got a chair to turn. When he turned the corner into the area where his family was waiting, the kid paused as if expecting to be rushed by his family. They didn’t rush. He had to come to them. His dad stoically embraced him.
The stories are different, but similarly painful…dad’s that don’t get it. The dad’s business is what matters. The son’s dreams are irrelevant. The doubt of the father. And the feeling that your work will never be as important as your dad’s.
Well shit…that sounds familiar.
I was writing earlier tonight about the feeling my dad gave me. His work of saving young people’s souls was important. I felt less than. How the fuck am I supposed to believe in myself when I’m second fiddle and back burner to other kids?
And it wasn’t just the kids. It was the fucking side projects. I knew my dad’s garden mattered to him. But, I didn’t know that I did. That’s hard to get over. Look at those string beans. That zucchini is looking great this season. Maybe that’s why I fucking hate vegetables.
But, the cool thing to me is I no longer hate myself. I’m not a vegetable anymore. I used to take my dad’s apparent rejection and let it affect how I felt about myself. That’s bull shit. He’s got his own issues. I can only deal with mine. So, last year around this time when he told me via email that he was getting remarried and that it was happening without me getting to meet my new mom first, I essentially said, “Fuck you.”
I used to depend on his financial support. But, at what cost? I had my best year ever last year and part of that was me standing up and deciding that I was done being a muppet. I’m a man. I’m 40. And if I am a muppet…I’m a manly muppet. I don’t think it’s normal for 40 year olds to battle shit like this. But, that’s my reality. I have to battle. Life doesn’t just naturally work out when you’re conditioned to doubt yourself, because it’s the family tradition.
But, I’ve loved starting new traditions and letting my kids know that I don’t want them to be muppets. I want them to be themselves. And what a contrast it was to see another dad on tonight’s episode of the Voice who was his son’s biggest fan. “It’s a thrill to see him do something that I always wanted to do, and do it better.”
I’d love it if Riley and Blake write too. And write better than I could ever dream of. But, if they have some other passion, that’s great. Whatever makes them happy. I talked to them tonight about that asshole oilman dad and why his response pissed me off. I told them I want them to dream big and know that I’ll support them no matter what. And to get my son’s real hug before bed and my daughter’s “I love you daddy” when she should have been asleep…yeah…it was a good day.
And thinking back on those contestants on the Voice. They have to decide to believe in themselves even if they don't really think their dad does. And pursue their dreams not to prove their dad wrong, but simply because it's who they are. They're singers. I'm a writer. Life means something to me when I sit down at the keyboard. I couldn't be a bigger nobody, but I feel like I'm the king of the world whenever I finish writing. I hope my kids find that thing that makes them feel like that.
No comments:
Post a Comment