What I Learned From My Father

Email from Ellie to Faffy:

hey pop!

been reading lots of poetry lately, found some "nature poets" i REALLY like -- wendell berry and mary oliver. got me in a poetry mood. i wrote something about/for you, but be forewarned i wrote it all today so its not perfect and will probably undergo some revisions!

What I Learned From My Father

I admit it.

I was a petulant and greedy child,

wanting more attention and

also wanting more things,

in particular wanting

more than my sister had.

I always wanted more

of my father’s praise,

which is not to say there was not enough.

I always had a sense of worth.

My father taught me the words

“dingleberry” and “flatus,”

and how to be silly.

He named for me

many things: lightning bugs,

wiffle balls, vanilla cones,

and pointed out the names of sailboats.

Ours was Pegasus.

I think of him when I see

handmade playhouses, or hear

the sound of windchimes, or

a southern accent, or

the phrase “run aground.”

He explained what it means

to be an atheist.

He taught me to feel peaceful

when I look at a tree, and that

helped me feel the prayer

of leafy limbs stretched upward.

My father taught me

to “pick a little, eat a little”

of vine-warm blackberries,

and of cobbler’s bursting tang.

That a day is not wasted,

wandering and meandering

through the woods.

He taught me that imagination could create

Herman the Ant at bedtime.

He taught me the casual joy of art, that

it is allowed

to bring out the rarely used and imperfect

talent. Once a year, maybe,

he would bring out his “real” art supplies.

He made us Mickey Mouse pancakes,

snowmen and fir trees painted

on the windows at Christmas.

We spent hours on his father’s lawn,

banging croquet balls through wickets.

I learned the wicked glee

of shooting an opponent’s ball off-course.

My father taught me how to compete,

and how to play.

How to be a bear

for your children to ride on, and

how to give good bear hugs

when the growls get too scary.

He taught me to have high standards.

To do extra homework.

My father learned from his father

what it means to be honest,

when it is the right thing to do,

why to do it.

My father taught me,

with his stable of bikes

with studded tires and pogies, to

be prepared to be adventurous.

I learned that pride is

what I feel when

I think about him.

He taught me what is valuable.

He always wanted

handmade gifts (or none at all).

He taught me patience and true love –

loving when you don’t want to,

when they might not deserve it,

when she’s pulling her sister’s hair.

He gave me the gift of pessimism,

and a sense of futility.

I remember I was frightened at first

when I saw the familiar face crack, eyes wet,

reading a poem about the passage of time.

Pondering what may come, and

what is certain to come,

he taught me to share his awareness

of what we once had –

when we were little,

before Aunt Betty died –

and what we have now

to lose.

I picture his shoulders bowing with weight

I wish I could carry for him,

but his thoughts are still

heavy and mysterious,

I still feel a sapling to his oak.

I have added to that weight

in the past, I have disappointed him.

I have complained

that we are not close,

that our relationship feels fragile, sometimes,

that we are not who I want us to be.

It is a nameless frustration,

a nameless need unmet.

I still can’t find the words

to strengthen us or even

to acknowledge it or even

to tell him how I love him,

that I admire him,

how much I miss him even

though I never say it.

But this, I know:

when I look at my son and

I see my father,

it is my turn

for wet eyes and pondering, and

I want it to be true.

Collecting children’s books,

I try to find every one

he ever read to me, and

I try to remember

every story he ever told

so I can retell it all

to my son.

Email from Faffy to Ellie:

Ellie,

I am touched, truly, by your poem and by the tears in my eyes.  Thank you.  Having a child is one of life's most profound experiences.  Don't you agree?

Love, Pop

Email from Ellie to Faffy:

definitely agree... having a child is amazing. to be more precise, having a THEO is amazing. :)

and im really glad that you were touched!

love,

ellie


Email from Mom (Monkey) to Ellie:

Oh.My.God. I just read your poem and I still have tears in my eyes and on my cheeks. I think it's absolutely beautiful. It should be shared. I'm curious to know if other people, who don't share our life experiences, would find meaning in it. I'll bet they will, if you share it. But I am so proud and amazed to know that something so beautiful, so meaningful, can spring from our own flesh and blood. 

We love you, even when (actually partly because) you write poetry that makes us cry.

Mama

PS I don't ever want to see a poem that describes me. haha.

Email from Ellie to Mom (Monkey):

aww, im really glad that it meant so much to you guys. its hard to know sometimes, especially when its 2:30am! :)

um... why dont you want to see a poem that describes you?

i gots big love for you too you know. :)

love,

ellie

Email from Mom (Monkey) to Ellie:

I know you do. But I'm afraid it would describe my prickly, nagging, yelling, angry interactions with my kids. It'd be funny though. I'm the disciplinarian, the organizer, the hardass--hard to get teary-eyed and wistful about that sort of person!

But the one good thing about me is that I picked the best father for my kids possible. 

Love you

Mama

Email from Ellie to Mom (Monkey):

you're dead-wrong, mom. that is NOT the first thing i think about when i think of you. and i have just as many fond memories and reasons i love you as i do for pop.

im GLAD that we've had angry interactions -- well, glad that we communicate, anyway. it can be hard for me to talk to pop.

and i get teary-eyed thinking about how much i love you, too.

my relationship with pop (and with you) is far from perfect... but thats not what love is about!