In my father's footsteps...
Last night, I watched 'The Lion King' for the umpteenth time with my children. I thought it a good lead in to discussion of 'Father's Day.' If you saw the movie, you may recall that Simba, the son of the King, Mufasa, was in a bit of trouble and the father was scolding him for his deliberate disobedience. As they walked along, Simba was walking in the footprints of his father. He noticed that his little paw did not fill even the space of one of his father's toes in the muddy footprints. It was a revelation to him and one he needed to have. He was not yet a 'man' and not yet 'king.' He had a lot yet to learn.
My own father was a bit of an enigma. Physically, he seemed like a giant when I was a kid, 6'7" and maybe 220 lbs., gruff, imposing. Mentally, he was cunning, sly, wiley and no one's fool. He was a competitive, aggressive, sometimes even obnoxious man. He played to win, always, but it was never 'play' to him. He was one of those Americans who came to this country and started out with nothing, made a million (and more) and never let you forget it. Yet, he treated my mother as if she were made of glass, protective, loving. He gave thousands to charities and churches .. not because he believed them or in them but because he believed in the possibilities for their children. He could shoot and butcher a deer without blinking an eye but carried a wounded baby bird in his pocket for 2 days to save it. I never saw a tear in his eye, but I saw many hands in his pockets over the years.
He treated me with a mixture of possessiveness, ownership, disdain and love. I never knew quite what to make of him. He was very strict but not abusive. I suspect I didn't fill his footsteps very well, at least now how he wanted them filled. I know I never grew out of his shadow, not quite. He was larger than life. In his last years, we finally were able to talk without 'fighting,' respect on both sides. We never did agree on the 'philosophies' of life but we agreed on everyone's pursuit of their own. We didn't agree on politics or religion, but we agreed on my mother and my children. We were able to find a 'middle ground,' big John and little John. I don't think we quite approved of each other, and I don't think he cared. I did care but not enough to sell my soul as he would say. He never respected a 'yes' man so I don't over worry about it now.
When thinking of my dad, I often think of this poem:
A Father's Footsteps
A boy is raised to follow his father's footsteps...
But a boy is small,
His father's feet are wide, his father's stride is long.
So a boy might run to keep up
Or he might stray and wander.
But, his steps will never strike the earth
Where his father's did.
Long ago I chose to wander.
Only as a man did I also stop
And look back at your foot steps.
Your's are wide, your stride long.
My steps have become wide and my stride long also.
Yet they are different paths.
My only wish is that at the end of my journey
I will be able to look across
And see that the peaks and summits on my trek
Were as high as your's
Even though on different mountains.
Grey Chisholm
22 July 1992
My dad has been been gone a couple years now, greatly missed, often remembered, sometimes wishing I knew more about the man, but there is no one left to tell, and I doubt anyone knew him well besides my mother anyway, and she is also gone and wouldn't tell me anything if she weren't. :) She never, ever criticized my father nor did she ever tell anything he didn't start first. Just the way they were. He left me his money, his property, even his 'looks.' I cannot look in the mirror and not see a part of him. Yet, he left me to be my own man. He advised and sometimes consented but he never demanded. I was, in many ways, a lucky son, except, as he often said, 'luck has not a damn thing to do with it.' :)
These days, I follow in my spiritual Father's footsteps or try to as best I can.. His steps are also wide and long and difficult to stay within, but not impossible.
Isaiah 64:8 "But now, O LORD, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand."
To all the struggling dads out there, happy Father's Day.
My own father was a bit of an enigma. Physically, he seemed like a giant when I was a kid, 6'7" and maybe 220 lbs., gruff, imposing. Mentally, he was cunning, sly, wiley and no one's fool. He was a competitive, aggressive, sometimes even obnoxious man. He played to win, always, but it was never 'play' to him. He was one of those Americans who came to this country and started out with nothing, made a million (and more) and never let you forget it. Yet, he treated my mother as if she were made of glass, protective, loving. He gave thousands to charities and churches .. not because he believed them or in them but because he believed in the possibilities for their children. He could shoot and butcher a deer without blinking an eye but carried a wounded baby bird in his pocket for 2 days to save it. I never saw a tear in his eye, but I saw many hands in his pockets over the years.
He treated me with a mixture of possessiveness, ownership, disdain and love. I never knew quite what to make of him. He was very strict but not abusive. I suspect I didn't fill his footsteps very well, at least now how he wanted them filled. I know I never grew out of his shadow, not quite. He was larger than life. In his last years, we finally were able to talk without 'fighting,' respect on both sides. We never did agree on the 'philosophies' of life but we agreed on everyone's pursuit of their own. We didn't agree on politics or religion, but we agreed on my mother and my children. We were able to find a 'middle ground,' big John and little John. I don't think we quite approved of each other, and I don't think he cared. I did care but not enough to sell my soul as he would say. He never respected a 'yes' man so I don't over worry about it now.
When thinking of my dad, I often think of this poem:
A Father's Footsteps
A boy is raised to follow his father's footsteps...
But a boy is small,
His father's feet are wide, his father's stride is long.
So a boy might run to keep up
Or he might stray and wander.
But, his steps will never strike the earth
Where his father's did.
Long ago I chose to wander.
Only as a man did I also stop
And look back at your foot steps.
Your's are wide, your stride long.
My steps have become wide and my stride long also.
Yet they are different paths.
My only wish is that at the end of my journey
I will be able to look across
And see that the peaks and summits on my trek
Were as high as your's
Even though on different mountains.
Grey Chisholm
22 July 1992
My dad has been been gone a couple years now, greatly missed, often remembered, sometimes wishing I knew more about the man, but there is no one left to tell, and I doubt anyone knew him well besides my mother anyway, and she is also gone and wouldn't tell me anything if she weren't. :) She never, ever criticized my father nor did she ever tell anything he didn't start first. Just the way they were. He left me his money, his property, even his 'looks.' I cannot look in the mirror and not see a part of him. Yet, he left me to be my own man. He advised and sometimes consented but he never demanded. I was, in many ways, a lucky son, except, as he often said, 'luck has not a damn thing to do with it.' :)
These days, I follow in my spiritual Father's footsteps or try to as best I can.. His steps are also wide and long and difficult to stay within, but not impossible.
Isaiah 64:8 "But now, O LORD, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand."
To all the struggling dads out there, happy Father's Day.
posted by Johnny at
7:47 PM
4 Comments:
Your father sounds like a most interesting man. I'd like to hear more of his 'story.' My dad was also an immigrant, and I believe they seem America totally different from most of us, in a good way.
By
Charles, at 10:59 PM
:) Happy fathers day. Whenever it is over there. I think I would have liked your father. ( don't forget to grease the skids or wheels or whatever it was now, he had that right ;)
While reading through, I thought about following in our fathers footsteps, its a good choice to make in this life.
Bless you John
di
By
Anonymous, at 3:27 AM
That was a beautiful testimony to your father. Really wonderful.
By
bridgesitter, at 7:27 AM
Thank you one and all. Charles, my dad was quite the character. He was one of the few people I ever knew who never seemed to 'question' the rightness of what he did (or didn't do). He took a stand, did his thing and slept like a baby. :)
By
Anonymous, at 3:28 PM
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