Gloria Ferris

Last night Tim and I watched the never before seen footage of Bruce Springsteen’s concert in London at the Hammersmith Odeon, 1975. As I watched Bruce Springsteen belt out those songs from Born To Run, it took me back to those days and how young I was, how those songs were played anywhere and everywhere, and how they exemplify that time in my life. And then, for some odd reason my thoughts turned to my dad; 1975 wasn’t really a great time in the relationship between my father and me. My mother and he were going through a contentious divorce and although I was “grown” and everyone thought I should handle it well, I wasn’t and I don’t. To this day, I contend that divorce tears the fabric of a family no matter the ages of the children. Should my parents have stayed married? Absolutely not! Too many words, too many things said better left unsaid, too many difficult memories, but nonetheless traumatic to me their only child.

But this isn’t about divorce, this is about Bruce Springsteen and my dad. The concert was almost over and I still hadn’t figured out why my thoughts kept turning to Dad, but then I dismissed it with the thought that today would be Father’s Day. And then, Tim blurts out “God, does this guy remind me of your dad!” Sleepily, I asked him “What, what do you mean?”

And Tim explained, “A cricket of a guy in a demin shirt and blue jeans with more energy than he knows how to handle and so focused on what he is doing at this moment. He even looks a bit like Harry.”

And that was it. I had grown up with people comparing my dad to Spencer Tracy because of the weathered face, and Bing Crosby because of those startling blue eyes. So it was not a stretch for me to compare my dad to Bruce Springsteen’s build and curly brown hair, but what really hit me was the energy factor and the focus, but Tim was right. My dad could tune out the world when he was building something or when he was completeing the last few pieces of a puzzle or even when he was just talking to his friends or me.

And today, today my dad will be fishing because that is what he and I did every Father’s Day until I became too old for such nonsense, but when I was ten I cherished the days that Dad and I took his boat out on the lake, found a cool, shady spot and sat motionless for hours listening to the sounds of the wildlife around and in the lake, never saying a word and never catching many fish because I never learned the patience of just letting the line troll through the water. But I did learn the necessity of silence and stillness for rejuvenation because to this day I look for a body of water or a small slice of woods
to sit in silence to recoup the energy needed to meet the demands of my world.

And now I know that that is what my dad did. He took time to back away from the world because with his energy and focus he needed it to survive. And in his later years after his heart surgery when he could no longer walk in the woods or sit for hours on a lake because someone would wonder where he was and if something had happened to him, he lost a part of himself that he couldn’t live without. And now, I know why he refused any more surgery and why he told me he was sorry but he just couldn’t face it anymore. It wasn’t the surgery and it wasn’t the pain. My dad couldn’t face not enjoying the silence and the stillness of the lake.

Twenty-six years later, I realize now why he made the choices he did, and no Dad I’m not angry with you, but I still miss you.

Happy Father’s Day wherever you are!

This entry was posted on Sunday, June 18th, 2006 at 3:50 pm and is filed under quality of life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.