Father and Son by Cat Stevens

A few weeks ago, I was asked a question I wasn’t expecting.

“So what’s the deal with you and your father?”

I didn’t quite know how to answer that. I also had to realize that the question came from someone who is very much like his father.

My father and I are totally different people. He’s a grease monkey with a great love for the Beach Boys. He got married at 20 and served one tour in Vietnam as a specialist. When he dropped out of college, he had only one more course to complete—a writing class.

Both of his sons went in a different direction. My brother and I finished college in four years, worked on the creative side of media and we took our cars to Jiffy Lube to get the oil changed (although he won’t admit it, it’s a source of great shame). 

My brother and I also made no secret of our desire to flee Evansville. My brother relocated to Kentucky, and then moved to Evansville. He was out of the “Metro” area for only 2 years.

When it came time for me to leave, I’m sure Dad thought that I would be back in the hometown in no time. However, I think that he got the idea that I wasn’t moving back after my first three years in Bloomington. I still talked to him and my mother often. It was funny, that it was always Mom who made the call. When I talked to Dad, the first question would always be, “So, how’s your car running?”

My father came to visit only once while I was living in Bloomington. It was during the “She Who Has No Reflection” era. He and Mom were on the way to Indianapolis for the U.S. Nationals and they stayed for dinner. In six years, he was there for only four hours.

When he and Mom separated and eventually divorced, we talked even less. Since he never initiated conversations when they were together; why would we talk more when the life line was gone? I know that I’m too old to have “daddy issues”, but it would have been nice if he had made the effort.

It took me a while to figure out that it wasn’t personal. He tried to communicate, but he just couldn’t. He didn’t know how. It’s just who he is. I could either be angry about it or accept it.

Our relationship was pretty much like the song “Father and Son” by Cat Stevens. When the son wants to leave and carve out his own path, the father tries to talk him out of it. The son is frustrated, because his father doesn’t seem to be listening.

If they were right
 I'd agree
but it's them
They know not me 
Now there's a way
and I know that I have to go away

There isn’t anger between the two of them, they just talk over each other’s head. No one is wrong, and no one is right. They’re just different.

When I call Dad on Sunday to wish him a Happy Father’s Day, we’ll talk for awhile about our work and our marriages (he has since re-married). We have that in common now.

Then he’ll ask. “So how’s your car running?”

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