Things my Dad Never Said

     I've written a lot about my mom. She is a wealth of stories of grace, mercy, and love. She is also, a lot like me. We are both extroverts who love to talk, we both love people, we both love to be around our family, and we both get deeply wounded when people don't notice or appreciate us. We drive each other absolutely crazy, and no one shows me how short I fall than her; moving away was probably the single best thing for our relationship. We are very much alike.
     I do not write much about my dad. It is not because there aren't stories of grace, mercy, and love where he is concerned, but rather because he is nothing like me.
     My mom once administered a personality test to my dad and I side by side. With each question we were to answer on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being that the statements sounded most like us, 1 being that the statement didn't sound like us at all. Whenever I would shout out an enthusiastic 10, my dad would say something like "Is there an option lower than a 1." We are opposites.
      Where I am loud and outgoing, he is quiet and reserved. Where I prefer to be the center of attention, he prefers to sink as much into the background as possible. When we would have parties I would seek out the action, and my dad could often be found outside, unless of course the party was outside, then he would be found inside. He is a man of few words, while I am a woman of too many.
      In reflecting on my dad, I often gravitate towards his quiet nature. He isn't one to make bold declarations of love, but I learned in college that his "I got your oil changed and put gas in your car" was just as much a statement of love as a hallmark card.
      Most people reflect a lot on the great things their dads have said to them that have molded them and shaped them, but I really think that I am equally shaped by the many things my dad never said to me. Those silences, whether intentional or not, helped to form and shape me as much as the words did.
       Here are a few of the things my dad never said:
       My dad never told me to go change my clothes. I don't know if he ever wanted to or not, but his silence on this matter gave me a lot of confidence. It taught me that I was a human being, and not just a sexual object to cover. I have a lot less baggage to work through than many of my friends, about body image, because I was never told to "cover up" or change.
      My dad never told me to change my hair. When I walked into the house at 18 with my blonde hair dyed black, my dad didn't say a single thing about it. I had no need to rebel, to push boundaries or limits, because my dad didn't make a big deal out of things like hair and makeup. He let me be my own person with very little commentary, which made me a person who is far less judgmental of the people around me, and a person who didn't need to push the envelope to feel complete.
      My dad never told me who I could and couldn't date. He trusted me enough as a young adult and adult to make good decisions. If I had asked, I'm sure he would have given his opinion, but he never came out guns blazing about needing to protect me, or the type of guy I should be with. I never had to bring a bad boy home just to frustrate my father, I never had to try and impress him, I just had space to learn who I liked without the fear of approval or disapproval from a parent.
      My dad never said "you can't do that, you are a girl". I would talk a lot about my dreams and aspirations in life. I'd talk about crazy things I wanted to do, and to this day I have never once heard my dad say "you can't do that" for any reason at all. My gender, my financial status, my personality, none of that ever came into play. I always believed, and continue to believe I can do things, partly because I was never told I can't.
      My dad never said "ewww" when I asked him to pick up more feminine products from the store. He never made my being female seem like a chore or a burden, or gross, he just did it. (Which is another one of those silent ways he let us know he loves us). One time when I was home sick with horrible menstrual cramps, I vomited all over in my bed (I know, really gross), and when I got up and told my dad, he didn't say anything, he just came in and helped me change the sheets.
      My dad never said "stop talking". I am 100% sure he wanted to a thousand and a half times, maybe he did once or twice, but I don't remember. What I remember are car rides home where I would literally talk his ear off for 20 minutes straight about all the goings on of the day, that I'm sure he cared very little about, and he would just smile and nod, probably partly happy that he didn't have to talk. That helped me find my voice, and to feel like I had something worthwhile to say. That expressing my opinion and thoughts was important enough to take the time to listen to, and if my dad is nothing else, he is a phenomenal listener.
     My dad never said "I wish our lawn was greener/ I wish our house was bigger/ I wish we could go on vacation to _________". Whenever we ask my dad what he wants for his birthday, father's day, or Christmas we usually get a variation of the same answer "nothing." One of my sister's once said "I think Dad is genuinely the most content person on the planet. When he says he doesn't want anything, he really doesn't want anything." We never had a lot, but we always had enough. He is quietly generous with what he has, and he is perfectly content spending hours reading books, playing solitaire, and drinking tea. With my outgoing and constantly trying to do more way, it is helpful to watch someone who is perfectly content to just be.
      He is not perfect by any means, and there are probably times he should speak when he doesn't, but I think as I grow older I am learning to appreciate his quiet ways more and more, especially as the world seems to get increasingly louder and louder. So I am grateful for the things my father taught me when he wasn't talking, because I know I have been shaped by so many things he never said.

This entry was posted on Friday, June 17, 2016. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response.

Leave a Reply