My father grew up in The Great Depression. He was the eldest of three brothers and was raised by his mother. While my grandmother went out to work to support her children, she set my father as the titular head of the family who was thus ‘in charge’ of his younger siblings.
The result of such dire action (besides two younger brothers who resented him) was a cemented belief in his authority and ultimate correctness. He didn’t take orders from anyone, except perhaps his mother.
He brought this attitude into his role as husband, father, teacher and band leader. I remember his edict that his decisions were law, he was always correct and was never to be questioned. “This is not a democracy”, he would remind us when there were stirrings of resentment or dissension.
I learned a lot from my father. I learned to listen to my children. I learned that no one is always right and there’s a possibility that my decisions might be in error. I learned that substituting “no” with “let me sleep on it” had way more satisfying effects. I learned that apologizing (as challenging as that is sometimes) is way more appropriate than stubbornly holding my position.
We all learn from our parents. Some lessons are positive and others not so much. But the opportunity to learn, to not make the same mistakes and grow as a person is all there if we’re open to the experience.
When I hear, “That’s how my parents did it”, I reflexively cringe, at least until I learn whether the lesson was positive or not. We are who we are because of our parents. What we do with it is our choice.
My father, may he rest in peace, had a very big personality. He was a product of his time and circumstance. I miss him, even if he never admitted to any faults, flaws or mistakes.
