Fathers should neither be seen nor heard. That is the only proper basis for family life. Oscar Wilde, An Ideal Husband, 1895
My Dad's method of parenting was almost opaque, you couldn't see much of it. He was a benevolent presence but mostly absent due to his job. His style of parenting was to quickly give the information about your crime and leave the scene ASAP. For example, I'm not sure what my transgression was but something I did infuriated my Mom. Normally she handled it herself, with swift repercussions or a reprimand and it was over. But she was on a kick to get Dad more involved with the parenting and she must have said something to him. When he came home, he walked through the room where I was doing my home work and said, "you're punished." That was it. I looked up quizzically. For all I know I'm still punished because there was never any consequences. But think, I'm still puzzled, so it did strike a chord. Granted the chord was amusement as I aged, but still...
In a way, it's really sad. Dad really didn't know what to do with us kids. There is no question that he loved all of us, but he was clueless. This was probably because he was the baby of his record breaking dysfunctional family. [for proof see the post "Anxiety as Energy" of 3/25/11] He had no guidelines and certainly no mentors that were admirable. Happily for all of us he was a good, kind, remarkably intelligent and funny man who did rise to the occasion as we all aged.
We owned what became a very popular restaurant in the Chicago area and the reason that it was popular was not just because the food was good. It was him. He worked insane hours, 14 hour days were usual, and greeted everyone who walked through that front door like they were long lost friends. People adored him and kept coming back for more. Due to the work load, he was rarely home except an occasional Sunday and always Monday nights. He truly made the most of his time off, and crazy though it seems, Mom and Dad frequently let people from the restaurant follow them home on Sunday night and have a party. I'm still laughing about them waking sister Trisha up to play the piano. She says about those parties "I loved it, I'd fling the rollers out of my hair and go downstairs and play for hours." On a School night! I don't think you'll find this recommended in the parenting books.
What else you won't find recommended in the parenting books is my Dad's driving methods. He learned to drive vehicles that should never have been on the road, held together by string and tape. This was the mid 1930's and these were the kind of cars and trucks that you had to 'double clutch' to change gears. He never developed a natural response to an 'automatic' transmission and drove with both feet, one on the gas, the other on the brake. "Do as I say, not as I do, Sue" he frequently said, as he drove this way at a blistering pace. Most absurdly he drove like this to the race track to place his bets in between lunch and dinner at the restaurant.
Another of his tiny flaws was his drinking: lots of it. Part of it was the era, people back in the 40' through the 60's to my recollection drank a gross amount of booze. However, this could just be me, what I was witness to. But this was another in the series of 'do what I say, not as I do' school of parenting. Happily for us he was a fun loving drinker. This was problematic in that it caused no end of confusion for those of us who went out in the world and had to deal with obnoxious, and worse, even violent drunks.
A woman drove me to drink and I never even had the courtesy to thank her. W.C. Fields
When the relatives would come over on Sundays, both sets of Grandparents, and of course the 'Betty-will-bring-the-beans' Hewitts, they would drink beer and have a BBQ in our back yard. The Grandpa's would give us quarters [a fortune in those days] to fetch the beers and joked with us which we loved. The Grandma's, but really my Mom, would be fixing the food. When the party really got rolling they'd pitch the empty cans into a cardboard box for points. See what I mean? Not exactly the picture most families have of excessive drinking. For our excessive drinkers it was mostly singing and beer can pitching. If there was anything more serious I certainly wasn't aware of it.
Dad's best parenting skills involved the restaurant. He was a good boss, "the best!" said many of his old employees who came to his funeral. And everyone of us kids got to work with him at the restaurant. I did from the age of fourteen through twenty, and at that restaurant got to be parented. He gave directions and wanted everything to be lovely, or as he said, "simple and elegant" and strived for that in all of the operations of the restaurant. He was gentle in his instruction and frequently made fun of our gaffes. The time I walked out of the kitchen with a full tray of dinners and inadvertently sprayed french fries all over the floor. I was so embarrassed I kept walking right back into the kitchen. I was also laughing really hard but then so was he. The time I made a customer fish the silverware out of my apron pocket [when he told that story he always claimed it was the dinner rolls but, as God as my witness, he said that just for a bigger laugh], he found out about it and roared. Remember, I was in my teens... Anyway you get my drift.
Dad was never harsh but fair. The bartender who was nipping extra tips out of the cash drawer was fired promptly though graciously, the married bartender who was having an affair with a young waitress also was let go with no explosion. He kept Bruno, our main bartender, who I'm quite sure never once voluntarily smiled at a customer because as Dad said, "he came with the place, he was the Blum's brother, and honest as the day was long." Fair, appropriate, good business skills and gracious, these are excellent traits to pass on to one's children.
He had his blind spots and kept the waitress, Ciel and Rose, who also "came with the place." They worked lunches. Ciel was harsh and very old [I'm smirking, as they were probably about my age now which isn't old at all to me] but an efficient waitress and made excellent coleslaw. He kept Rose who had mild B.O. but would laugh uproariously with the customers and adored my Dad. Anyone else, especially in this day and age would have summarily fired them. He kept them on and they rewarded him with incredible loyalty and devotion. [Are there any big companies in America left who value their employees like this?]
So, unlike Oscar Wilde's admonition Dad did become a more visible presence, especially after his bi-pass surgery and he soon decided to retire. He was only sixty and those of us who witnessed how diligently he worked feared that he would be bored out of his skull in retirement. Quite the opposite! He relished the time away with no oppressive obligations and eventhough he was 'the host with the most' he truly was basically more introverted than any of us realized.
We, and Mom, got to enjoy seven more years of him, all wishing to the depths of our souls that it could have been more. I treasure those visits and the grand reunions which were all delightful celebrations. I wish he was around to see the family now: twenty great grandchildren and counting, he would have embraced and loved each one. I miss him still.
susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved
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