Interesting People,  Thoughts

Like Father, Like Daughter

In celebration of Father’s Day, this post is dedicated to my dad.

In one of my favorite Friends episodes, Rachel Green says, “Oh my God. I’ve become my father. I’ve been trying so hard not to become my mother, I didn’t see this coming.”

Word, girlfriend.

As women, we tend to emulate our mothers. And just like Rachel, I really didn’t see this one coming. I didn’t realize that as the years progressed, I had turned into my father. My sixteen-year-old self would never believe this to be possible. But we’ve come so far from the turmoil of my teenage existence; I think my younger self would be proud at the people that both my father and I have become.

It hadn’t even occurred to me that this was even a possibility, until one afternoon when I was making my coffee. I was leaning against the counter, waiting for the water to boil, when it really hit me—I had seen my dad do this same pose, millions of times. My childhood is dotted with smells and sounds that remind me of where I come from. The sound of an electric coffee grinder, followed closely by the unmistakable waft of coffee always brings me back to my dad’s yellow-countered kitchen. I can feel the softness of the decorative rug that is placed in front of the kitchen sink. I hear NPR playing quietly from a radio that was most likely built in 1873. He doesn’t make coffee like most people living in this century—he will never buy a Keurig, nor an electric coffee pot. He makes it with a coffee filter cone, fresh ground coffee and boiling water– by the cup.

I made fun of him for years for this habit. Who makes coffee like that? I would tease him. He would shrug, smile and continue making coffee like the founding fathers did.

So what is my dad like? What qualities does this man possess that I see reflected in myself at times?

Honesty.

My dad is probably the most honest person I know. While this sounds like a compliment, it sometimes is not. He doesn’t feel the need for little white lies or shielding someone’s feelings—he says exactly what he means, 100% of the time. As a teenager, this trait was hard for me to accept, as it tended to hurt my tender, anxty feelings. (Like the time I had picked at my acne, and had an angry scab between my eyes. I was hoping no one would notice. My dad took one look at me and said, “Aw, it looks like you’ve gotta pepperoni on your face.” And then laughed hysterically.) But I appreciate it now. It’s something I try to employ—cut through the bullshit and keep it real.

Curiosity.

He is very inquisitive. He will ask the questions no one would dare, and is enthralled by people’s answers. If you are different from him, he will want to know why. If you have a belief, he will want to discuss it.

Argumentative.

This man will debate you about anything. HOWEVER, most of the time he will also listen to what you’re saying. The most productive arguments are ones in which both parties come away having learned something new and expanded their viewpoint. Some of my favorite memories of my father are sitting in his living room, drinking wine and screaming at each other. The conversation will always start the same way: Have you heard about…? This will either be followed by avid agreement, both of us citing our sources and yelling in accord OR in a 45-minute screaming match with a lot of spitting and hand gestures.

Kind.

The man is an onion. You may have to rip off some layers to see the full range of his kindness. But he is. I am continually surprised at his thoughtfulness and his ability to slip into someone else’s shoes for a moment. I only hope that my shoe obsession will lend me this same fortitude.

Educated.

I don’t mean this in a pretentious sense; he isn’t attending Harvard seminars and bragging about it on social media. He is reading articles, watching documentaries, and starting conversations with randos on the street. He is always learning, adapting his thoughts and taking in other viewpoints.

Outdoors-y

I grew up being forced into nature. My dad had a no-bullshit approach to the outdoors that included backpacking in the woods for five days in lieu of vacationing in Hawaii (or wherever all of the cool people were going). His idea of a hike was taking a water bottle and a Power Bar, and setting out into the sun with no destination. I was amazed when I went on a hike with one of my friends and her dad ran ahead and hid Oreos for us, to keep our little bodies motivated. My dad’s motivation? Keep up or you’ll be alone. And as much as I hated this as a child, I’ve turned into an adult who loves the outdoors. I have been kayaking, white water rafting, backpacking and snow shoeing—and experienced all of them at a young age. And now, as a mother of three, I am determined to give my children that same experience. I know they won’t appreciate it now, but if luck has it, someday they will all be just like their mother, and her father before her.

These habits and personality traits that I have witnessed in my dad over a generation have ingrained themselves in me. They’ve woven themselves into the fabric of my own life, so they don’t fit exactly the same on me. But they’re there. Sitting beneath the surface.

I am the vegan at the Super Bowl party that lectures people on chicken wings. I have a laundry list of places that I refuse to shop, due to their corporate policies, actions or ingredients. I can’t handle it when people throw recycling into the trash, or burn things that they shouldn’t. I like exploring, meeting people, hearing their stories. I adore debate and discourse. And I love my coffee made by the cup, using a filter cone, just as Thomas Jefferson did before me.

I am my father’s daughter.

 

 

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3 Comments

  • Jim Dodds

    Richardo:

    This is another keeper from daughter C. I remember one about fifteen years ago. You are a lucky man. Jim

  • Ted Toal

    You pegged him right on. And those are the reasons I too love the guy and sometimes hate him.

    Yep, funny how we end up realizing we are much more like our parents than we ever wanted or thought would happen. We struggle to be COMPLETELY different from them, and in the end, we find we are like them. That’s genetics for you.