FATHERING
FATHERING
BY JOHN TUFT
Two nights before I flew out here to Los Angeles, my son brought me a backpack full of papers that he had been saving for me. It was a collection of documents from the year 2016. As I began to go through them, I discovered a letter about going into a nursing home. As I have told you in this space previously, I was in bad shape. The Presbyterian Church, the same folks who now ban my stories from their Facebook group, offered to let my family use my death benefits toward the cost of such an endeavor. As sobering as that news was to me, I kept going through copies of my will, medical power of attorney, and the like. Then came one page of notes from an office visit to my doctor. On the bottom was written, “When I have all your records, I will admit you to hospice care.” I stared at the words. It had all really happened. In 2016, it was time to die. A few more papers and there was the DNR form. No heroic measures were to be undertaken to revive me if my heart stopped.
I saved those two pieces of paper and put them with my important papers that I carry with me. It is nine years later and there is no way I could have predicted the course of events. And over 300 of these stories later, I have told you most of the events that followed. Including the irony of the time my heart actually stopped beating during a full-on brain seizure and the doctor quietly apologizing to me about missing the DNR in my chart. After he revived me. Life wasn’t done with me yet. There were a couple of years of darkness that still lay ahead for me, but at least it was a darkness I. could leave behind eventually.
As the saying goes, life comes at you fast. Nowhere is that more evident than in fathering. Having a child delivered unto us is being called upon to deliver one heroic measure after another. Diaper duty to dance lessons. Endless pouting to endless praying. Turning their self-doubt to self-worth. Listening to fears and listing their strengths. Perhaps working at jobs to deliver their happiness more than our own. Worrying the night away because their safety is paramount. Trips through the rain or snow to pick up what is needed, or to retrieve them from a sleepover that went awry. Endless heartfelt gifts that mean nothing to anyone else but mean the world to you. Providing a home, regardless of how it manifests. It is a sacred trust, which is why it offends all of our sensibilities when we learn of those who violate that trust required for fathering.
Johnson is a long-haul truck driver. Back in Oklahoma he has a wife and three children. He can be gone for long weeks at a time. Driving an 18-wheeler is how he provides for his family. Darlene, his wife, takes care of everything while he is on the road. Birthdays, holidays, even anniversaries are missed due to his schedule. These circumstances do not lessen their love for each other. They find ways to stay connected. Late night phone chats, unexpected notes left for each other, the times Darlene finds a babysitter and drives three hours each way for a half hour with Johnson at the terminal in Tulsa. The fathering of the three children fills Johnson with pride and hope.
In the summertime, he takes turns with the kids, taking them along on his journey. He wants them to know why he is gone so much, and he is also giving Darlene a break as best he can from always being on full Mom duty. One or two at a time, the children pack a bag and bring along video games to pass the long hours on the road. They get to eat with Dad at the glamorous truck stops and cafes that keep the truckers rolling. They are witnesses to the very thing that houses them, feeds and clothes them. They are also witnesses to the long, tedious hours and the ache of long separation. But they do not hear Johnson complain about any of it. He is resolute, accessible, hardworking and undaunted.
One summer week it is the oldest son, Ricky’s, turn to go with his dad on the road. Ricky is 8 at the time. One night they are cruising through Texas, and Ricky watches his dad guiding the behemoth through the darkness. Ahead of them is a sea of red taillights and oncoming headlights. Music is playing on the radio, and Ricky is mesmerized by the journey and is lulled to sleep. He is awakened by a strange sound that he cannot at first identify. He looks to his father, and he hears great, wrenching sobs coming from this man of iron. The oncoming headlights are reflected in the tears streaming down dad’s face. Ricky is strangely quieted by what he sees. Lost in his pain and anguish, Johnson rolls down the window and begins shouting into the darkness: “Darlene, honey, I love you. I’m sorry baby. Darlene, I need you, baby. I love you…” on and on into the void. Ricky closes his eyes again and pretends to sleep, seeing his father now in a new light. Fathering is about love, in ways seen and unseen. Known and unknown…
Words are magic and writers are wizards.
