Family
For My Dad…
My father asked me to write his eulogy while he was still alive. At first, I hesitated, trying to avoid that fear that overwhelms me when I think about him dying. My dad, die? No. That cannot happen. But it does happen – it did happen – in a moment I least expected.
Death happens before we can stop to realize we’ve taken someone for granted; before we can stop to really say thank you. It happens to families all the time.
In 2005, I wrote my dad’s eulogy. And this year, I needed it. I’m glad I did it in advance. I got to tell him the things I really wanted to share … things I’m now glad he knew before he died. He read these sentiments while he was still alive, when he could embrace my gratitude and be proud of the impact he truly made on my life.
And so, this eulogy is for my living dad ….
“Other things may change us, but we start and end with family.”
I remember a lot about my childhood…flashbacks of events, familiar smells, sounds of church bells on the corner, a sense of being loved…always a sense of being loved. All of these things are knotted in my core and shape who I am. And, what is remarkable to me is that although I know very little about my actual family history, I do have a very tangible sense of what constitutes a family. The values and priorities of the family ingrain every part of who I am and shape almost every decision I make. Nowhere else is there such a great sense of loyalty, for me; never a greater sense of pride or allegiance; no higher level of responsibility than that of a person to her family. It is deep. It is who I am. It is my dad.
As little girls, my sister and I benefitted from having a mom who was able to stay home with us because my dad went to work. He worked hard, and with one company for many years. People don’t do that anymore. And on some Saturdays when he went to work, he would ask me to come with him. I remember the early wake-up on those Saturday mornings when the sun was just breaking the horizon and the dew was still wet on the grass. I remember the smell of the coffee pot dripping and the taste of the toast we shared at the kitchen table. I remember the drive into the city in my dad’s car… the car that took many of his spare moments; moments he spent under the hood or on his back in the driveway. He didn’t have a brand new car until he retired. Instead, we had a nice house, a private school education, and a vacation every year that took us to the sandy shore. We would hold hands in the surf and jump the waves, stopping between rushes of water to taste the salty ocean on our lips and to savor the warmth of the sun on our tanned cheeks. His were almost always sunburnt. We grew up with a sense of “being taken care of.” When I think about those Saturday morning rides into town, I can still sense what it felt like to be with my dad…just him and I. Those moments he pulled me away with him are precious to me.
There were rules in our house. We knew right from wrong. Sometimes we listened; sometimes we didn’t. But one rule that always stuck was about the telephone and dinnertime. Dinner in our house was 6:00 p.m. That’s when dad got home. And when he got home, we sat down for dinner. He did not tolerate interruptions. Our dinner table was filled with conversation…reflections about our day, news about schools, things coming up. And if the phone rang during our shared family time, the caller was always told we were having dinner. Friends knew not to call until after 7, and telemarketers didn’t stand a chance! It was in those moments…from 6:00 to 7:00 every night…that we were a family free from interruptions. We were together, gathered around a table. Together. My dad made that a priority. He lived what he thought was important. And every night, even though he worked all day, he cleared the table and did the dishes. He was a true partner with my mom in our family.
My dad knew how to fix stuff. We never paid for something he could do himself. I remember holding a shovel in the backyard, the earth dug out to my ankles, sweating in the summer heat as he and my sister and I worked to dig the foundation for the part of the house my dad built. In so many ways, our house was the home my dad built. Together with my mom, he dug so many of the foundations that make me who I am today. The years were filled with lots of sweat, our fair share of tears, but so many more laughs. And no matter what, my dad was the cement of it all…holding his girls together.
I can remember when I was learning how to drive. On a sunny afternoon, dad and I ventured out in the full-sized station wagon so that I could begin maneuvering the local roads. I remember my hesitation as he directed me onto a long and windy road…the most difficult in our neighborhood. Moving along those curves, under the trees next to the cool creek, I also remember a feeling of trust, a sense that I could make that drive work, that someone believed in me. That someone was my dad. For my entire life I have thrived off of his confidence in me. That confidence followed me through grade school and led me to achieve. It followed me through high school and into college. It was with me the day I graduated from Neumann and on the day I left Rosemont. As I stood before my class to deliver the commencement address, I remember being grateful for my dad’s height. I could see him over the crowd. I was glad he was there, again navigating me down a road on which I had not yet traveled, believing in me and urging me to give my life’s journey yet another push of the gas. Oh, so many times it would have been easier to just turn the car around and take the familiar road. So many times, the road less traveled was scary and uncertain. But every time, every single time, I know I had the support of my dad. Even if he didn’t always agree, he had my back. I am so, so grateful.
My dad taught me the importance of family.
He taught me to value truth and the understanding that comes from communication.
He taught me that hard work is important not only in providing life’s necessities, but in teaching one the value of free time.
He taught me that knowing the answer is not always the most important part of the question.
He taught me what to expect of myself…and what to expect from others.
He taught me not to take life too seriously…to spend time having fun.
He taught me to be brave.
Most importantly, my dad demonstrated every single day the power that love plays in our lives. The way he loved my mother, the way me loved me and my sister, the way he was generous and kind to strangers…have all made impacts on my life.
And so, this is in fact a eulogy for a living dad. I will carry him with me everywhere I go for the rest of my life.
I love you, Dad.
The Divorce that Broke the Internet
I heard on the radio today that the breakup of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie actually broke the internet. I’m not sure if that’s exactly accurate, but when I heard the report I was immediately struck by it. I mean, it would take a lot of people to actually break the internet, right?
True statement or not, I have no doubt about people’s curiosity to read the gossip. What I do wonder about, however, is their motivation for being so interested. It’s not like Brad Pitt is some hot handyman in the neighborhood and now all the single women have a shot with him (and yes, I’m assuming that most news seekers in this case are women. Terrible how I’m perpetuating a stereotype, I know). But as I think about it, I believe there are probably two reasons for people’s curiosity: people are either saddened or shocked by the celebrity breakup; or people find some kind of relief in being able to relate to it.
Relationships end all the time. We’ve all known seemingly perfect couples who have called it quits for one reason or another. After all, it is so easy to judge a relationship from the outside with statements like, “Oh, they seemed so happy,” or “They were so good together.” The truth is that we never really know the secrets of a relationship; the things that happen – or don’t happen – in private. It may even be true that in some cases, one of the people in the actual relationship is struggling to understand the breakup, not sure why the person they held closest to them decided to disengage or call it quits.
While Brad and Angelina appeared to the world to be the perfect power couple – blessed with fame and fortune, and enough love to adopt children from all over the world – the media is now in the business of citing blame for the breakup. And as more and more people speculate about what happened to cause such an upheaval, more and more reasons for the split are revealed. I guess I don’t understand why there has to be a victim; why there always has to be someone blamed. I’m stuck on the basics of the story: two people who loved each other have decided that it’s not in their best interest to be together, and in the wake of their relationship stand six children of a broken home. Celebrities or not, these are still people. This is a story full of disappointment and loss. Somewhere in the middle of “happily ever after” and divorce, I bet there was also a lot of turmoil and difficult decisions. Perhaps people pay attention to the story because what looked like a strong and good partnership turned into something very ordinary and disappointing.
In addition to those who might see the sadness in the Brangelina breakup are also those who, I think, find some comfort in it. How many of us experience a breakup and are left wondering, “What could I have done differently?” Even more often, I think people begin to question themselves, making “what if” statements about losing weight, being more patient, having more sex, etc. But to witness the breakup of a couple that was so celebrated seems to say, “Look, even Brad and Angelina aren’t perfect.” And in that statement, there’s an opportunity for all of us to be just a little kinder to ourselves. I mean if they couldn’t make it with all their money and privilege, how will we? Right?
When this story’s 15 minutes of fame are over, the truth is that there will still be a family affected. With a divorce rate in the United States somewhere around 50%, a break-up like this – along with Taylor Swift songs and country music – remind those of us who have had failed relationships that we are not alone. And once again we are reminded that while money is great to have, it can’t buy us happiness and it sure as hell doesn’t buy love.
Sharing Expectations
It occurred to me today that we’re all at least just a little bit broken. Life circumstance, experience, or nurturing cause us to have parts that we hide from others. Every day we get up, put our best faces on, and go out to take on the world. But underneath the surface is always some nagging thing that tells our whole story. More often than not, it is those things – the things we don’t often speak of – that shape how we approach work, relationships, and even opportunities for ourselves.
I was recently watching an episode of the Showtime series Billions (which I could go on and on about – such a smart show). The billionaire says to his therapist, “People withhold crucial information all the time. We learn to manage our expectations about those closest to us, don’t we? So they don’t turn into mistrust or paranoia.”
Is that true? Do our closest relationships rely on how well we manage our expectations of others?
I think it is fair to say that every relationship comes with expectations. What’s an interesting think-about, however, is how those expectations get developed and agreed upon. For example, I think it is the rare couple who actually sits and outlines expectations when a relationship is in a healthy place. Instead, conversations about expectations usually happen when one person hurts another – intentionally or not. It is in those moments of hurt that someone says, “I just expected more.”
Why is it that we so often talk about setting expectations at work, but rarely talk about them in a relationship? Maybe in love we just take some things for granted because they are the socially acceptable doctrines we think we need to believe and accept. Things like monogamy, honesty, reliability, and loyalty are just sort of assumed expectations in a relationship. But should they be? The answer, I think, depends on the needs of the people in the actual relationship.
My point here isn’t to debate what kinds of qualities each partner must bring to a relationship. Rather, it is to suggest that every relationship is different; and the needs of people are wide and varied. I have been on the receiving end of the statement, “Your expectations are just too high” on more than one occasion. And in those circumstances, maybe my expectations were too high for the other person to meet. I think we get so wrapped up in trying to be everything to everyone that we rarely stop to actually think about or verbalize what we need from someone else. Most dangerously, we impose the golden rule of “do unto others” in many situations where the other person’s needs are dramatically different from our own. Never would I suggest that a person compromise the things that are truly important to them for the sake of a relationship. Instead, what I often wonder is if a failed relationship would have stood a better chance if a conversation happened long before the let-down did.
That Confusing Thing Called Love
I’ve been thinking a lot this week about the reasons people stay with each other; why, despite certain shortcomings in a relationship, people decide to stick around. My observations are just that: observations. There is no judgment in my perspectives or in the conclusions I have made. Perhaps you will see yourself in some of them; perhaps you can offer something I haven’t considered. In any case, I’ve noticed that people say “I love you” for a variety of reasons.
History: I have a friend who calls or texts me every few months (sometimes the gap between is longer). The gist of the correspondence is always the same: life is crazy, he misses me, and he says he loves me. On the rare occasion I actually get to see this friend, the sentiments are the same, expressed in a more emphatic way. And whenever he says, “I love you,” I can’t help but wonder why. In reality, the person he loves is the person I was 20 years ago when we spent much more time together. Truthfully, he barely knows the person I am today. Instead, he is in love with memories of who we once were. Still, when he says “I love you,” I think he means it. I represent history for him; a time when we were younger, when our cares were fewer, and when there was an awful lot of fun to be had. I wonder, still, if we really got to know our 40-something-year-old selves, if he would still proclaim a love for the person I’ve become. I’d like to think so. But honestly, I’m just not sure. I guess being in love with a memory is an ok thing. I have to admit, I kind of like the reminder of the girl I once was.
Security: A friend shared a conversation with me that she’d had with her boyfriend (a label she doesn’t use, but I use here because it is the closest thing I can think of to describe their relationship). The man is in love with her; she is not in love with him and has been honest with him about that. Recently, during an argument in which he was pushing her to commit more seriously than she’d like, she told him that he serves as a security blanket for her life; that in the absence of anyone else, she knows she can always go to him for help, for understanding, and for support. He makes her feel special. She said that to imagine her life without him in it is scary for her. But, she told him, she is not in love and she doesn’t see herself ever falling in love with him. Brutal, right? Maybe. Sometimes the truth hurts. But I give her kudos for being honest. He is informed and can make an educated decision about staying or leaving. So many times, we stay in a relationship for the security of what it represents or because we are simply afraid to be alone. In my friend’s case, the same may be true. But her ability to be honest left the decision to stay or go up to him. He chose to stay. I guess being a security net is ok as long as one doesn’t become a doormat.
Family: On a recent episode of one of my favorite shows, an Arabian king and his wife sought help with infertility. When the woman was told that the issue was hers and that she would never bear children for her husband, the woman commented that her husband would have to take another wife (harems are common in their culture). However, she also noted that she would not be able to stay with him; that the pain of not being the mother of his children would be too great for her to bear. She commented that a man loves the mother of his children differently than he could ever love any other woman. (I assume this is true in reverse as well.) Even as I’ve talked to American men about their marriages and asked them, “Do you love your wife?”, many say, “She is the mother of my children.” Family is a motivating factor in love, no doubt. I’m not sure it is ever a reason to stay in a relationship that makes one miserable, but still the bond between people who share a child is certainly remarkable.
Sex: I’m not sure I need to comment much on this one. The confusion between lust and love is one that’s existed for centuries. I will just say, however, that I do know people whose lives might be better served if the compatibility they demonstrate in the bedroom translated to the same give and take in everyday life. Conversely, I know couples whose passion for each other and for building a life together transcends well beyond the bedroom. These people are the happiest people I know.
These are certainly just a few of the reasons that people say “I love you.” And certainly, none are as cut and dry as words imply. As a final reflection I just share this: love is a VERB. It is not a state of being. It isn’t stagnant. For me, to love someone means that I will make a consistent effort to share myself with another person in a mutually beneficial way. So often, we hear people say “I love him, but I’m not IN love with him.” Perhaps we are only “in love” when we are actively pursuing it – when love is not a noun, but an action. And maybe it is that action of love that is most important. It is a choice, an empowerment, a willful choosing to live beyond our own wants and needs. I believe that when we act in love, we are living our best life, accentuating all the positive things we find not only in another, but deep within ourselves.
What’s in a Name?
When Romeo and Juliet fall in love in Shakespeare’s tale of star-crossed lovers, they know that they are doomed. As members of two warring families, it is simply their last names that curse their love and stand as a barrier. Juliet, herself, asks the very poignant question, “What’s in a name?” She argues that a “rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.”
That question of “what’s in a name” resonates with me this week as I ponder a conversation I had with a dear friend. For while that rose may in fact smell just as sweet if it were called a lemon, how would one know or associate the qualities to others if there weren’t a commonly recognized name?
This is a particularly relevant question for me. Now married for almost 10 years, the question of name was a big deal for me as we considered our wedding. Engaged in my 30s, I had already spent three decades with my last name. People knew me by it. My achievements up to that point were tied to it. It honors my dad, who only has girls. To change my name was more than just changing words on my driver’s license and business card. It would mean also cutting the familiar ties of name association that people held to me and a complete rebranding of myself. But what if I like my brand? What if it works for me?
The person with whom I had my conversation this week is a woman. To clarify, she is perhaps one of the most influential women in my life. She is smart and strong, and caring and brave, and successful. I consider her a mentor. She has been married more than once. Every time she married, she changed her name. And I think she is sorry she did.
I was sharing a story with my friend about an experience I recently had that I describe as “the best thing that happened to me all year.” And it was. This experience brought me joy and fulfillment, and it energized me around talents I quite honestly almost forgot that I had. And the reason I was presented with this opportunity? It was all because of name recognition. In fact, if I had changed my name when I married, it is very likely that the connections necessary for me to have had this opportunity may have never happened. That would have been a shame.
I know there are many women who would argue the benefits of taking their husband’s name. Some feel as if the name is a gift, offered to them in love; that when they assume it, they are solidifying the family unit. Others will question how a family is recognized when mom and dad have different surnames. In some families, there is a prestige associated with the husband’s name. And there are others who just think it’s the “right” thing to do. In fact, studies show that more than 90% of women still change their names when they get married and 50% of Americans think you should be legally required to take your husband’s name. Legally required. What???
Let me clarify that I take absolutely no issue with a woman who changes her name. I also take no issue with men who choose to take their wives’ names (although the numbers there are dramatically less). But I also don’t think that a woman is any less of a good, strong partner if she chooses to hold onto the name she’s spent a lifetime building. I also think that more women should at least consider the option of keeping their name before they walk down the aisle.
My mother used to always say to me that, if at the end of the day, I could look at myself in the mirror and be proud of the person who looked back, I was doing ok. I work hard to be that person. And my name is associated with that work. So, while Romeo, out of passion for Juliet, is very willing to reject his family name and be “baptized” as Juliet’s lover, I would argue that the real crisis in Shakespeare’s work is not the feud between families, but the eagerness to abandon who you really are in the name of love.
Characteristically Speaking 