I don't know how it is now, but back in the 60s and 70s teenagers were prone to calling their parents old. My Old Man. My Old Lady. Did you ask your Old Man? What about your Old Lady? Boys or girls, they all used the term. Well, mostly all. I happen to know of one who didn't.
The name was not considered complimentary, not by the parents and not by the teenagers who coined it. So why use it? Am I implying that no teenagers loved or respected their parents? No. I think the reason most teenagers (and I am, of course, talking about teenagers who grew up within my school district - few hundred at best) used the term was: a) it identified them with the other teenagers in school; b) it separated them from their parents' thinking.
For whatever reason, I could not bring myself to use the term. Dad was - Dad. Mother was Mother, or Mom. To her face, she was Mom. To my friends she was Mother. But Dad was always Dad. Anything else felt sacriligious.
So imagine my surprise when one day, while laying on the sofa in the basement and watching television, Dad comes into the room, sits in the recliner across from me, stares at me for about five minutes, then offers this: "You don't think much of the Old Man, do you?"
Oh, good, I thought. He's drunk, and I'm the focus of his attention. What a gorgeous day!
With Dad, time was important. Don't waste his. At the same time, don't say anything stupid. Dad didn't like stupid. "You aren't stupid!" He would declare, as if we were arguing we were. And then when you said something, he would follow up with, "Why that's just stupid!" (or bunk) I needed time to collect my thoughts.
"Um, what?" (This worked [once] even when Dad was drunk. He knew teenagers are notoriously deaf.)
"I said, You don't think much of the Old Man, do you? That's what you call me, isn't it? Old Man? When you talk to your friends about me, you call me Old Man, don't you?"
"No."
It would never cease to amaze me how I could derail my Dad's entire train of thought by simply telling him the truth right off. He never expected me to begin with the truth (which hurt, because I never lied to him), and most of the time he didn't believe me when I gave it to him. But sometimes he could tell. I don't know what the 'tells' were he saw, but that day he knew I wasn't lying.
"You don't?"
"No."
"So what do you call me then?"
"Dad."
"Dad?"
"Yes."
"What do your friends call their dads?"
"Old Man."
"Why don't you?"
A teenage shrug (yes, there is such a thing). "Because you're Dad."
End of discussion.
My dad was an alcholic, but he was so cool in a lot of ways. And he was man. I mean a MAN. Not just some guy. And no one doubted it for a moment. Well, one poor slob did (laugh laugh), but that's another story I'll try to remember to tell you some other time. Despite being a true man, I only saw my dad express his true feelings a few times. Three times I remember seeing him cry (the last was because of me, for which I have a very hard time forgiving myself). But probably the most tender moment was when he told us, his children, that he loved his best friend, Alfred. He didn't bother trying to explain it, but we knew it wasn't a gay thing (actually, the term back then was far more insulting, but I won't use it here). When Lynahr laughed and Judayl made jokes, Dad did not get angry. He just repeated his love statement.
I didn't laugh. It wasn't funny. I understood what Dad was doing. Guys didn't admit they loved guys. But Men did. Dad was a Man. He loved his wife and he loved his children. He also loved his friends. What was funny to me was Dad said it to us like it was some big surprise. We already knew. I did, anyway.
Years later, when Alfred visited Dad in the hospital, he happened to come at a time when Dad was sleeping. Alfred knelt by his bedside and wept like a little boy. These two powerful men, who once dragged a monstrous 21-point buck my dad shot five miles through the woods without a break, who could bale hay all day long, the strongest two men I knew, cried for each other. Later, after Alfred had left, Mother told Dad he had been there and that he had cried. I remember Dad's words. "It's only natural."
Dad and Alfred loved each other. It made me happy to see it. I think his confessing it was some sort of growth time for him. I'm glad he did. Men can love each other, and admit it. Guys can't. I have often felt sorry for guys. How lonely.
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