Physician Healer

Issue 18: Dad

Dad

Since Mom had her own newsletter to celebrate Mother’s Day, I thought it only fair that Dad has his own issue. As it is Father’s Day around the corner, I thought I’d take a few moments to dedicate this issue to Dad.

While I was always somewhat more partial to Mom, because she could keep track of all of my school dramas like nobody can (she knew who was my friend for the week and who was my enemy number one). While he got all of my friends’ names mixed up and got confused with my convoluted stories, Dad was always a constant whenever we were under the weather; he was there to give me cool baths whenever we were sick and he was always the one who cooked for us whenever we were too ill to go to school. Whenever Mom would tell us an “educational” raunchy tale, Dad was the editor and kept everything rated G. I remember him as someone who shot straight from the hip.

With my dad, what you see is what you get. When it came down to wit and quickness, he was no match for my mom, but that was part of why she chose him. Mom used to say that her siblings discouraged her from marrying Dad because he had no money and therefore no class. She, however, not only came from money, she came from a family of political and military power. He was an artist and his dad, my grandfather, owned your stereotypical Chinese laundry business. In fact, my grandfather had the standard issue braided pig tail when he came to this country.

Mom used to tell us stories about her suitors and that she’d have the pick of the crop of well-to-do, good looking gentlemen from prominent families of the time. I’d stare at her funny and she would know right away that I was asking why did she choose Dad? She would then start naming all the different guys with comments like,

“This guy smokes too much.”

“This guy drinks too much.”

”This guy is too emotional.”

”This guy looks like he has 2nd stage tuberculosis.”

And, the list of criticisms went on. My dad represented to her all of the virtues that the others lacked—honesty, integrity, and lastly, he did not chase after her. In fact, she used to talk about how he never tried to stop her from spending the summers with her siblings nor did he call her all that frequently. She used to joke that he really didn’t care for her much and so didn’t miss her. He never thought that was funny and appeared indignant. He explained that he had to help Grandfather at the laundry shop during the summers, and didn’t see the point of having her stay on. All this simply intrigued her.

While we were growing up, Mom would reminisce a lot about how modest her wedding was but she was happy. Her favorite and closest brothers showed up but not all approving of her decision. Her sisters objected to this union and demonstrated their point by not showing up. (Hmm…I wonder if this is where she and Dad got the idea to boycott my medical school graduation). Nevertheless, through the years, she always maintained that her wedding day was one of the happiest days. I remember looking at her wedding album and in every photo, I could see on her face—bliss.

Whereas my mom had family who attended, Dad did not, other than Grandfather. It wasn’t because they objected. He didn’t have any other family, but he had a lot of friends who came, and as time passed, they became friends with my mom, as well.

We did not have much money growing up, but my birthdays were always celebrated with an orange-flavored homemade birthday cake. Mom used to tell us that it took my dad so long to make my cake that I’d fall asleep on the high chair. They took pictures. Not flattering I’m afraid. I’ve seen them.

Dad was always quiet, was not prone to arguing nor did he ever raise his voice unless Mom tested him. As the years past and we grew older, so did the daily bickering between them. I look back on their interaction now and wonder how much of their unhappiness and feelings of not-enoughness were generated by Mom’s siblings. Their problem was that they should have moved all of us far away from them, like maybe to Alaska. I see that now after so many years, after I spent the last 6 years coming to terms with how they treated me.

I had to learn on my own from scratch how to interpret their erratic hot-cold behavior toward me as I got older and to grow a tough skin to weather their criticisms and verbal attacks that I wasn’t making them proud or that I wasn’t good enough. During the last few years, I’ve gotten a better handle on what they were dealing with on their own with their stories and other peoples’s stories about them that they believed and took to heart. Without having access to the tools I have now, without knowing how to sit with themselves, they really didn’t stand a chance against their internal demons bringing in their external storms.

My dad worked the day shift as an architectural engineer with the Dept of Water and Power and my mom worked graveyard at City Hall as a key punch operator. My mom believed there was nothing wrong with hard work. When her siblings told her she would work like a dog all the rest of her life should she decide to stick with my dad, she said that was fine and that that was what having 2 hands and 2 feet were for.

I remember they argued a lot; I could hear my mom’s voice but never my dad’s unless she accused him of something with which he didn’t agree. Mom started all of the arguments usually about something Dad did of which she didn’t approve. I don’t quite remember anymore about what exactly except vaguely it was always connected to finances. Today, if I could go back in time, I would remind them to think about what they were grateful for and start them on a more introspective path; but back then, we were all unaware.

We were non-believers of any type of spiritual practice and certainly didn’t see the value of meditation and did not freely have access to the education and information we do now through YouTube and podcast platforms. They were also very private about what they were grateful for, and certainly wouldn’t list them verbally or otherwise, believing that bragging would bring bad luck. I just remember that in most of the arguments my mom ended up crying and that would upset me so much that I used to cry, too, and would tell her to stop.

Then, the day her oldest sister offered her a job to manage 2 large shopping centers, our lives changed. We moved from our tiny little apartment in Chinatown to a house in Pasadena. Those were good times as we watched our house being built from the ground up. We didn’t know what moving up in the world meant. We were just kids. We were just so happy to spend time altogether as a family doing something exciting together. We weren’t allowed to drink soda usually, but this was an exception. Mom and Dad were happy then and looked forward to life in their first house. I can still taste the 6 packs of orange Crush, Dr. Pepper and 7 Up my dad brought over.

Soon after we settled into our new home, their happiness didn’t last. I kept to my schoolwork mostly through the years. while my brother became ever more difficult emotionally as he got older. He just seemed angry and impatient all the time, angry at my parents, angry at the world. Much of his conflict was directed at Dad, which escalated after he retired at age 42 and went back to school to finish his Master’s in architectural and environmental design.

Soon after, Mom would attack him for quitting his job and putting all the financial responsibilities on her shoulders. This mostly happened whenever her sister called her and they would chat for hours. Mom would then tell him all the negative things my aunt had said about him.

What really stuck in my mind to this day is witnessing Mom, in the middle of arguing with Dad, slapping her own face repeatedly and banging her head against the wall. She would then start making self-deprecating remarks about herself, and asked him if that’s what he wanted believing he found her disgusting. Then, she’d grab her keys and her purse and said she would end her miserable life by driving her car off a cliff. At this point, he’d put his arms around her to keep her from leaving the house and after several hours, she’d calm down. He always asked her why she would say such things. I never heard her answer. This went on pretty frequently until I left for college.

Interactions with my dad were minimal as I grew older, but in my mom’s happier moments, she would always remind me that Dad loved me very much and to not let his quietness get in the way as she always said that Dad tend to let his feelings get hurt.

As I made my way to med school he flew with me to help me find a place to live. I didn’t appreciate that until many years later, not realizing that he really hated to fly. Of course, as I was about to finish my last year of med school and was planning the graduation invites, he was bothered the most about my name change. He wanted the med school diploma to reflect his last name but said that if I decided to hyphenate the name to include our family name, that would be ok. I’ve always thought a hyphenated name did not do honors to either; it only represented my ambiguity and inability to commit. This was not a judgement but something I just observed. So, I decided to choose my married name but kept my family name as my middle.

This remained unsatisfactory for him and so he and the rest of my family boycotted the graduation. I wished I had photos of my happy day, a day celebrating the culmination of hard work with my parents and brother. But, I do not. My closest friends have always insisted that it was their loss. I believe it was a bit of loss on both sides, but I learned to be tougher about things as years passed.

When I moved to the desert after residency to accept a job, my dad seemed happy enough. He and my mom would drive into the desert and have lunch with us. Eventually, they felt that it was too much of a drive. Then, one day out of the blue, I stopped seeing either of them. He never got on the phone. It was always my Mom. Dad became MIA. To this day I am not sure what happened.

It is likely that after Mom became ill and passed, he just went deeper into whatever drove his underlying fear and anger. Maybe my brother had some influence. I really don’t know. Perhaps he even blamed me for Mom’s illness and subsequent death. I haven’t spoken to Dad for over a decade. I have left voicemails and even contacted their police dept but nothing yet.
I have continued to send cards but have received no replies.

Some have asked me how do I cope. It has taken a lot of inner work via quiet meditation, reflection and introspection to accept life as it is without expectations. I have caught myself in self-blame and allowing the ego to show me different scenarios of how the past could’ve changed if I only did this or that. When I have had the opportunity to really sit quietly and let the thoughts run freely, I realize that however people are and whatever they do, it is all based on their perception of the situation seen through their own lenses. And, none of that would have had anything to do with me.

On a side note, my mom berated my dad so much about his master’s degree that at the end, after receiving his diploma, he trashed all of his beautifully and meticulously crafted projects, threw them on the floor and stepped on them. I remember my brother caught him doing it first and immediately salvaged the few that he could. I remember feeling sad and heavy. I remember thinking that that just isn’t right. I understand it now.

So, I release it all and give myself as much love as I can. There is no time to lose. We cannot change people who don’t want to change. We can only change ourselves and know that when we do, the people around us do inevitably change. Whatever events we have experienced shape and distort how we view others and the world.

I have yet to hear from Dad. I have yet to hear him tell me about what happened to Mom. Until then, I have decided to continue leaving voicemails or sending him mail. I have decided to forgive him and to send him as much love as I can. That’s what every person needs even if they don’t know it.

“I am grateful, Dad, for everything you have done for me and I forgive you for not knowing how to express love. I am proud of all of your accomplishments and I still send you love everyday. You are more than enough and have more than enough. I know that one day you will find a way to love the person who stares back at you in the mirror. It will be on that day that I will get a call from you. Much love to you, Dad, always. Happy Father’s Day, Dad!”

Thank you all for reading. If you found this useful please share it. Please comment and submit questions or feedback if you desire. For more information check out www.desertmeridian.com.

See you next week and remember to write in your journal your gratitudes, wins, and actions that can help you grow each day. Success is not about not failing. It’s about learning for the next step. Remember to learn something new each day to keep the brain sharp.

Celeste Amaya, MD