You’ll Never Be Good Enough

Father’s Day weekend is the catalyst for strong feelings for many.  For some, their bags are packed, the car is loaded, and a sense of dread becomes a traveling companion. I have no first-hand knowledge of what I’m going to share, but a friend from long ago said this: “I’m not looking forward to the weekend. I don’t want to go home. I’m going home for Father’s Day only because of my mother.”

The scars he carried from childhood were invisible to most. He said of his father: “My dad and I are not close. We have never been close. There is absolutely no emotional connection between us. There never has been.  He is my dad, but I don’t know him and he doesn’t know me…He doesn’t want to know me. I’m not important to him.”

This morning before I got out of bed, I thought about any number of people I know for whom Father’s Day represents something other than wonderful memories.  I have a friend who never grieved his father’s death.  From his perspective, being separated from the unrelenting harshness inherent in that relationship was more of a blessing than a sense of loss of someone significant in his life.

I know people my age who have invested a lifetime of attempting to get to the place where they felt loved and accepted by their father.  Despite every attempt, they perceived they could never do anything good enough to merit their father’s blessing.  They lived with that sense of rejection their entire lives.

Twenty years ago, the General and I watched the movie “8 Seconds.” It is not typically the kind of movie that either of us would choose to watch, but it was well done.

The movie was based on the true story of Lane Frost, a young man from Oklahoma who became the World Champion Bull Rider. The portrayal of Lane Frost’s father in the movie is exactly the kind of “you’ll never be good enough” messaging that many sons consistently receive.  According to the movie, Lane strived throughout his life to earn his father’s approval and it was always tied to his next accomplishment. 

There is one point in the movie where his father almost tells Lane he loves him, but he stops short.  I hate it when I get teary eyed in a movie, but the son’s attempt to simply be accepted by his father is enough to prompt a tear. 

Subsequently, at the Cheyenne Frontier Days Rodeo while riding a bull known as “Takin Care of Business”, Lane successfully rode for his 8 seconds. His abrupt dismount placed him in harm’s way. He is horned by the bull and dies on the rodeo arena.

Yesterday, by happenstance, I saw that a documentary about Lane Frost has recently been made.  For twenty years, people who knew and loved Lane Frost wanted to correct the earlier film’s portrayal of the Lane Frost that they knew.  One of the wrongs that they wanted corrected, had to do with Lane and his father’s relationship.  The relationship they shared was significantly closer than that presented in film. Unfortunately, for many, the memories etched in stone and the scars they carry, cannot be corrected by a makeover.

All the Best!

Don

A Story Of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption

I have a friend from high school who ran track. I won’t say that he was as fast as the wind, but he was light on his feet, and he could move quickly. His abilities as a runner were defining moments in how he saw himself. It was a sport in which he could greatly excel and if asked today, he’d say that track holds some of his most precious moments from high school.

As I write those word, I’m remembering Sheldon’s body-types from psychology my freshman year in college. According to Sheldon, there are three somatotypes: ectomorphs, mesomorphs, and endomorphs. It is an oversimplification, but you could say small, medium and large covers it. Folks who are figuratively light on their feet are good candidates for track.

I, of course, was an exception to the rule. I was a skinny kid, but I didn’t run track. My feet didn’t have the wherewithal to move as fast as my mouth. I was the class clown, but schools don’t give a letter jacket for accomplishments in that arena. However, I have wonderful memories from school and I’m still good for a laugh.

Last night the General and I watched a movie that was recommended to us by an aunt of my daughter-in-law. She said that “Unbroken”, the story of Louis (Louie) Zamperini was a good movie.

Louie was one of those kids that was frequently in trouble, until his quest for running was channeled into athletics and his achievements redefined his self-image. In 1936, at the age of 19, he qualified and participated in the Summer Olympics in Berlin.

In 1938, Louie attended the University of Southern California. He set a national collegiate record of 4 minutes, 8.3 seconds in the mile. During the race, he was intentionally spiked in the shines from competitors during that race.

Louie joined the Army Air Corps in September 1941 and was soon commissioned as a second lieutenant. “Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption” written by Laurel Hillenbrand chronicles Louis Zamperini’s story.

She writes: “On a May afternoon in 1943, an Army Air Forces bomber crashed into the Pacific Ocean and disappeared, leaving only a spray of debris and a slick of oil, gasoline, and blood. Then, on the ocean surface, a face appeared. It was that of a young lieutenant, the plane’s bombardier, who was struggling to a life raft and pulling himself aboard. So began one of the most extraordinary odysseys of the Second World War.”

It is not an easy movie to watch because of man’s inhumanity to man, but it will serve you well to do so. The movie is available on Netflix.

All My Best!
Don