An Open Letter to My Father

You know that all these tasks I've been taking on lately which require actual, practical work are to impress you, don't you?

That step I built for the front door was needed, of course, and I do enjoy the woodworking. But the reason I kept pointing it out was to see if you thought it was a good job. The same goes for the little side table for your deck I built at Christmas. That is sits now in the storage space beneath the house, I'm sure, was to keep it from the elements over the winter, but a little part of me is sad to see it hidden away. (I put the staining on it so it could withstand the weather, you know...)

Somehow you've always been the man who can fix anything that comes along and was able to care for your family with your own hands. I've always been intimidated and somewhat envious of that, and I've never believed I had the skills to accomplish the same. That's at least in part why I clung on to academics so strongly—not that I don't enjoy that kind of work immensely, but it was also where I could shine and though you are also intellectually talented, you followed a more practical course. (Through necessity, I know.) And you have always praised my work, as well as the steps I've taken to take care of my own family. I can't count the number of times you've claimed that I have taken on responsibility earlier and more thoroughly than you did. But I have never felt as competent as you. (Note how often the idea of competency keeps popping up in these posts.) I provide well enough, but I don't feel as though I personally tend to and support them in the same way you did us. Every time the plumbing goes south, or the car breaks down, or some appliance dies, I feel like I'm twelve all over again.

And it's not that you ever withheld this knowledge from me or didn't try to pass it on. I recall vividly the weekend mornings when you asked if I wanted to help change the oil in the car or stain the deck. But I was a teenager and it just didn't hold a lot of interest at the time. Sometimes you simply took care of things—so well, in fact, that I never felt the need to find out how to do it for myself. How frustrating that must have been on your end: trying to teach an uninterested kid about nature, or auto mechanics, or home repair while he was off playing games on the computer. I suppose it's nothing new in the course of families.

That's also almost certainly why I go on and on about what I've learned about hiking and camping: it's one area that I can tackle and feel at least as capable as you. My working with ultralight gear and taking long treks are an effort to prove to myself that I can do so on my own.

There's no blame here, just my musings on why these things keep resonating in me. (I'm not even certain I'm should post this, though I will anyway.) If I continue to pester you to comment on my projects, or go on and on about packing gear, at least now you'll have a sense of why. I appreciate all you did (and continue to do) for those of us blessed enough to be your progeny. I hope I can pass on some of the same values and desires for skillfulness you've impressed into me.