When I was kid I invented word, which I only ever applied to my father. If he sent me to bed at an inopportune time, or forced me to interrupt play for work, or implored me to spend more time on a homework assignment - anything reasonable, responsible, parental, I used to say "Dad, don't be such a crimluck!"
Dad had no idea where this word came from, and frankly neither do I. But it was pretty clear what the word meant. I said it with such disgust and disrespect - "crimluck!" - that my dad, sort of uncharacteristically, became demonstrably hurt by my use of it. You have to admit, it sounds dreadful! Eventually the word became too powerful, and created too much pain and confusion. I finally had to stop using it.
On multiple occasions this past weekend I noticed brooding, little kids in the company of their fathers. You know the ones - the boys you see in the park who are totally, tragically embarrassed to be in the company of their dads... staring at the ground as they walk along in mute defeat. I can remember, myself, recognizing the cold, disappointing reality that, in a world of infinite promise and possibility, your father will likely always be exactly the way he is, and always impose the same rigid, disappointing parental authority.
I suppose kids also find it reassuring to know that they have these anchors, who will always be their parents and will never change. I'm sure I did too, on some level, but thinking back on it now, even though I admired and respected and loved my dad, I never forgave him for being so supremely uncool, and for imposing the fact of his stony, immobile uncoolness into the limitless range of otherwise ideal worlds I could imagine possible as I envisioned my future.
And so, as I glimpsed those several sulky, miserable kids this past weekend, I was filled with a desire to never be "that dad", the cause of embarrassment and disappointment, the target of every-son's contempt. However, at the same time, I recognized the futility of such a project. I don't think any amount of desire can prevent a responsible parent from becoming the grim bearer of reality that my father and millions of others have necessarily become.
But it's not just impossible to avoid that fate, I think it's also undesirable... un-American, even! Ours is not a nation which cultivates respect for our parents or our elders. I'd say there's good evidence that honor, reverence for ancestral heritage (especially parents) is in direct conflict with a good many of the cultural traits we value most highly. In our American culture, which prizes individuality and celebrates independence, we need our fathers to be crimlucks. The recognition of the limits of your father's world, the realization of the depth of his uncoolness, is a rite of passage for us. And the inability to escape from his control is an early object lesson for us that authority just sucks.
So I don't want to be the crimluck, but I recognize that it is unavoidable, and that it is my duty, as an American father, to play that role - first to set limits and boundaries as a responsible parent should, and then be deposed bit by bit, in stages, as my son explores worlds of possibility and promise I'll be too out-of-it to imagine.
I wonder how long I'll have before it begins. And I wonder if recognizing the value of the process will make it any less painful.
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