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It Took Me 49 Years to Ask the Right Question About My Father
Interesting article in today's New York Times:
It Took Me 49 Years to Ask the Right Question About My Father
Excerpts:
I always know when Mother’s Day is approaching. I love thinking about what new vegetarian restaurant I might take my mother to, or which of the many great photos of her from my childhood I’ll post on Instagram. Father’s Day, on the other hand, has never been on my mental calendar. I usually learn it’s coming when I see an ad for a sturdy piece of luggage or golf gear.
I hardly know my father, the jazz vibraphonist Roy Ayers — we’ve met only a few times. He and my mother were never really together. With his consent, she got pregnant deliberately, knowing he wouldn’t be part of our lives. I’ve always known that story, and for most of my life, I’ve been OK with it. I had a wonderful childhood thanks to my mother and several formidable male role models. So I never really felt my father’s absence. He didn’t break any promises. He didn’t leave. He was just never there in the first place.
In my mid-30s, I finally got in touch. Roy was surprisingly open, and when we sat down for lunch, our conversation felt easy. But what I’d hoped might become a semiregular meeting turned into a bright spotlight on his absence...
...In June 2021, I scored tickets to a screening of “Summer of Soul (…Or, When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised)” at Marcus Garvey Park, the actual location of the 1969 Harlem Cultural Festival performances documented in Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson’s Oscar-winning film. About 20 minutes into the concert documentary, the exuberant host Tony Lawrence shouts, “Ladies and gentlemen, from right here in Harlem, soul time!”
And with no warning whatsoever, my father’s image filled the two-story-tall screen, framed by the brilliant yellow, blue and brown backdrop of the festival stage. He looked breezy in a white tuxedo shirt, its cuffs flapping loosely, the top few buttons undone...
...My father was so good, and what he did was so important to him, that it became easier for me to understand why I was never — and would never be — a priority in his life. That 1969 performance helped me to realize that I have everything I’m ever going to get from him. It was time to stop hoping for more.
Most of us with absent fathers think, “What about me?” We rarely stop to ask, “What about him?” It took me 49 years to have that thought. But when I finally did, it allowed me to let some things go...
...My father is now 81, and he’s still touring the world playing music. I believe music will occupy his energy until there’s none left, and that belief makes me happy for him and for the many people whose lives he enriches...
I hardly know my father, the jazz vibraphonist Roy Ayers — we’ve met only a few times. He and my mother were never really together. With his consent, she got pregnant deliberately, knowing he wouldn’t be part of our lives. I’ve always known that story, and for most of my life, I’ve been OK with it. I had a wonderful childhood thanks to my mother and several formidable male role models. So I never really felt my father’s absence. He didn’t break any promises. He didn’t leave. He was just never there in the first place.
In my mid-30s, I finally got in touch. Roy was surprisingly open, and when we sat down for lunch, our conversation felt easy. But what I’d hoped might become a semiregular meeting turned into a bright spotlight on his absence...
...In June 2021, I scored tickets to a screening of “Summer of Soul (…Or, When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised)” at Marcus Garvey Park, the actual location of the 1969 Harlem Cultural Festival performances documented in Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson’s Oscar-winning film. About 20 minutes into the concert documentary, the exuberant host Tony Lawrence shouts, “Ladies and gentlemen, from right here in Harlem, soul time!”
And with no warning whatsoever, my father’s image filled the two-story-tall screen, framed by the brilliant yellow, blue and brown backdrop of the festival stage. He looked breezy in a white tuxedo shirt, its cuffs flapping loosely, the top few buttons undone...
...My father was so good, and what he did was so important to him, that it became easier for me to understand why I was never — and would never be — a priority in his life. That 1969 performance helped me to realize that I have everything I’m ever going to get from him. It was time to stop hoping for more.
Most of us with absent fathers think, “What about me?” We rarely stop to ask, “What about him?” It took me 49 years to have that thought. But when I finally did, it allowed me to let some things go...
...My father is now 81, and he’s still touring the world playing music. I believe music will occupy his energy until there’s none left, and that belief makes me happy for him and for the many people whose lives he enriches...
Rather moving, I think.
2 replies
= new reply since forum marked as read
= new reply since forum marked as read
I'm sure it gives the son a wonderful sense of peace.
