From Dad, excerpt from a two-page letter that my dad sent to me when I was 17, November 22, 1978, image © 2010 by ybonesy. All rights reserved.
From my Writing Practice on “Be Impeccable with your Word,” the first agreement of don Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements:
Dad was impeccable with his word. Words were important to him. They still are. He still wants to be heard. When I was a teenager and unwilling to listen, he wrote his words down in two or three letters he then slipped under the closed door of my bedroom or left on the kitchen table for me to open after he left for work. He was like Felix Unger in some ways, a tidy man with small and precise handwriting. His handwriting is shaky now, but then his writing looked like a professional cursive font.
The letters he wrote on yellow legal pads, and so he fit a lot of words on them. He told me the things he had tried to say to me but that I would shut down. What was important to him, the things he wanted to pass on, the wisdom he wanted to impart. He worried about me, the friends I had chosen, my boyfriend. He acknowledged that even though I had many bad habits, I was still keeping up my grades, and for that he was grateful.
He did pass something on to me, didn’t he? His honesty with words. That’s a powerful gift.
Thanks, Dad. I listen to you now.
-Related to posts PRACTICE: Be Impeccable With Your Word – 15min and WRITING TOPIC — THE FOUR AGREEMENTS
Wow! Your dad’s courage in writing that letter and giving it to you is stellar. He had no way of knowing you would keep it all these years and share it as an example of tender toughness. I wish I had had his example to give me the courage to write something similar when my kids were younger. I hope any parents with growing families will benefit from this example.
THANK YOU for your courage in sharing this. That takes guts.
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What a wonderful letter from your father. As Sharon says, to write it and to give it to you showed great courage on your father’s part. Obviously it meant a lot to you or you would have tossed it after you read it. Did it change how you related to him and the family?
Thanks for sharing the letter.
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i so enjoyed seeing this view of you through your dad’s letter. A great communicator he is – so nice. Is he a WWII vet?
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Your father was not only courageous, he was creative. When one method of communication didn’t work, he found another way. And he showed you how to express your feelings in a constructive manner. A wise man.
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Thanks for the comments. Kathy, he is a wise man. We clashed a lot when I was in my teens and all of 20s. But he mellowed and I grew up. Now we talk about everything under the sun. And for all the lack of communication during those years, I only once saw him lose his temper. He was and still is even-keeled.
C.C., yes, Dad is a WWII vet. Here’s a picture I’ve posted of him here and on FB.
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Bob, good question. I have to say that at that age, 17, I didn’t necessarily absorb Dad’s words. I was too emotional and too arrogant, a rebellious kid. But the letter did make me cry. I can still see the tear stains going down the side.
So even though the letter didn’t immediately change how I related to Dad or the family, I do know that Dad’s patience and the values he taught me, through all the years, pulled me through. As a parent now, I can see how my parents held all of us kids in a tight family, connected to my mom’s parents (Dad’s had died when he was a kid) and all their siblings. I mean, family was core to who we were and what we did each day. And I’m like that now with my kids. I keep them around my parents, my siblings, and my nieces and nephews as much as I can.
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Sharon, thanks for that. I was not sure if I should share this letter on the blog, but it is poignant and it’s a way of being reminded, too, for me, of how tough it is to parent. I sometimes say that as the fifth of five kids, I didn’t get a lot of structure from my parents. But I think while I certainly got less, I underestimate the boundaries and discipline and guidance they gave me. I wasn’t left on my own, wandering the streets. They still had rules for me, even though I often broke them. And truth is, I always knew to not push the boundaries too far.
The rest of the first page and then the second page are all much more detailed about what in particular I was doing, besides throwing tantrums and twisting words, that made Dad feel so desperate that he would sit down and write a letter. I knew for sure that I didn’t want to publish that part of the letter.
The other night, a friend of the family was talking about the Jewish tradition of the “ethical will.” I’m familiar with the concept because as the mother of a friend of mine was dying, her rabbi documented for the woman’s children (my friend) and grandchildren (my friend’s sons) the values and ethics she wanted to pass on to them. Last night as I was re-reading my dad’s letter to me, I realized that this letter did that, too. It might not have been everything he wanted to pass on, but for that particular moment it was.
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yb, I’m touched that you shared your father’s letter. It may illuminate possibilities for others who are struggling to communicate with their children.
I am a fan of Barbara Kingsolver. In her book, “Small Wonders” she wrote a “Letter to my Daughter at 13.” It touched me so deeply that I wanted to attempt to write such a letter for my sons. I didn’t consider it really finished, but my husband asked me to read it to them when we were all together. He thought I might not get another chance to share it. I was a little emotional reading the letter aloud and tears slid down their cheeks, too. It was one shining moment. To put words in writing for your kids is a gift.
yb, I am grateful for your dad’s words and for yours today.
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ybonesy, a powerful Writing Practice. I love that you posted your dad’s letter. I’m thinking about how rebellious you seemed at that age, how rebellious many of us are when we’re trying to define who we are. He handled it well. It says a lot that he would take the time to write to you. And here it is, all these years later.
I am always touched by fathers’ relationships to their children. Your post reminded me to look back at my brother’s post from about a year ago. Remember the list he wanted my niece and nephew to have: Things I Wanted You To Learn (LINK). It brings tears to my eyes. I get the same kind of tender feeling in this exchange between you and your father. Many years later, his letter is still speaking to you.
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QM, I’m glad you provided the link to Louis’s post. I mentioned that post the other evening when we were talking about ethical wills. Louis documented his values, the things he wants to make sure to pass on to his children.
I was thinking of all the ways older people pass on to younger people their wisdom. Stories told around a table while cooking or playing poker, songs sang together, written memoirs, letters, poems.
breathepeace, wow, that must have been so moving to read your letter aloud to your sons. I think of the many times I’ve heard people read their own words, especially their raw writing, and how emotional it can be to read out loud. With one daughter age 14 and another 11, I very much want to read Barbara Kingsolver’s letter. She is a favorite writer, and I think I might want to also write a letter to each of my girls. Thanks.
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I see your tears on the page, and imagine how mortified you were….really moving. My mother, bless her soul, wrote me piles of letters, in perfect penmanship – I can still remember some of her words…
“I certainly hope you can stand the asphalt and concrete for one more year till you get your degree!” (I did) “Pain of childbirth is not to be taken lightly!” (on home-birth – she was right.)
I still write letters, now mostly emails, to my kids – I’m not good on phone or face-to-face for delicate subjects. I won’t text.
Thanks for a beautiful reminder that the struggle to communicate with children goes on, to the next generation. Some things DON’T change.
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