Rick, thank you for this beautiful story. The way you move from that moment at Shakey's to the deeper understanding of fatherhood is so skillfully done. I found myself nodding along with recognition at how our perspective on our parents shifts once we become parents ourselves.
That line about fathers being "subject to a kind of impossible meritocracy" really struck me. There's something so true about how we expect our parents to be different while also inheriting so much of who they are, often without realizing it until much later ◡̈
Really appreciate you sharing this. It's a lovely reminder that sometimes the most profound growth happens when we stop trying to change each other and start seeing each other more clearly.
I so appreciate you taking the story in the manner intended, to provoke some thought and reflection on the complexity of our relationships, roles and life phases. The story initiated some in depth discussion between my father, mother and kids this morning over father's day. It's the kind of subject that deserves far more reflection than I was able to devote to a weekly newsletter. I even hesitated to publish it for that reason, feeling my thoughts require more refinement, but I've been shifting my goal in writing from the vague moving target of wanting to be an amazing writer, whatever that would look like, to initiating meaningful conversations with family, peers, and readers. I'm trying to treat writing as more of a starting point for connection than a final word I use to try and set myself apart. Thank you for engaging with the ideas, as fluid and shifting as they are.
What a beautiful intention Rick, and that you embody in more ways than one. I have met very few people with the gift for sparking connection and community that you possess.
This is a beautiful, playful moment with the pitcher at Shakeys.
It got me thinking about what might’ve happened had I not been so terrified of my dad’s temper and instead reacted as you did to your dad’s mischievous prompting for the time. Hard to say. I was scared all the time that one day he’d lose it and kill or maim someone physically. Expressing his anger was nothing he needed help with.
But I love thinking about your natural response. It creates an alternate reality — a model — where I’m far more empowered from a young age which carries over and merges with right now. This alternate me exists.
That's a profound piece of inner work you're applying to this story Kathy. I am very curious to hear what the after-effects of holding this in your heart will be.
I loved your Shakey's Pizza story and the ongoing ripple effect on you and your Father. Fathers and sons provide such a rich area for exploration and potential transformation.
I recently wrote a tribute to my father for a newsletter that circulates in certain Los Angeles circles. I was surprised that while writing it I had to pause several times to cry . . . not because my experience of him was challenging . . . or that I had unresolved grief that needed processing. I was crying simply because I missed him and his profound influence on my life.
And then it hit me . . . I was also dealing with the unfinished business of having not fully appreciated him while he was alive. I wasn't clueless about his uncommon wisdom (shared with such an economy of words), or his demonstrations of unheralded kindness. What I hadn't fully grokked was what he'd gone through in his life; the many challenges he faced that forged his strength, his kindness, and wisdom.
For some reason, after all these years, a routine writing assignment provided me with a renewed appreciation for an imperfect man who helped me find the best parts of who I am.
Gosh I so love this testimony to the potency of self-reflection through writing Chris. I can feel the gravity of both your appreciation for your dad as well as the significance of who your father was and what you're missing today in his absence. Big people in our lives require expanses of time to recognize and digest it seems. I've had that experience with teachers in my life who have passed away. What a treasure that your father's Being is still with you and unfolding to you, and I'm sure in the form of beneficent ripples you are sending towards others. Thank you for sharing this.
"Big people in our lives require expanses of time to recognize and digest it seems." So true, Rick. Beautifully said. It puts words on a feeling I was I couldn't quite identify. Thank you!.
What a beautiful piece about a patient, strong, loving man with a sense of humor, a son who felt safe enough to exact some spontaneous, light-hearted revenge over a clever prank, and the wisdom of accepting people for who they are, versus trying to change them, in a very, very complex world. I admire your ability to make every essay you do about "us," not just you. That's a unique quality.
Glad it feels that way Larry. I'm convinced there's broader human value that's always available within one human's experience, and it certainly doesn't have to be mine, though it's the only one I personally have access to. It's why I'm so keen on more people sharing their story.
Rick... what a thoughtful exploration of the challenges of being both child and father and how we stand in both those shoes in different ways. whether we're a 'dad' or not. I've been puzzling over "that anger issue" with my own father lately... in my attempt to allow myself to acknowledge I feel angry towards him. I love this nuanced story and truth that "the complexity of families is a kind of battle zone, and sometimes there are casualties." In the end, it's an inside job we each navigate in our own way. Happy Father's Day!
Was a joy to read such a respectful and balanced tribute to your dad. That soda pitcher move was one for the ages. He set a great example laughing that one off.
Side note: There’s a Shakeys in our town and, for years, my girls have asked to go. I told them they’d likely be disappointed. In May they closed it down, then put up signs they were remodeling it. I told my girls we’ll go when it reopens. I’ll let you know if there’s a window into the kitchen in the update.
Thank you Matt. I had to look the chain up to see if it was still in existence. Haven't seen one in years. I don't actually know if the window thing was a common to all the locations, but yes, that would be fun to know if the window remains.
I know I'm probably one of the only people who has ever tried to change their parents, but I'm sharing this anyway, just in case there are couple of others who can relate.
So lovely, man. The soda/pitcher scene is really something. (Also: Shakeys! Where we went for every Little League/AYSO post-game pizza)
It took me way too long in life to learn the adage: "You can only clean up your side of the street." I'm still learning it, in some ways. My dad and I argued over politics, and sent so many long, outraged emails. My wife heard me on the laptop once, and said, "You're emailing your dad—I can tell because of how hard you're typing!" We eventually agreed not to talk politics, which mostly held.
Anyway, your piece got me thinking, and missing the old man, so I really appreciate this one.
This little anecdote about the aggressive typing is priceless. My wife chewed me out recently for using an exasperated tone while on the phone with my folks a few days ago.
Thank you, Rick, for writing this, and for hosting the conversation around the Father's Day prompt. The ripples from that conversation and reading your integrative musings in this piece have been deeply stirring. I'm with Kathy, imagining my young self meeting my father's anger and frustration with a clear answer when he asks: "How dare you?" Just as fierce, I'd say: "Because I love you and I want to share this adventure with you." I'd hold his gaze and watch for his anger to crest and subside with deep breaths. That would be enough for now.
Rick, thank you for this beautiful story. The way you move from that moment at Shakey's to the deeper understanding of fatherhood is so skillfully done. I found myself nodding along with recognition at how our perspective on our parents shifts once we become parents ourselves.
That line about fathers being "subject to a kind of impossible meritocracy" really struck me. There's something so true about how we expect our parents to be different while also inheriting so much of who they are, often without realizing it until much later ◡̈
Really appreciate you sharing this. It's a lovely reminder that sometimes the most profound growth happens when we stop trying to change each other and start seeing each other more clearly.
I so appreciate you taking the story in the manner intended, to provoke some thought and reflection on the complexity of our relationships, roles and life phases. The story initiated some in depth discussion between my father, mother and kids this morning over father's day. It's the kind of subject that deserves far more reflection than I was able to devote to a weekly newsletter. I even hesitated to publish it for that reason, feeling my thoughts require more refinement, but I've been shifting my goal in writing from the vague moving target of wanting to be an amazing writer, whatever that would look like, to initiating meaningful conversations with family, peers, and readers. I'm trying to treat writing as more of a starting point for connection than a final word I use to try and set myself apart. Thank you for engaging with the ideas, as fluid and shifting as they are.
What a beautiful intention Rick, and that you embody in more ways than one. I have met very few people with the gift for sparking connection and community that you possess.
This is a beautiful, playful moment with the pitcher at Shakeys.
It got me thinking about what might’ve happened had I not been so terrified of my dad’s temper and instead reacted as you did to your dad’s mischievous prompting for the time. Hard to say. I was scared all the time that one day he’d lose it and kill or maim someone physically. Expressing his anger was nothing he needed help with.
But I love thinking about your natural response. It creates an alternate reality — a model — where I’m far more empowered from a young age which carries over and merges with right now. This alternate me exists.
That's a profound piece of inner work you're applying to this story Kathy. I am very curious to hear what the after-effects of holding this in your heart will be.
I loved your Shakey's Pizza story and the ongoing ripple effect on you and your Father. Fathers and sons provide such a rich area for exploration and potential transformation.
I recently wrote a tribute to my father for a newsletter that circulates in certain Los Angeles circles. I was surprised that while writing it I had to pause several times to cry . . . not because my experience of him was challenging . . . or that I had unresolved grief that needed processing. I was crying simply because I missed him and his profound influence on my life.
And then it hit me . . . I was also dealing with the unfinished business of having not fully appreciated him while he was alive. I wasn't clueless about his uncommon wisdom (shared with such an economy of words), or his demonstrations of unheralded kindness. What I hadn't fully grokked was what he'd gone through in his life; the many challenges he faced that forged his strength, his kindness, and wisdom.
For some reason, after all these years, a routine writing assignment provided me with a renewed appreciation for an imperfect man who helped me find the best parts of who I am.
Gosh I so love this testimony to the potency of self-reflection through writing Chris. I can feel the gravity of both your appreciation for your dad as well as the significance of who your father was and what you're missing today in his absence. Big people in our lives require expanses of time to recognize and digest it seems. I've had that experience with teachers in my life who have passed away. What a treasure that your father's Being is still with you and unfolding to you, and I'm sure in the form of beneficent ripples you are sending towards others. Thank you for sharing this.
"Big people in our lives require expanses of time to recognize and digest it seems." So true, Rick. Beautifully said. It puts words on a feeling I was I couldn't quite identify. Thank you!.
What a beautiful piece about a patient, strong, loving man with a sense of humor, a son who felt safe enough to exact some spontaneous, light-hearted revenge over a clever prank, and the wisdom of accepting people for who they are, versus trying to change them, in a very, very complex world. I admire your ability to make every essay you do about "us," not just you. That's a unique quality.
Glad it feels that way Larry. I'm convinced there's broader human value that's always available within one human's experience, and it certainly doesn't have to be mine, though it's the only one I personally have access to. It's why I'm so keen on more people sharing their story.
Rick... what a thoughtful exploration of the challenges of being both child and father and how we stand in both those shoes in different ways. whether we're a 'dad' or not. I've been puzzling over "that anger issue" with my own father lately... in my attempt to allow myself to acknowledge I feel angry towards him. I love this nuanced story and truth that "the complexity of families is a kind of battle zone, and sometimes there are casualties." In the end, it's an inside job we each navigate in our own way. Happy Father's Day!
Thank you Linda. I get to see both my dad and my kids today, a perfect father's day sandwich, so looking forward to it.
Was a joy to read such a respectful and balanced tribute to your dad. That soda pitcher move was one for the ages. He set a great example laughing that one off.
Side note: There’s a Shakeys in our town and, for years, my girls have asked to go. I told them they’d likely be disappointed. In May they closed it down, then put up signs they were remodeling it. I told my girls we’ll go when it reopens. I’ll let you know if there’s a window into the kitchen in the update.
Thank you Matt. I had to look the chain up to see if it was still in existence. Haven't seen one in years. I don't actually know if the window thing was a common to all the locations, but yes, that would be fun to know if the window remains.
“Like all fathers, my dad helped me to discover who I did and didn’t want to be.” —you nailed it here for me
I'd guess we're all in the same boat with our dads, as we will be with our kids.
"I just broke my own heart watching myself try to change my dad, aggressively suggesting he ought to be different than he was."
There's so much in this sentence. It's the heart of the whole (wonderful) piece, I think. Timeless, timely, and expertly told.
I know I'm probably one of the only people who has ever tried to change their parents, but I'm sharing this anyway, just in case there are couple of others who can relate.
So lovely, man. The soda/pitcher scene is really something. (Also: Shakeys! Where we went for every Little League/AYSO post-game pizza)
It took me way too long in life to learn the adage: "You can only clean up your side of the street." I'm still learning it, in some ways. My dad and I argued over politics, and sent so many long, outraged emails. My wife heard me on the laptop once, and said, "You're emailing your dad—I can tell because of how hard you're typing!" We eventually agreed not to talk politics, which mostly held.
Anyway, your piece got me thinking, and missing the old man, so I really appreciate this one.
This little anecdote about the aggressive typing is priceless. My wife chewed me out recently for using an exasperated tone while on the phone with my folks a few days ago.
Thank you, Rick, for writing this, and for hosting the conversation around the Father's Day prompt. The ripples from that conversation and reading your integrative musings in this piece have been deeply stirring. I'm with Kathy, imagining my young self meeting my father's anger and frustration with a clear answer when he asks: "How dare you?" Just as fierce, I'd say: "Because I love you and I want to share this adventure with you." I'd hold his gaze and watch for his anger to crest and subside with deep breaths. That would be enough for now.
I'm fascinated by the idea of re-imaging the past to open ourselves to new futures Alden. This deserves further brave experiments and discussion.
this well timed fathers day story was perhaps, for me, your most engaging best written as in touching me, piece.
thanks
What a nuanced, complex and thoughtful piece 🙏🏽
Thank you Chao.
Nice
Thank you Marilyn.
You’re welcome. I enjoyed the read.
I've read about your dad before, and I've heard you speak about him as well. This made me revisit those memories :)
Have to agree with Matt on the pitcher move :)
Thanks Ishan.