An Important Day by Dad

An Important Day
August 2007

In my sister Gayle’s words the day we forgive is a red-letter day, a day of days, indeed it may be the most important day of our lives. When I was growing up I resented the fact that I couldn’t have the latest jeans. We had lots of discussions on the topic. Rather than Levies I had to wear Wranglers. And if that was not enough of a come down, I had a lot of younger brothers and sisters that were a pain and I had to be seen with them. It was terrible. When I was older and went to prom I had to drive a 56 Ford Station Wagon, well, that was it. I was doomed in the social structure. There was no hope for me then or in the future. Well of course when I grew up a little and matured I found out that I could buy my own car, buy my own pants and go a dance any way I wanted to. I guess you could say I was a late bloomer, which is probably a nice way of putting it.

Over time I saw that my parents really did care about me and although they may have made occasional mistakes they did literally thousands of wonderful things including providing me life, food, shelter, tuition for college, love, support and great examples. They were really really generous people. My Dad did all of this while he lost his wife, tried to get Carol worked into the family, was sick for a period of time, dealt with my brothers and sisters and worked at NBC. Not easy.

Many years ago, I went to Dad and told him how much I appreciated all that he had done for me. I told him how much it meant to me that he overlooked my weaknesses and how proud I was to be his son. Of course he was very appreciative of my comments. During the next few years he told me he loved me a number of times. I remember once he told me in front of the Cariz house as he was leaving. I remember his tone of voice and the look he had on his face. The words didn’t come easy, which I feel, had to do more with the code of manhood he grew up with than how he really felt. So when Dad got cancer I went to him again and told him how I felt, which from his point of view wasn’t even needed. We were at peace with each other already.

The other day, August 11 to be exact, Carol reminded me of how difficult I was as a teenager. “You know you were the most difficult of all the children,” she intoned. “Yes, mother and you know how sorry I am about that,” I replied as I had often said.

Later in the day, in the hallway, mother stopped me and looked me squarely in the eye and said, “Kent I want you to know how much it means to me that you have made peace with me.” Of course I was thunderstruck, overwhelmed, and totally surprised. This was special. I mumbled my appreciation. A few weeks before we had sat at Dad’s bedside as he slipped away and during the following hours I felt closer to Carol than I ever had before. We took time with each other and shared our feelings and thoughts about life and family and of course I empathized with how difficult it was to blend families, a subject close to her heart. Now in the hallway, completely unexpectedly I was being forgiven. Wow.

I am not sure exactly what takes place when one forgives but there seems to be a mixture of maturity, gratitude, empathy, kindness and the realization that we are all trying to do our best under somewhat trying circumstances and that we are all works in progress, not finished products. Whatever the process is I know that it is a completely cleansing and a totally fulfilling experience whichever end you are on.

Before Suzanne died I told her how sorry I was for all the problems I had caused her. I can still see her standing there in the front room and still hear her reply. She said, “ Kent, you know, we grew up together, I really love you.” Well there you have it, the crowning moment in our relationship: was one of forgiveness. Her words have brought me great peace. After all, that was a red-letter day, a day of days.