So nice how getting there means more than arriving, looking at each other in the eyes is not required, silence says it all and a stick of gum beats all the fixins. Ah, family.
The apple rolling around for you on the truck. The gum your father buys in bricks from Costco. The “mathematics” of being picked up. So beautifully written.
Being Japanese, my relationship to my father is very similar to yours. We never express our love in words. But it is there.
Sadly, I feel that our journey is drawing to a close. When I am alone, it will be the simple things that I will always remember.
4
“Spits his tobacco juice”! I thought people were done with this habit until I saw a young man doing just that in downtown D train in NYC about a month ago! He spits his in a soda bottle . I’m sorry but I was discussed and moved to the next car .
Wonderful essay and so true.
I remember all my own trips home from overseas or just upstate New York. Thanksgiving was the best of Holidays and the anticipation of the day had a special magic. As my children grew, I loved the trip to pick them up from college their Freshman year. You could feel that same excitement in them.
Thanks for putting that feeling into words.
2
My family lives in rural Northern Michigan. After my 3 flights to get home, my dad has driven an hour to meet me at the airport. This story resonated with me. When I see his beat up old Chevy and his bearded form, it evokes a warm feeling, followed by a bit of anxiety at what mood I may find. But I cherish these rides even as he grumbles about driving the hour to get me and having to go to the "city" of 10,000 people. Thanks for putting it into words.
3
This is the first Thanksgiving without my oldest brother. He and his wife were the heart of our family for many years. He chose to live in the town to which our family moved from New Mexico 66 years ago. He was the brother with whom I fought as a child, but he was the one to whom I first disclosed when I was in college that I had asked the future mother of my son to marry me. He supported me in telling my parents with whom I had a difficult relationship. He was my best man. While our parents lived, the Thanksgiving days were full of tension and barely disguised unresolved bickering. After our parents' deaths, my brother and his wife hosted the Thanksgivings for our family for many years. The gatherings were mostly joyful, including aunts, cousins, nieces and nephews, and family friends whom we considered extended family, reaching 35 people at one point. My brother died at the end of last year, and his beloved wife is no longer able to live alone or to host our holidays. I miss by brother and sister-in-law and the sense of real family I experienced with them. This Thanksgiving is a reminder of what we had and why we need to cherish family and traditions.
11
"Maybe it’s the freedom offered by the liminal state, before the inevitable drag of being home, of settling into old grooves of relationships, whatever gap of understanding might always be there." Thank you for your truthful essay, I do believe 'gaps of understanding' can be bridged with tolerance.
I'm an old woman now and my parents have been dead for years. I'd love to have one more meal with all the family, Thanksgiving or just an ordinary week night supper, and do a bit more myself to make it special...
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Very touching. It will be 10 years since I lost my Dad and I still miss those treasured moments together from or to the airport. Thanks Emma.
5
This story is as eloquent as your dad’s gestures. I loved it, simple and to the point, a whole shared live of love in half a page. Hope my daughter one day’ll feel the same about her silent dad.
5
I lost my dad in May and this broke my heart beyond belief.
6
Your description reminded me of this:
“My men for the most part had one of three types of dads. The first type was physically absent where the child’s feelings of abandonment were, and continue to be, real and pervasive. The second type of father was physically in the home but emotionally unavailable. That dad modeled a very small emotional bandwidth consisting of only two basic emotions: quiet or rage – the quiet was deafening while the rage was scary. This was sometimes accompanied by alcohol and or domestic violence. Lastly, and most often, the dads were home in name only, forever stuck in their workaholism, trying to avoid conflict and feelings of being controlled by a powerful, angry and dominant spouse at all cost. The external world viewed these dads as nice guys who worked hard for their families. In reality they were internally weak men raising boys to be just like them.” – J P
1
I just keep staring at that stunning photograph. Beautifully captured, Nathan Bajar.
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Yes, a "real-life" Amy Adams!
4
I had the same response. Those eyes. So knowing. They truly see, as is made even more evident by her essay.
1
Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday. I was raised by my grand parents - my parents had to work in our grocery store full time. All of my uncles were good hunters and we had game ranging from deer to pheasant, rabbits, ducks and wild geese and tame turkey. The geese were tough beyond belief.
The aunties made all sorts of bread and desserts including wild persimmon pudding. Forget the Asian persimmons - no flavor. There would be around 20 people attending and this was the only time of the year we could all get together to find out what was going on with the clan.
I generally use my offset smoker to smoke roast a turkey but this year am making deep dish pizza Chicago or Mary and Joe Style - remember Goldberg's Pizza on 77th and York in the 70's - Larry satisfied lots of deep dish pizza fans.
3
Emma more than adequately describes love in ways that most people who expect words and overt actions just don't see or understand. Forget the tv commercials or the self-help books about relationships - just pay attention.
23
I just don't see it, Kevin. I'd like to, but I don't.
1