Understanding Dad Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1000 words

Understanding Dad - Essay Example I was inconsiderate, lazy, disrespectful, not studious enough, not athletic enough, not something enough. No matter what I tried, I didn't give it the full effort he thought it deserved. It seemed he was always waiting to tell me just what it was I was lacking or how much what I was doing was leading me to "nowhere good." Even when he left me alone, he was always there, impossible to ignore, a permanent end to my good time. Dad had that effect on people. Growing up, I resented him for that. Why couldn't he just be cool and look the other way sometimes? It took a real emergency while I was in high school for me to realize how that hard rock I knew as my father hid a warm, passionate center and to make me realize how he had used that rock and that heat to shape me into a better human being as an adult. Throughout my childhood, I participated in a variety of sports and activities. I think I was looking for something my father knew nothing about and had zero interest in learning. The way I figured it, he couldn't tell me I was wrong if he was a newbie, too. He would just have to go along with whatever the coaches, directors or other organizers told him. Maybe it's a blessing, but I considered it a curse that my dad is interested in all kinds of things. Just because he didn't know about it before I started didn't mean he wouldn't start learning about it the moment I took an interest. There I'd be, running for everything I was worth on the cross-country team and he'd be there along the sidelines near the finish line - "Come on! Give it the extra effort now! Don't hold back!" Some of the other kids said they never heard their parents at that point, they were too exhausted and busy trying to keep their lungs from bursting. I was cursed again because I understood every word that came to me in that big, booming voice of his with the crackle of tension lying just under the surface. It only ever came out when he was on the sidelines or really, really angry at home. Maybe that's why I always felt like I was running away from a beating even though he never delivered one. I'm sure it wasn't because of my running speed. Gasping for air and trying to keep breakfast in my stomach, he would walk up to me and tell me how I could improve my pace, increase my speed, correct my form or something else equally irritating. Somewhere in there he'd usually throw in a "good job" or "I'm proud of you," but I was convinced this was just for show so the other parents wouldn't think he was being too pushy. He had to avoid the 'stage dad' persona after all, keep up proper appearances. Somehow, my childhood memory neglected to note that these moments of pride and praise were usually delivered in the car, in private, while we were on our way home or out to a special treat meant just for me w ithout the presence of brothers or sisters to take away the attention. Things only grew worse as I grew up and started to want to hang out with friends instead of family. With this change, I discovered my childhood had been dancing on daisies compared to all the wrong I committed as a pre-teen and teenager. Nothing I did with my hair was right. No matter what style I selected, product or no product, short, long, somewhere in between, dyed, not dyed, popular style or something more traditional, Dad always had something negative to say about it. I couldn't even cover it up with a hat or a hoodie to make things right - then it was the wrong kind of hat or I was trying to be a gangster or "one of those dark kids who think everything in life sucks." Why couldn't he even remember something as simple as Goth? And what exactly about my life didn't suck anyway? If I