It has only been 23 days since Parker's birth and 23 days of being a father. And it has been 7 and a half years since my father's passing. With each passing day since Parker's birth, I've found myself grasping more and more at what is left of my father. Memories of our time together as a family, the tone of his voice, the silly dance he would do while imitating Larry and Belky from "Perfect Strangers", his awful teeth, his silence, his fatigue, his depression, his early morning solo praise song sessions... the look in his eyes when he told me to "not worry about him".
I'm slowly beginning to understand of how be became the father that he was, the man he had to become, and the husband that he sought to be. Being the oldest of his 4 siblings, he had little choice at the time. When my father's father passed away, he told his siblings not to worry and to continue their plans to study abroad. He himself stayed in Taiwan and worked his way up. I never knew my father during that time of his life... but I imagine we are probably very much alike. My Mom once mentioned that my father used to drive the cart around his job (at the airport?) and he would write letters to her every day. He pursued her endlessly until she relented. I can picture my Father working tirelessly at his job, doing whatever was asked of him without hesitation. The very definition of a hard worker with an admirable work ethic. By the time I was a toddler, my Father had enough rank and experience at his workplace to gain the admiration and respect of all his co-workers as well as subordinates.
I can't say that I know and understand every hardship he must have come across during his time in Taiwan or what he had to endure to support his family and care for his mother. I have no idea what the conditions were back in those earlier times. But I do know this... he did what he had to do, the best he could, so that his family can thrive and live healthy and happier lives. All my aunts and uncles studied abroad in the U.S. and all of them are very successful and affluent in their own ways. No doubt the work ethic runs in the Lin family...but I still wonder... what if my Father had that same opportunity to reach for the stars and expand his horizons in the land of opportunities at a young age? Would my brother and I along with our Mom be at a better, more comfortable place in our lives right now? It really doesn't matter... because I can't be more proud of my Father for the man he was forced to become. For the sacrifices he's made for us. For the choices he had to make for the betterment of his family... even if it held him back or forced him to take several steps backwards.
In the film "The Wackness", Ben Kingsley's character, Dr. Squires advises his young friend about growing up: "men do the things they need to do, to become the men they want to be". My father did what he had to do, made the choices he needed to make... so that he could be the man he wanted to be...or needed to be. Before he had children, he had 4 siblings and his mother to care for. Once his siblings were settled, he again made the necessary choices to better the lives of his children by immigrating to the U.S. Once in the U.S., I quietly watched from a distance as my Father struggled to assimilate and suffer through the jobs he was able to acquire. There were nights filled with tears, silently suffering behind closed doors. There were nights of rage and frustration. But every one one of those nights became a reminder for my brother and I to work harder, to study harder, so that our parents' sacrifices were not in vain.
I can see so much clearer now... and slowly I feel like I can step into my Father's shoes and re-live those moments in a different light. I realize now that we both suffer from depressive and anxiety disorders. And without a clear understanding and control of our emotions, we both lash out at those closest to us in fits of selfish rage. Our patience grew thin and we become overwhelmed by our frustrations easily. My father became silent over the years... and I can only imagine it was only to keep his frustrations and anxiety in check. And like him, I became silent and non-communicative to my parents during my teenage years. But we always had a mutual understanding. My father's words always had the most impact on me and with only a few words, he could bring me to tears. But those moments are rare and far in between.
Nowadays, I drag myself to the office every morning, sit at my cubicle in silence and try my best to produce "good work" every day. Those were my Father's last words to me... "work hard, do good work..." I'm not passionate about my job and I'm not confident enough or brave enough to leave my job for another. I've witnessed my Father at his lowest point... jobless, joyless, almost hopeless.... praying in the dark for an answer. And all I could do was close my bedroom door and try not to fail out of school. I wish not for my family to see me like that... because I remember how much my heart ached and how helpless I felt. I'm thankful for having a job and forever grateful to my friend, Dennis, for referring me. It's not unusual for me to not speak a single word to a single soul during the 10 or so hours I'm away from home at the office. It's a running joke among my friends that there's a "workweek Jack" and a "weekend Jack". And that is completely true. I wish it wasn't so... but I guess "workweek Jack" is the closest to my Father I'll ever be. It's not an homage by any means... it's simply the man I need to be.
My Mom is is often commenting how my Father was a good husband, but not a good Dad. To her, a good husband did all he could to provide and care for his wife... which he did. A good Dad would be there for his kids and nurture and guide them through their growth and development...which... he sort of did. What she may not realize is that each of us in our family of four suffered quietly in our own way. We dare not share our hardships with each other because we knew none of us had it easy. And slowly... we all grew apart. I became a quiet, sensitive and perceptive child... always watching, listening, absorbing. Like a good Chinese kid, I would speak when spoken to and only present and visible when called upon. I didn't need to be told what was going on in our family... with my Father... I could always tell. I could sense the mood in the house, the tension, the frustrations, the anxieties. And all I could do was stay quiet and invisible. With everything I've seen and witnessed, I know this... my father was a good Dad. He provided for us the best he could. He did what he had to do so that we can have what we need. He set a good example of what a man should be, what a provider is, what a decent, up-standing human being is. And I learned all that from my Dad. He may not have taken my brother and I to ball games... or picnics in the park... or tossed the ball around, or helped us with our homework at night, but I know and understand all the reasons why.
I'm a father now... and my Mom has commented how I will be a much better father than my own father was. How wrong she is. I hope I can one day be half the man my father was... to be the kind of selfless provider he was... to accept the cards he was dealt with and carry on with his head held high and his morals and courage intact until the day he died.
After the doctors advised my father that he had no more than 2-3 months to live due to the severity of the cancer in his liver... he shook the doctor's hand and thanked him for his help. All I could think about at the time was how unfair life is... how the doctor is probably going to lunch in his $100k+ car... or go home to his mansion somewhere. After receiving his results, he went into his workplace on the weekend to max out his overtime hours and finish up his work. He passed away about 2 weeks after his diagnosis. I was told that a large number of my father's co-workers attended his funeral service.... I didn't have a chance to turn around to look...but I can understand the attendance. It spoke volumes of the kind of man he was.
I wish every day that my Father is still still here... to attend his sons' weddings, to witness the birth of his grandchildren, to hear his voice again... and maybe... just maybe.. he'd express just how proud of us he is. Because I can not be more proud to be his son... to walk in his steps... and to teach my son the lessons he has taught me, with or without words.
I guess I'm growing up now..everything's changed... and I can finally see through my father's eyes.
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