My father, Wayne Conwell, was part of a generation of dads who left the house each morning in a suit, white shirt and tie... and headed to the office Monday through Friday in order to put in a solid 8-9 hours of work. My dad was the "breadwinner" of the family, which allowed my mom to stay home and be available for my brother, sister and me. I don't recall my dad ever discussing this arrangement with my mom, perhaps he did... but for most men of his generation that's just what they did--they went to work and the wife stayed home and took care of the kids.Over the years this division of labor between my dad and mom contributed to my perception that my mom was the emotional hub of our family. Mom was the one we went to with skinned knees and bruised feelings. Dad was most often the dispenser of discipline ("You just wait until your father gets home!") or the source of specialized counsel in regard to matters relegated exclusively to the masculine domain (car repairs, sports, and cooking food on the grill).
As a result, sons (that would be me) of fathers from my dad's generation had the tendency to make bold claims as to how we were going to be different (read "better") fathers to our children. None of this chained-to-a-desk, cog-in-the-system, stuff... we were committed to spending quality time with our children--and sharing the parenting load with our wives (who were in many situations now working outside the home).
It was easy for me and many men of my generation to be smug... we loved our dads, but were we confident in our ability to rise above what they had been and be not just fathers, but pals to our kids.
As I sit writing these words on Father's Day, I feel that by the grace of God and through the loving support of a terrific wife and fellow parent, I've done an okay job at being a dad. But today, I have a renewed appreciation for my dad, and the other fathers of his generation, who made substantial sacrifices by working hard at jobs that put food on our table, a roof over our heads, and penny loafers from the Spiegel catalog on our feet.
I may have become more self-actualizing as a father (a term my dad would have scratched his head over), but my dad taught me lessons through his life and example that I'm just now starting to realize.
I wish I could call you up and say all of this to you, Dad... but you died several years ago while I was still in the process of figuring it out. So... thank you, Wayne Conwell, for being a great father... and especially for being my dad. I am in many ways the man and father I am today because of your influence. Happy Father's Day.
