What a difference a Dad makes

Conventional wisdom says that if you want to know what a woman will be like in old age, look at her mother. I've never really liked this saying. Those of you who read my books have probably figured out already that my relationship with my mom was complicated. It was my goal in life to be nothing like her at all. In some ways, I've succeeded, in others, well I see more of her in myself every day.

The only thing that made growing up in the house with Mom tolerable, was Dad. He was a man with a quick smile and an expansive heart. He could curse to blue blazes if the situation called for it, but in truth he rarely raised his voice. He loved my mother, totally.

He also adored his girls. The story goes that with his second daughter still in diapers, Mom said to him, "I think I may be pregnant AGAIN." Dad's reported response, "I hope to hell it's not true, but if it is, I'm delighted."

It was true, of course, so the two of them got through tough times and a miserable winter fantasizing about having a boy. They got me instead.

A man with three daughters needs infinite patience and as many bathrooms as he can afford to build. We had only one and Dad had to get up pretty early in the morning to be able to get his turn in it.

As the youngest I had, I believe, the most blest life. By the third child, pretty much all your expectations and ideals are out the window. You're just hoping to survive parenthood. The rules about bedtimes never applied to me. I don't recall anyone ever bothering to look over my homework. My hemlines never seem to cause concern. And my boyfriends never required much scrutiny. "If he's a friend of Pammy's he must be all right."

My older sisters were very much watched, very much urged in the direction of studying hard, postponing marriage and getting education. They were expected to be good citizens, well-read and active in both body and mind. My oldest sister was pretty and popular. The middle one was the most important woman on campus both in high school and college.

My dad once joked to a friend, "We just had Pammy for the fun of it."

But once let out in the big world, I too, have had my own measure of success.

I'm not talking about my writing or about my years as a librarian, both careers of which I am very proud. The choices I've made that have most enhanced my quality of life are the men that I married.

Now to me, that makes total sense. Nothing has more impact on a person's happiness or well being than the person with whom they share their life. Rich or poor, healthy or suffering, it's the person standing next to you and the confidence you have in leaning on them or having them lean on you, that makes the difference.

I always tell people that I've been "lucky in love". And there is a truth to that. I was so negative about the prospects for a relationship with Mr. Morsi, that I almost stood him up on our first date. And the tiny pieces of fate that had to fall into place for me to end up married to Bill are so monumental, I deem it just short of miracle.

But "lucky" isn't the whole thing about relationships. We've all met women who managed to get mixed up with the wrong guy. Sometimes youth is to blame. Sometimes it's libido over logic. The lure of the "bad boy" has led lots of girls on a fast track to misery. And of course there are the mending women who can't resist a broken man with the hope that they can fix him. Sometimes the magic works and sometimes it doesn't.

Also I see something that I call BAD DAD SYNDROME. I'm sure psychiatrists probably call it something else, but I think you know what I mean. A bad dad can sometimes mean a bad marriage or a series of bad boyfriends or a life of no attachment at all. Not that women with difficult relationships with their fathers, damaged relationships, non-existant relationships can't eventually find happiness with a partner, but I think they have to work harder at it.

For most, a woman's very first interaction with the opposite sex is with her father. If that relationship is characterized by violence or neglect, criticism or disregard, those negatives get tied into expectations. Constant complaint, emotional distance or an apparent enjoyment in belittling spouses becomes, in these women's mind "just the way men are."

MEN are not like that. Only some men are like that.

My dad was such a perfect father for daughters. He loved talking to us. He cared about what we thought, how we came to our ideas, what our worries might be. He had great confidence in us and encouraged us to have confidence in ourselves.

I took my first tears from a broken heart to him, he said, "Men are just like streetcars, they'll be another along in fifteen minutes."

When I chose to marry outside my religion, outside my culture, he announced to the family, "If he suits Pammy, he suits the rest of us."

When I told him his granddaughter was mentally handicapped, he told me, "I think she'll do just fine for us."

Dad walked me down the aisle for my second wedding in 2001. He was just recovering from a bout of pneumonia at the time. He'd lost so much weight only suspenders would keep his trousers up. But he wanted to be there. As he and I stood outside the church door, waiting for our cue he told me, "I like Bill, he's a good guy. But then, baby, you've always been able to pick 'em."

What I didn't say then, but want to say now is that being his daughter made that so much easier for me. From the other side of the world or just down the street, I always looked for the qualities that I saw in my dad.

Happy Father's Day.