What My Father Never Knew He Taught Me
By Libby Sanders
According to my father, Hillary Clinton won’t win the 2008
Presidential election because I’m supposed to be
the first female President. Regardless of the fact
that I despise politics, plan on fixing my niche in
liberal arts permanently, and still have seventeen
years before I could even attempt to run, my father
still enjoys reminding me of my fate.
Luckily for me, he doesn’t believe its going to
happen either.
Those expectations have always been high, even
since I was little. In infamous cases, the pressure
from such high expectations is crippling, sending
the child backwards instead of propelling him or
her into success. My father’s goals for my brother
and me avoided these detrimental pitfalls because
they weren’t driven by perfectionism. Instead,
my father’s hopes sprung from a humanistic
potential, allowing my brother and me to believe
in the possibility and reject the probability of such
goals if they conflicted with our own. My father’s stance, maybe
unconsciously, mirrored that of Abraham Maslow in his take on
humanistic biology in The Farther Reaches of Human Nature: “… [I] demonstrate this to my students simply by asking, ‘Which
of you in this class hopes to write the great
American novel, or to be a Senator, or Governor,
or President? Who wants to be Secretary-General
of the United Nations? Or a great composer? Who
aspires to be a saint, like Schweitzer, perhaps?
Who among you will be a great leader?’ Generally,
everybody starts giggling, blushing, and squirming
until I ask, ‘If not you, then who else?’”
The lesson is so strongly reminiscent of the one
my father ingrained in me, that I can only imagine
Maslow with a baseball cap and startling golf tan.
My father wasn’t always so Daoistic. In my
personal life, especially surrounding boyfriends,
my father attempted to lead me down the correct
path instead of allowing me to pave my own.
Being another angst-ridden teenager, I rebelled in
full force and am not ashamed to say that I was
absolutely atrocious. Had I been in my parents’
place, I would have sent me off to boarding school within a week. They
put up with it for two years. I hated my father for trying to control
me, and despised his advice and eventual demands. Nevertheless, he was right every time.
I knew he was right, even back then, but it isn’t until now that
I comprehend how he could be Daoistic in some respects and
authoritarian in others. The former style could only help me – studies,
goals, interests. The latter, however, was a dark terrain that more
often than not led to pain and danger. That pain and danger was not
a path my father was comfortable with letting me tread down, and
in that sense he is the perfect dad. I know an enterprise is dangerous
if my dad gives me advice on it, and I know to (at the very least)
listen to it. That rebellious streak is still brewing inside me, but my
experiences made me re-prioritize what things I am rebelling against;
parental guidance definitely isn’t one of them.
That guidance is beginning to change shape with the changes in
my life. Instead of asking what color I should paint my construction
paper project, I’ll be asking what color to paint the bathroom. I’ll be
calling about my taxes and fixing the lawnmower via telephone. If I
ask, I know my dad will answer. If I don’t, I know he’ll wait until I
do. I know I won’t be President, and despite the fact that he knows it
too, my dad will keep on pushing that career option, and all the other
options that he reminds me of incessantly.
I am not dying to leave my home for college and life beyond, but
I’m also not afraid of leaving the nest. I’ve been prepared for life by my
parents letting me prepare myself, and the Daoist non-interference
and humanistic potential they have imprinted on me will carry me
forward towards great things.
Maybe it’s not the Presidency, but it’s something great. I promise,
Dad.
