4 – College

Dad,

You wrote to me frequently when I was in college. You updated me on what you and my siblings were doing and sometimes gave me news about Mom, although her situation never seemed to change much. I told you about my classes and a bit about my social life. I didn’t mention my drinking – I knew you were a teetotaller yourself and were pretty opposed to alcohol consumption in general, maybe because Grandpa drank every evening, which caused friction between him and Grandma. I certainly didn’t mention my sleeping around, but once my relationship with Josh got serious, I did share stories about him now and then.

We devoted most of our letters to an ongoing conversation about some of the new ideas I was being exposed to in my classes and at the campus women’s center, ideas like socialism and feminism. We also talked about religion a lot. You were excited about what I was learning and pushed me to think more and more deeply. You wrote pages and pages, defending your views carefully and in detail, responding to my ideas point by point. Sometimes I felt some of the old competitiveness – you clearly wanted me to appreciate how smart you were and convince me that your ideas were the best.

It’s amazing that you found time to do all of this writing, given how sick Mom was and how many responsibilities you were trying to juggle – a high pressure job, five kids still at home, meals, laundry, and all the rest. Maybe our letters were a way for you to take a break from all of that.

Now that I have adult children of my own, I know how much fun it is when kids share their excitement about new ideas they’re encountering in college or out in the world. I love discussing these ideas with my kids, learning new ways of understanding the world and grappling with challenges to my old ways of thinking. I’m guessing you felt the same way – that you loved ideas and enjoyed learning along with me.

Sometimes these college letters remind me of being in the car with you, driving home from Weymouth late at night, talking quietly about “Big Ideas” while Mom and the rest of the kids were sleeping. Our letters were like a quiet space where we connected with each other outside of the noise and chaos of Mom’s illness. It’s clear that you missed me. I don’t think I realized that when I first received these letters decades ago. But it comes through loud and clear when I read them now. The depth and breadth of your engagement with me and with my thinking is something I took for granted. Your love and concern for me are so strong and present. And yet, I so often felt that you weren’t there for me.

Because somehow, whenever we were together at home, the camaraderie of our letter exchange disappeared and was replaced by our ongoing conflicts. I was desperate to do something to help our family and wanted to move back home, but you refused to let me take a leave of absence from school, because you were afraid I’d never go back. Instead, you wanted me to come home every weekend to help, but I refused because the bus trips were so long and I couldn’t figure out how to live torn in half, partly at school and partly at home.

I could not take care of you in the way you wanted me to because I was still a kid. You could not take care of me in the way I wanted you to because you were consumed with taking care of Mom. You were unable to see how much Mom’s withdrawal was hurting me, while I was unable to see that she had withdrawn from you too and you were also suffering. You thought I was selfish because I seemed to care more about my troubles than Mom’s. And I thought you were cruel because you only seemed to care about Mom’s troubles and not anyone else’s.

Karen