Sayings My Father Shunned
A former child’s gratitude for parental restraint
A writer by profession, my father speaks with eloquence, wisdom, and humor. I could expound at length about valuable lessons he taught me with his words, but I am even more grateful for what he did not say.
Actions speak louder than words. My father’s proclaim, “I do not say, I do.”
In my formative years, our insular nuclear family lived abroad. We had no radio nor television. It was not until I was at least seven years old that I began hearing these common sayings that other parents tell their children. I have puzzled over them ever since.
- “Do as I say, not as I do” is first and foremost among the sayings my father shunned. At best, it is an admission of personal failure and an appeal for the next generation to do better — a self-admitted negative example. Worse, in my view, is when it promulgates an intrinsically unequal system wherein certain adult men obey different rules (if any) than they impose on their subjects. Actions speak louder than words. My father’s proclaim, “I do not say, I do.” He demanded no more of his children than he did of himself, and no less of himself than of his children.
- “Respect your elders.” Not being trained any differently, my brother and I called my parents by their first names, as they did each other, a practice some parents consider disrespectful. Some people demand respect merely for their status, and bestow their own sparingly, like knighthood by monarchs, only when earned by deserving subjects. Demanding none in return, my father showers respect freely on everyone, at least until they prove themselves unworthy, regardless of their status or age, extending respect even to his own children. It turns out this costs nothing and is a great way to gain the respect of others, including one’s children! Other boys spend their lives fruitlessly seeking their fathers’ approval; I never sought it because always had it.
- “Because I said so,” and “because I’m your father.” My father rarely used, and never abused, parental authority. He appealed to reason and fairness, seeking feedback and consensus. His stubbornness is legendary; I learned in a time before memory that a decision made would stand (I was amazed to later witness parents who caved in if their children pestered them long enough). But if he could not justify an unreasonable position, he modified it.
- “I promise” implies any other expression should be regarded as a mere idea, speculation, or indefinite intent. And because those who make them so often break even their promises, the phrase seems to have less than no meaning. I don’t remember my father ever making a “promise,” but if he says he will to do something, he does it, without fail.
- “Trust me” is a bizarre phrase that immediately sounds alarm bells for me. Don’t tell me you are trustworthy, show me, like my father did! His every statement is fact. I’ve heard we are as good as our word. My father’s are platinum.
- “Life isn’t fair.” In our home, life was fair (for me, if not for my younger brother; sorry, Nick!).
- “I love you.” When I was a child, my father rarely if ever told me he loved me, but his actions left no doubt; indeed, the question never occurred to me. In contrast, households where I frequently heard this phrase seemed much more troubled. It was as if “I love you” was a band-aid to patch the injury of words and actions that said the opposite much more convincingly. Along with my father’s respect came empathy and compassion; he always treated my feelings with care and tenderness. Like respect and trust, love was something he showed rather than talked about.
Without ever speaking of them, my parents through their example taught respect and instilled values like integrity, fairness, equality, and humility. Not being a parent myself, I do not criticize or judge how others raise their children, but I do count my own upbringing foremost among my privileges.
My mother, who died of cancer in 2006, may have been a bit more judgmental, a bit more serious than my father (possibly because she did more of the hands-on parenting 😉), but she, too, refrained from using any of these sayings. What I write of my father’s parenting goes for her, as well.
Robert Borson responds:
Reflecting on your comments, I thought back on my own parents and how they raised me. I can’t ever remember either of them saying “I promise” to me either. Nor did they ever ask me to “trust them.” Keeping promises, being trustworthy, being respectful — those were qualities I took for granted as a normal state of affairs. As Mom would say, with a shrug, “Of course.” We all knew what she meant by that. Of course, you did the right thing. Of course, you got an “A” at school. Of course, you told the truth. That goes without saying.
If those attributes were inculcated in me, I guess I have them to thank.
Both Betty and I were strongly influenced by a book published in the U.S. in the fall of 1960: Summerhill: A Radical Approach to Child Rearing, by A. S. Neill. One of its central premises was the innate goodness of the child. In other words, the opposite of being born “sinful and unclean,” a phrase we had heard throughout our life as part of the Lutheran liturgy. As if the creator had brought us into the world as damaged goods that needed fixing by the church. We both rebelled against that ridiculous idea and the notion that our children needed to be molded into something other than what they were by nature. It always made my blood boil when I heard parents speak about child-rearing in those terms at parent-teacher conferences and the like.
Fortunately, you and Nick are proving that the A. S. Neill approach wasn’t as crazy as a lot of people thought at the time.
Robert Borson is an artist, translator, and retired writer living in Santa Fe, New Mexico with his wife, Susan Haynes.
