[draft] notes on my dad

My father did not have a father.

He lost his father when he was 6.
This is not something he speaks about often, yet it is a fact.
He grew up without a model for how to be a man, so he constructed one.

From necessity comes character, and maybe from absence comes invention?

I reckon he became self-reliant early. He learned not to expect rescue.
I see this in him even now; the instinct to handle matters internally before allowing others to carry them.

I recognize this instinct in myself. Me, a latchkey kid, inherited some of that self-reliance and independence from him — a double-edged sword, in my opinion.

—

He does not like attention.

He prefers the edge of the room.
He listens more than he speaks.
He does not rush to assert himself.

When I was younger, I mistook this for hesitation.
But there is strength in not needing to be seen.

I, too, choose a corner seat when possible.
I, too, feel shy / discomfort in unnecessary spotlight.

It seems temperament travels through blood? This, I have inherited, which I wish to change.

—

He loves his kids in a way that is vigilant.

He worries in advance.
He imagines scenarios before they occur.
He protects preemptively.

This extends beyond us. He is careful with people’s feelings.
He would rather inconvenience himself, than risk hurting another.

This, too, I have inherited — for better and worse.

—

He __[].

As a kid, I watched Formula 1 with him.

Engines loud. Commentary fast. His favorite driver still is Michael Schumacher, I believe.
He would explain strategy and racecraft patiently — why a driver waits, why timing matters.

He encouraged curiosity.
He never dismissed my questions.

—

He believes in contentment.

He does not strain endlessly for more.
He is satisfied with stability, with enough.

At times, I challenge this in him.
I want him to think bigger, to expand beyond the limits he has accepted.

But maybe contentment is not limitation.
Maybe it is wisdom? Age? I do not yet know.

—

He rewatches films.

He quotes them before the lines arrive.
He laughs early, as if greeting an old friend.

Familiarity comforts him.
I understand that now.

—

Like father, like son. In some ways.

I see myself becoming a bit like him as I grow older, which I wish to change.

In quietness and protectiveness.
In carrying weight without announcement.
In attempting to be steady during uncertainty.

I used to believe having a personality similar to one’s father was a loss of individuality.
In all honesty, I used to despise it. I still struggle with accepting it.

But now I think it is continuity.

He built himself without guidance.
He built us with a lot of care.

Or rather, he built us from his perspective of what care looks like, especially since he did not have a model and certainly did not have it easy as a kid.

If I have inherited anything of worth, it is not his fear, nor his restraint, but his sense of responsibility.
Is responsibility, properly held, love?