Not seeing your father when you are small, never being with him, having a remote father, a workaholic father, is an injury. – Robert Bly
My dad was home a lot. He hated his job as an inventory control manager for an underwear manufacturer. He worked weekdays only, and rarely traveled. He wasn’t into sports and didn’t have many buddies so nothing took him away from home. His obsession was our house. He built most of it himself over 25 years.
When he died Monday, my brother, mother and I took a walk through the house. My folks’ basement is full of Dad’s hand and power woodworking tools of every kind, thousands and thousands of dollars worth. As I walked through, I didn’t have many painful memories (just one, actually) but I couldn’t come up with any good memories either as he had no patience to teach me or my brother (not to mention my sister) any of the skills he used to build the house.
So yeah, it hurts a little, but it seems a bit of an overstatement to call it an injury. I guess I miss having him share his passion with me. He missed the joy of teaching a son a useful skill. We both missed out.