My 84-year-old Dad

On the exchange of ideas and changing the steps of the dance

My daughter, Georgia and I were recently visiting my parents in Arkansas. She had been privy to many “discussions” I was having with my dad and his political views around such issues as the economy, abortion, immigration, education and the behaviour of those in the White House. As I was getting ready one day, I went into her room and said “I am sorry you had to hear all that arguing, debating, discussing that I was doing with my dad yesterday. Sometimes it can get quite heated and sound pretty caustic”. Her response hit me between the eyes. “Mum, he’s 84 years old. Do you really want to spend your time here arguing about politics with your 84-year-old father?” I said “No! Why do I feel dead set on changing my 84-year-old father’s mind? Why can’t I just let him be? What is wrong with me, Georgia?”

My tongue and my wits were sharpened in discussions with my father when I was growing up. Whenever I had a question about my future – Dad, I need help deciding if I want to be an actor, journalist, doctor or singer – I would go to him and we’d hash out the pros and cons of the different choices. Whenever I was uncertain about my place, as a woman, in this world – Dad, it’s not fair that I’m treated differently and poorly at work, just because I’m a woman – he’d tell me that he raised a strong, independent, intelligent woman who did not have to put up with any of that crap at work and then we’d talk about how to combat it. When I butted heads with my father-in-law – Dad, I just don’t know what to do when my father-in-law flies off the handle – my dad would counsel me about how to deal with my father-in-law without pushing him into a corner he was unable to defend, but would defend anyway. More often than not, he and I would say we were discussing certain topical issues but most onlookers would have said we were in a full-blown argument. We didn’t care. We were having fun. Voices would rise, interruptions became more frequent, beliefs were challenged and debates continued for many, many minutes if not hours.

He was my go-to guy, my wise advisor, my wall-upon-which-I-threw-things to see what stuck and what fell to the wayside. My father was, and still is, a very intelligent and wise man and he loved imparting that wisdom to his eldest child. Our love language was repartee.

I still, now, continue to challenge, and engage in debate, my 84-year-old father. I, we, enjoy exploring his thoughts, the way he sees things, really digging into reasons for why he believes what he believes. He is getting to the age where he no longer asks me what I think or why. I’m not sure when that happened; maybe it has always been like that and, in my immaturity and inexperience, I just didn’t realise it. I’m really not sure, but recently, however, the conversations have turned to the political situation in the US and I find that I am increasingly getting into proper arguments, not discussions, with my father. He and I are diametrically opposed on many things in this arena, with very few commonalities.

As a younger woman, I would throw out an idea, and see where it landed with him, hoping to spark a conversation that was both intellectually stimulating and emotionally nourishing. I am now more frequently thinking “I’m getting nowhere and he’s never going to change”. It’s philosophically, spiritually and emotionally distressing, and I have gone from wanting true engagement to trying to convince him that I am right and he is wrong. It is I who have changed. I have altered the steps of the dance and I am very disappointed with the new pattern.

When it comes to my father and his political views, my anger, pain and hurt will not change his mind nor his vote and trying to do so is wasting a lot of energy on that which I have absolutely no impact. I must remember that my dad’s vote is a political opinion and not who he is. We’ve always discussed politics but this time, I only see him through this one specific lens. For me, the stakes are high and I so want him to see my point of view. But this time, his views have definitely toppled him from the pedestal on which I have placed him all these years. I have always thought that he knew everything and if he said it, it must be so. I think that the reason why I wanted to change his mind was that I didn’t want to believe that my hero was human, like the rest of us, with fears, anxieties, concerns, beliefs, ideas, ideals, wisdom, experience and unique viewpoints. My wise, compassionate, caring, generous, deeply emotional, godly father is actually human and realising that is painful and liberating. I feel the pain of losing my hero, the one who knew it all and who could solve all the world’s problems. I also feel the spark of liberation which will allow me to truly get to know the man whom I have loved all my life.

I am thankful for my daughter’s challenging me about this argumentative spirit I was carrying around. I’m glad she told me to get a reality check about his age and the time he has left. If I’m being honest, would I want to spend my last years arguing with my daughter? I hope that I will have a flexibility built into my belief system, a propensity to vulnerability, questioning and exploring new ideas, but who knows how I will be when I’m in my 80s.

What I, now, really want to do is to talk to him about other things like the first job he ever had or what it was like when he married my mother or the first time he delivered a baby. I want my children to know who their grandfather and great grandfather really is. I don’t want to talk about politics. He and I may never agree on it and besides, is it really my job to change my father’s mind? No, it’s not. I, at the very least, owe that decent respect to a man who has always steered me in the right direction and has always loved me fiercely.