#30DaysofThankful with #TheGirlWithPurpleHair

Day 5: I am grateful for the Lessons My Father Bestowed Upon Me           

 My father and I have a long history of not getting along. My father, a strong, loud and abrasive man is a Scorpio. Me, well I am a strong, loud, abrasive woman and I am a Gemini. Clearly, you can deduce that as a result of our incredibly similar dispositions that my childhood or more specifically, my teenage years were filled with explosive arguments. Often times as a teen my lack of self-control and vicious tongue landed me on some serious punishment to my room for days, maybe even weeks at a time.

Growing up in my house was pretty special. Our parents loved my sister and me dearly and our youth was filled with trips to Mexico and innovative birthday parties. Yet despite this, I detested my father. My father represented order and structure. He was strict with my sister and I; harder on me since I was the oldest. We weren’t allowed to have short hair, dye our hair, wear make up, have boyfriends, or even go on sleep over’s. My youth felt oppressive and during a time when all I wanted to do was desperately fit in, I felt stifled living under my parent’s regime.

My parents are your typical bluecollar folk. My father has an Associate’s Degree and my mother holds a high school diploma. We lived on Long Island in a suburb of Manhattan close to the beach in a modest house. We owned two cars, my sister and I had our own bedrooms, and we never went without food, clothes, or other essentials. My parents worked hard to give us a childhood where we could thrive. My parents let us be kids. I never babysat my younger sister and we always took vacations as a family. Family time was and continues to be paramount. We prepared and ate dinner together every single night. Regardless of being grounded, there was no ‘eating in our bedrooms,’ so I had to face my parents even when I loathed the face time. Dinnertime was family time. Even now, well into my adulthood if I am visiting and I am not going to be home for dinner, I still have to let my parents know.

My father was always self-employed in advertising or other endeavors but he mostly he dabbled computers when I was younger. My father’s was different than my mom’s since she commuted into NYC daily and my dad left for work around 9am after a leisurely breakfast and Howard Stern.

Eventually, my father’s business ventures tanked and his business went bankrupt. My father was out of work for about 2 years. We never knew how bad things really were for my parents with creditors calling the house seeking to collect debts. My parents did an exceptional job shielding us from their financial woes. Everyday, my father got my sister and I ready for school: he cooked us breakfast, diligently did our hair (my mom taught my dad how to make ponytails for us!), and drove us to school. When dropping us off at school, my father always made sure we hugged and kissed him goodbye. As we got older this ritual made us insecure and embarrassed so we tried to evade this by running out of the minivan as fast as possible. My father, never one to go down without a fight would roll down the car window and call to my sister and I, mortifying us in front of our peers. Sometimes, he even would walk us into school, lift us up and kiss our faces making a spectacle of his love for us. At the time, we wanted to die. It was horrific to have your parent, nonetheless your stay-at-home dad humiliate you in school.

Growing up I knew I was different than my friends because we shopped at Payless and Marshall’s and TJ Maxx before it was ‘cool to get a bargain’. My school projects while incredibly unique were comprised of making soap sculptures and other ingenuity that further alienated me from me peers. I still remember one birthday in particular, I don’t know how old I was turning and I don’t even remember who was there. All I remember was what we did to circumvent the fact my parents couldn’t afford to host a party at one of the hip hot spots around town. My father printed and copied outlines off the computer of animals and landscapes. Then we went to supermarket and bought all sorts of dried beans in assorted colors, shapes and sizes. The beans were placed in bowls on the dining room table with bountiful amounts of Elmer’s glue. We glued the beans onto the pictures my father printed but it didn’t stop there. We also each made our own English Muffin pizza bagel! It was creative and obviously tons of fun but again, I felt embarrassed that I couldn’t be like everyone else.

Why couldn’t we have more money? But really, money aside, I just wished my father would be like everyone else’s parents: liberal, lax, and let us listen to Z100 in the car instead of oldies. I acted out. I was ungrateful and angry. I cursed at my parents and I am ashamed to say it, even spit in their faces a handful of times. Filled with rage I went off to college then moved to Los Angeles immediately thereafter. I started my life on my terms, far far far away from that Long Island home as an English teacher for LA Unified. As I started my journey as a teacher, my father’s structure, high standards, passion, confidence, and individuality were wildly apparent. My thick skin to Own My Awesome and be proud of who I am permeated into all facets of my life. Still present today as I mentor youth and inspire people in my fitness classes; the lessons of my father live on.

My father taught me how to be your own person. Abba, which is Hebrew for father, never played by anybody else’s rules. I suppose he didn’t play because he couldn’t. Abba is just too much of a revolutionary and visionary to follow anyone else; he must lead. From my expressive choices in hair color, to my bohemian style of dress, to my quirks as a teacher—my father’s influence on the woman I have become is obvious: I am my father’s daughter.

Strong, loud, and abrasive.

No one defines me or can tell me to play by the rules.

Recently a colleague of mine remarked, “You’re like a walking art project!” My confidence and strong sense of self was cultivated in my youth by my Abba who simply lived his truth. I didn’t know it at the time, but my father established a strong set of morals within me by simply being himself.

I owe all that I am to my father and his ability to stand tall amongst a sea of followers and march to the tune of his own drum. I am thankful that the lessons of my youth shaped me into a fiery force.

I am my father’s daughter.

Happy 62^nd Birthday Abba. I love you more than words [I guess pun intended].