Cat's in the Cradle

I think the simplest way I can explain the different in my parents' individual influences on me is this: My mother's influence on me has been largely proactive whereas my father's influence on me has been largely reactive. I think that largely stems from where they saw their own trajectories. As I've ever written on here before, my mother came from the opposite side of the planet. She's easily the more adventurous, daring one always pushing me to study up to become a doctor or lawyer in true tiger mom parenting. My father came from middle class suburbia and was content on achieving and maintaining middle class suburbia on his own terms; the status quo was something to be defended once it was earned in its all white picket fence, Norman Rockwell-esque glory.

High school era. Three generations of Stone men.

I think I fall somewhere in the middle: I like stability but I also get restless really easy in the face of stagnation. I never really dreamed of that white picket fence and certainly didn't see it as an endgame; I always need to be working towards something. But while we differed in goals, it was my father's initiative that I really took notice of.

My father looking about as pleased as one can with his two-fisted drinking son.

My father was really the gateway into western culture. The Beatles and Rolling Stones? That came from him. Star Trek and Star Wars? That was a Jack Stone joint. Baseball? That's my dad. But to carry that observation from before about me never being satisfied, once he found the things he was interested in, that was it, mission accomplished. For me, I always wanted to know everything I could so there's Beatles songs my father never existed; a lot of them. My father has never watched every single Star Trek movie or read more than handful of comic books in his life and he's not missing out including and especially by his own admission. I will concede that he still has me beat on baseball; that dude still collects the trading cards. He even still has the chewing gum.

My father on his wedding day.

That carried on to other things in life too. My father knew that learning Spanish was important and wanted to me to learn how to play piano and I did but that was never enough for me. So I learned other languages and how to play other instruments. But would I have given any of those things a chance without him opening that door? Probably not, so I owe him quite a bit.

The relationship I have with my dad is probably going to go down as the one of the more complex, complicated dynamics I'll ever have with anyone. But for all the rough patches and differences in opinion, a lot of the man I've become truly is thanks to him. And even when my dad doesn't really understand what I'm doing, he'll still be right there in my corner.

And still confused by balloon constructs.

And I think it is really important to point out that my father and I have definitely reached a more positive, stable place in our own dynamic. There's a lot of factors for that evolution but I think the biggest is that we haven't lived together since 2010. Shortly after I graduated from college, my father moved in with the woman that would become my stepmother in Alexandria and that autonomy and space went a long way.

I ended my Mother's Day post with an anecdote so let's end this one with that time I tried to prove I was braver than my dad by watching the original 1978 Halloween.

My dad raised me on a steady diet of classic Universal Monster Movies. Dracula, Frankenstein, The Wolfman (His personal favorite) were all there so there was always this foundation of horror films. My dad showed me The Exorcist waaaaay before it was advisable to show any impressionable young boy that flick. But he stayed away from slasher movies like they were the plague. He's never been fond of jump scares and, honestly, neither am I. But whenever you'd go over to a friend's house for a sleepover or Halloween party, slasher flicks always seemed like to go-to cinematic choice so I kinda grew up with those too.

Okay, I wasn't watching them when I was five but I wasn't that far off.

Halloween is the only movie my father ever walked out of. When he mentioned this to me, he just indicated that he wasn't a fan. That made the whole thing very intriguing to me.

So the next time I was at a sleepover and we started going over which horror movie to watch, I campaigned strongly for John Carpenter's definitive horror classic. Even nearly twenty years after its initial release at the time, it still holds up. Jump scares are cheap storytelling; you're reacting to a noise not necessarily what's going on the screen, it's a reflex action. That's why the Friday the 13th movies were never that scary to me. A Nightmare on Elm Street was more entertaining than frightening. But Halloween? Michael Myers? That's not just a legitimately good film, it's a legitimately terrifying film. All these years later, whenever I hear that iconic theme or see The Shape, I stop dead in my tracks. So imagine how elementary school-me came out trying to prove he could do his old man one better. I watched it all. But it's stuck with me. Really ever since.

Shortly after watching it for the first time, my dad was checking on me one night before I went to bed.

"...Dad?" I called out after we said our goodnights.

"Yeah, boy?" my father replied pausing in the doorway without looking back.

"I...I saw Halloween." I stammered, just name-dropping the title triggering an eidetic memory flash.

"You did?" my dad said turning to face me more amused than surprised. Maybe even a little impressed. Maybe.

"I wanted to see why you walked out. You never walk out on movies." I answered.

"Sam, it was because I was scared." he admitted after a moment.

"Scared?" for being a more emotionally open guy, my dad never liked to present himself as vulnerable or afraid so that was a big revelation.

"It was when he was fucking around the house!" my dad snorted, clearly uncomfortable about making that admission to his son so candidly and visibly revisiting his own memories on the matter.

He waited a beat.

"Sam, it's okay to be scared." he said as he walked out of my room.

"In that case, is it alright if I leave the lights on tonight?" I asked.

"No, we all need to face our fears. Especially the ones in the dark. Goodnight, Sam." he replied without slowing down hitting the light switch and closing the door, that one last sliver of light sliding into the shadows.

Yeah, my father wasn't necessarily the warmest figure growing up. But he's the one that got me started on the paths I needed to take to become who I am. Even the traumatizing horror movies. Especially the traumatizing horror movies.