For my father

Tomorrow is Father's Day.  It is one of those made-up holidays,  a guilt-inducing, greeting card industry sham.  I have always told my four kids not to worry about it - I don't need special attention on the third Sunday in June.  But it can be useful to reflect on your origins, so that is how I use both Mother's Day and Father's Day.

My father, Al Gillock, died over 25 years ago.  My two youngest kids never met their paternal grandfather. The internet was not up and running in 1991, but I decided to Google my dad's name to see what popped up. One of the items that was in the search results was a document called "San Leandro Shoreline History."  San Leandro was the town in the San Francisco Bay Area that was our home.  My father was active in the community, particularly when it came to the town's parks and recreational facilities. The picture above was in the San Leandro Shoreline History document, and my dad is in it. He is the guy with his hands in his pockets on the far left.  I was about 12 years old when this picture was taken; Dad was 52.  When I looked at the photo, I was surprised to see how trim Dad looked in 1966. I remember him from his later years, when I was in high school and college - he grew a beach ball stomach and did not take care of his physical health.  His lack of fitness was a motivating force in my life - I vowed not to become an old pot-bellied guy like my father, and that is the primary reason I drag my 61-year old butt out of bed at 5AM to hit the gym.  My dad was born and raised in the south in the 20's and 30's  - you can guess what that means (**cough--racist--cough**). I made it a point to settle in an integrated community;  my son-in-law is black - and I love him.

Fathers have an impact - we try to emulate them, or be as unlike them as possible.

There were other crumbs of information that came up in the Google search:

Born:  November 4, 1914 (World War I was in full swing, and the famous "Battle of the Bees" was fought on November 4, 1914).
Died: April 14, 1991
Place of Death:  Alameda CA, USA
Birthplace:  Tennessee
Gender: Male
Mother's Maiden Name: Yeargin
Education: 1 year of college (Southern Methodist University, I think; he dropped out to join the Army)
Military Service: Serial Number #3804354, enlisted March 12, 1941 (9 months before Pearl Harbor)
Professon: Salesperson (He actually spent most of his work life as a clerk in a canned food company warehouse in Oakland CA)
Social Security Number:  409-01-4709 from Social Security Death Master File

Al Gillock was a mystery to his youngest son.  He didn't talk to me much about his past or hopes for his future.  He was out in the evenings quite frequently - at various community board meetings, city council meetings, etc.  He smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish, had a mild heart attack in his late 50's and gave up both habits overnight (that is when he gained weight, I think).  I don't remember him tossing a baseball with me or doing all the little things that dads do with their kids.  He wasn't particularly successful in his career.  He was diagnosed with "manic depression" (now known as bipolar disorder) and went on disability when I was around 18 years old.

He did the best he could.

He was a gentle person and I don't think he ever spanked or struck me (if he did, I don't remember).  His mother died when he was young; I think that was the trauma that led to his mental health issues.  When Dad died, I was stunned by the size of the crowd that showed up to pay their respects at the funeral.  There was much about my father that was unknown to me.  I did know that he loved to collect coins, and he very much wanted to pass his collection down to me when he died.  During my recent divorce, my ex-wife got her hands on Dad's coin collection and sold most of it.  I am glad that my father did not live long enough to experience that little drama.

I have worked hard not to be like my dad, but he is part of me.  I look like the old man, I have his goofy sense of humor and I, too, used to drink like a fish on occasion.  I had negative feelings about my father, but those are all gone now.  He gave me my life.  I am sure that his life was a hard battle for him.

It has taken a long time, but I honor my father, at last.

Fathers and Sons

 

 

I don't know why, but I love this rather creepy "Photoshopped" image.  The poet said "The child is father to the man," but I don't think this is what he had in mind.

 

My belief is that a son can't begin to understand his father until he becomes a father, too.  The emotions and reactions to the life-changes that accompany the arrival of a child are hard to comprehend  from the outside looking in.  Many men finally start getting serious when they have a kid. 

 

As I begin my sixtieth year on this planet and wind up my 33rd year as a parent of kids under 18, I find myself thinking about my own father quite a lot.  My dad was a gentle person in many ways, but he struggled.  He was diagnosed as "manic - depressive" in the 1960's (I always preferred this term to the less precise "bipolar disorder.")  I didn't understand the guy at all, and viewed him as a "negative role model."  Everything he did and everything he was bothered me, so I strived to be the opposite.  He did not have much career success and finally went on disability in his 50's due to his brain disorder - my mother went to work when I was young to relieve the financial strain on the family.  He smoked like a chimney and he was a major league couch potato - my mom is the parent who played catch with me when I was a kid.  He was silent for long stretches and would break out with flashes of white-hot rage at random moments.  He was raised in the Southern United States and was a casual bigot.

 

He also had a great sense of humor and could be a very charming guy.  He cared about his community and volunteered many hours to improve it.  He was active in local politics and helped several folks with their campaigns.  He served as the parks commissioner in our home town (an unpaid position).  To generate a little extra money, he distributed World's Finest Chocolate bars to schools for their fundraising efforts.  He brought cases of dented, unsalable canned goods home from his job at the warehouse to supplement our sometimes meager food supply. He worked the Dad's Club grill at the school carnival.  He was authentic and engaged at times, and people remembered him.   His funeral was a packed house of people he had touched along his path.

 

In other words, he fought against his condition and did what he could.

 

Before I became a father, I had no compassion for my dad.  After three decades of fatherhood, and significant experience with the mental illness of family members, I understand him.  I still don't want to emulate him, but now I finally admire him.



Be Better

I found myself saying something to a family member I love very much.  I said "You need to take steps necessary to be better, to get well."  Right after that,  I saw the  picture above, which is a piece by photographer John William Keedy.  This started me thinking about how we perceive normal and abnormal behavior.

One of the interesting features of mental illness is the tendency of some sufferers to resist  treatment.  The resistance is caused by many things. One issue is the desire to avoid the stigma associated with the "mentally ill" label. The mind-altering/personality-altering effects of psychotropic drugs is another hurdle.  When a mentally ill person has full-blown anosognosia, they really believe that they are fine.  It is confusing and alarming to these folks when others tell them they are mentally ill.

Here is the other thing I am learning about mental illness - it is similar to physical diseases in some ways.  If you have diabetes or a heart condition or any other difficult malady and you don't get the appropriate treatment, your disease will progress and you will become  less healthy until you die.  This rule applies to serious mental illness, too.  Serious mental illnesses are progressive.  Untreated sufferers get worse, and often kill themselves when their misery and confusion becomes too much to bear.

Dr. Xavier Amador wrote a book in 2002 entitled "I Am Not Sick, I Don't Need Help."  As I struggled with my own confusion over relatives with mental illness, I ran into a wise person who recommended the book.  I read it, and learned how well-meaning actions can drive a wedge between a mentally healthy person and a mentally ill person. The book is well-written and understandable with a clear blueprint - L.E.A.P., which stands for Listen, Empathize, Agree, Partner.  While the blueprint is clear, executing the plan is hard.  "Sane" responses to the behavior of a mentally ill person get in the way of Dr. Amador's steps.  All the natural feelings that occur when dealing with mentally ill folks - frustration, anger, worry, fear - also impede progress.

After a discouraging series of events, I find myself clinging to hope.  These diseases can be controlled, people do recover.  Good things can happen to the people that I love who are suffering.  While the events "on the ground" may be challenging, this hope remains. 

This will sound trite and corny, but I will never give up that hope.

The story from a woman in recovery from bipolar disorder

This article, written by Linda Logan, will be in tomorrow morning's Sunday Magazine section of the New York Times.  This is one of the best first-person narratives I have read about the long road of recovering from bipolar disorder.  The good news is that those suffering from this disease can re-assemble their lives.  The bad news is that the life assembled via recovery is not the same life that was taken by the disorder.  The desire to "get back to where I was before I got sick" is a huge source of grief and frustration to folks with mental illness.

And here is a quote from another mentally ill person struggling with recovery:

"If the truth be known, I fear that I may be abandoned by my family.  I offer my family the same opportunity to accept and love me as I am, rather than seeing me as a blasted hope, whose life has suffered a sad and irreversible loss.  But it is hard to know if that will happen."

It is hard for a person with a mental disorder to accept and recover from their situation.  And even if they succeed, they may lose their family and friends anyway.

By the way, all of this effort to recover must be strong enough to overcome the continuing widespread social stigma and revulsion that "mentally healthy" people direct at people with mental disorders. And let's not forget that only the very rich and the very poor have full access to mental heath care.  Perhaps that will change someday, but that day seems quite a ways off.  And Medicaid cuts brought about by state budget issues will make care less available to poor people.

On any given day, 240,000 people with mental illness are homeless and another 283,000 are in jail receiving little or no treatment for their disorder. In the U.S., Canada and Western Europe, mental illness accounts for 25% of all disability.  By comparison, heart disease and cancer account for 5% and 3% respectively.

This is an epidemic that people don't talk about or think about.  And when many people recognize mental illness in a person they see on the street, they avert their eyes or cross the street and avoid that individual.

This is a bias that is still perfectly acceptable in our culture.