To My Dad

Dear Dad,

You have been someone who has had an incredible impact on my life.  Although you passed away over 25 years ago, your words still continue to stay with me.

You were a man with much integrity and honor; a hard worker who had incredible perseverance.  You were a first-generation immigrant and taught me that "when in Rome, do as the Romans do."  Unfortunately, that did not allow me to share much in your heritage or language.  I wish you would have done that, as I think it would have greatly enriched my life; however, I'm sure that due to your persecution during the days of the Nazis that it was something you chose quite purposefully.  I understand it but I think it is sad you felt you needed to give up that part of yourself in order to be safe. 

 Although you were a wonderful man and provider,  you did have a way about you; a way that left some scars on my heart.  Perhaps it was because you were a doctor, or that you personally knew the sting of being overweight because you were for many years. For whatever reason, that was a bone of contention with you.  You wanted thin children and I did not make the mark.  In high school, unbeknownst to you, I developed an eating disorder.  I became thin but it was at a price.  I think you noticed something was wrong, as you then began to encourage me to eat; but I didn't want to.  After you left for work, I would throw away the food you made for me.  In my mind, being thin was equated with pretty.  You made that abundantly clear when you remarked how unattractive women friends became as they got heavier in their 50's.    I tried to explain to you that they were no longer young but that didn't seem to matter to you; they were no longer beautiful.

As I grew older, I continued to struggle with my weight.  I still do.  The truth is, I have been very thin in my life and very heavy.  At my thinnest, it was never enough.  Frankly, I'm not sure what the scale would have to read in order for me to be "pretty."  Unfortunately, that is the message that you sent.  Your words still ring in my ears.  "Your ass is too big, sweetie!"   I don't know if it was something lost in the translation but tact was certainly not your strong suit.  I suppose the endearing term on the end was meant to take out the sting.  I have forgiven you for the comments you made  and yet, I am continuing to heal and accept myself as I am.  It's not easy but I am trying really hard.

You were an older parent; 51 years old when I was born.  I don't know how you had the energy for a young family, but you managed.  As I grew older, you did not like my choice of boyfriends or husband.  You made sure I knew it.  As a dad and doctor,  you were incredibly overprotective.  Perhaps that's where all that stemmed from -- your not wanting me to get hurt; either physically or emotionally. 

You also did not like the fact that I was living with my future husband.  I will give you that...it was the wrong thing to do.  However, my heart was not with God at that time.  I wish instead of criticizing me and calling me names, you would have directed me to get counsel from an outside source.  That would have been incredibly helpful.  Of course, hindsight is always 20/20, isn't it?   You were not a perfect dad nor was I a perfect daughter.  And yes, I am sorry for any pain I caused you.

I am sorry you felt a need to end your life.  Although you were not young, I still think you had plenty of life to live.   I don't know why you did it but it left an incredible void.   However, had you not done that, I probably would not have become a "born again" Christian  I suppose that is the silver lining in that very dark cloud. 

You taught me many things.  That it is not easy to make a living; it takes a lot of sacrifice to be financially secure.   Although I did the "right thing" by getting a college education,  it was not until many years later that I realized the importance of not just an education, but a profession.  I think I missed that particular lesson when I was younger because all I heard was you wanted me to be a physician.  True enough, but if I read between the lines, I would have heard, you need a profession.  I also learned about my Jewish heritage and the impact the Holocaust had on our family.   I know it affected you greatly, as you talked about it to me quite often.  As a child, I didn't understand -- as an adult, I do.  It helped to keep the story alive in my heart and has allowed me to tell others your story.  I didn't know until this year that you never talked about it with anyone else in our family.  Interesting.  Perhaps you saw something in me that no one else did?  You also taught me that faith is important.  You didn't care what religion I was as long as I believed in God.  Most of all, you believed in strong family ties; as a result, my family is incredibly close.

I am sorry for the things you had to go through in your life.  I know yours was not easy.  You did the best you could as a parent.  I see that even more as I grow older. 

As I continue to struggle with so-called "baggage" in my life, I am trying less and less to blame my childhood and more importantly, you -- and focus on who I have become as an adult.  What did my childhood teach me?  To focus less on the negatives of my life and more on the positives.  And although I know you would be appalled at my physical stature if you were alive today, you would probably be pretty happy with who I became; an educator, a woman of Christ and someone who is independent and learning to like herself for the first time in her life. 

Thank you for being there for me for my those first 28 years of  my life.  It was not as long as I would have liked but I have to believe it was God's plan and purpose for both of our lives.  In spite of our limited time together,  you had a profound impact upon me.  I need to remember who you were in this life; a good man, an amazing father and one who would give the shirt off his back to help another.  Most importantly, a man who knew God.  I pray you are resting in peace.

I love you,
Lisa