An Argument with My Father
Fiery post today; coming in hot (pun only kind of intended).
Let me begin this post by saying that I love my father. I have the deepest forms of admiration and respect for the life that he's lived, the struggles he's overcome, and the things he's achieved. In his life he's played in bands, served in the navy, and traveled across the world to an unfamiliar culture in order to raise a family. He's an incredible man, and I am blessed to have him as a father.
With all that said, though, I can't tell you that we necessarily agree on things 100% of the time. We were raised in different circumstances and we have different priorities and values. Because of these differences, we sometimes have disagreements about how to do things (usually resulting in me doing things his way because he's my father and he generally knows better than I do).
Today was one of those days. Storytime.
Today started out as any day does: I was awoken around 6:30 AM to read scriptures and pray with my family. So I did that, and, as I typically do, I went back to bed afterwards. I have been following this pattern for many weeks now, and although it's not exactly the most industrious or motivated lifestyle, it's what I do. I've been setting an alarm to wake up for real around 9:30 each day, although I usually will catch up on news and social networks in my room until 10:30 or 11:00 or so.
Look, I know that I could probably use a little bit of motivation to get up earlier and work harder and such. I get that. I'm not telling this story to exclaim how hard I work, because I know that the lack of responsibilities my life currently holds allows me to be a bit lazier than I should be.
What I am trying to say is that after I do eventually get up, I have been making an extra effort lately to get things done. This blog has been helpful because if nothing else it has given me something to do, a reason to get up each day. Dramatic, I know, but it's real.
In recent days I have spent time researching about things I will need to know about my mission, scheduling doctor's appointments, dentist's appointments, and consulate visits, and shopping for things I will need to take on my mission. The past few days have been the most productive ones I've had in a long time, which makes the subject of today's post especially frustrating.
Today, after I had awoken and spent what was probably a little bit too long on my phone, I was planning on getting up (this was probably 11:15 or so). My day was supposed to go as follows: get up, eat, get ready, read a lot of the Book of Mormon, and find some time somewhere to write a blog post. The majority of my day, meaning several hours, was already intended to be used to read the Book of Mormon, which I feel is a decently admirable aim considering I will be teaching from this book beginning in a few short weeks.
But like things usually are with my father: it wasn't good enough.
A few minutes before I had already planned to get up and get going, my dad knocked on my door. He came in, and asked me what my plans were for the day. I told him: I was going to get up, get ready, and read the Book of Mormon.
But somehow, this wasn't enough for him. Even after all the days where I got up later than today, after all the movies I watched and the useless things I spent my time doing, when I told him that I was actually going to use my time well today, it wasn't good enough.
He asked me if I had a copy of the Book of Mormon in Spanish. I said that I did, so he went over to where I kept the English and Spanish versions of the book and opened them both to the beginning and told me that I should read them side by side in order to learn Spanish.
Look: this is not necessarily terrible advice. I specifically got a copy of the book in Spanish so I could do that. So if you think this whole post comes about because my dad told me to try and learn some Spanish, you are incorrect. Don't worry, this isn't the worst part yet.
So I told him that I didn't want to do that because it was difficult. I know it sounds like a lazy excuse, but you try to read a book that's difficult to understand in your native language and then try to teach yourself a new language by reading that book in that language. Is it impossible? No. Should I try harder? Yes. But I was already planning on studying the Book of Mormon!! In a language I understand!! Shouldn't that at least count for something???
Not to my dad.
My dad told me that I'm going to need to learn Spanish somehow, which is true. I know that I should probably put more effort into it. He continued by telling me that I need to prepare for my mission in every way I can and not waste my time on things that are important (which is true! But I thought that me setting aside several hours to read the Book of Mormon in English was at least a good start).
Which is when he insulted the blog.
Oh man, what a shot through the heart.
Here's the thing: I get that my dad and I have different values. I know that not everything I do matters to him in the same way that not everything he does matters to me. I get that.
But when he told me that I "shouldn't waste my time on that blog" because it "doesn't matter to the people in Mexico", man, that hurt.
Look, I get that writing blog posts is not exactly going to help me prepare for my mission, but it's still something I enjoy doing! It matters to me! So this was incredibly difficult for me to process.
My father then continued by saying that the things I was sharing were "personal". Which, I mean, is fairly true. The things I write about are pretty personal, but that's kind of the point. I didn't start the blog to be a journalist of world events or to report on things that don't matter to me. I started the blog to share my thoughts, feelings, and ideas with the world. I created the blog to be personal, to be intimate. I wanted a space to express myself, so I created it.
But again, it didn't matter to my dad.
He went on, and asked me if the blog even mattered to anyone and then told me to write in a journal instead. This bothered me. I don't want to write in hopes that someday someone stumbles across my journal and decides to read it. And honestly I don't know if this blog matters to anyone else. Maybe I am just writing into the void. But the point is that the blog has the ability to matter to anyone. It can have an effect on anyone who visits it, which would not happen if I wrote some things down in a book and kept it on my desk.
Of course, I mean no disrespect to people who keep journals. I am impressed by the dedication that people have to journal writing and I totally respect them for doing that. I just don't think it's for me. So I told him that I didn't want to do that, and that even if the only person the blog meant something to was me then it was good enough. But that wasn't enough for him.
And so then he finally nailed the coffin shut and told him that the blog wasn't important to him at all, that he had read it and found it too personal. And I mean, it hurt. It genuinely and legitimately hurt that something I invest my time and effort into just doesn't matter to the one person I wish I could impress. It's frustrating that I can't seem to make him happy.
And look, like I said before, I love my father. We typically have a very good relationship and I know that he is a great man. He has taught me more things than anyone else and I am grateful for what he does for me.
But today was just not a good day.
So I left. I was so frustrated that he felt it necessary to come into my room, tell me what to do, and then tear apart something I care deeply about (especially on a day that I had already intended to be a productive day) that I took a shower, gathered up some things, and left. I have been writing the entirety of this post on my laptop in a small corner at a public library because I didn't want to be there anymore. Call it childish, call it irrational, call it stupid. But just imagine for one second that you spent your life making a masterpiece and when you showed it to someone you hoped to impress they asked you why you didn't just keep it to yourself; you'd probably be pretty frustrated too.
This blog isn't a masterpiece. I'm bad at metaphors. You get the idea.
In the end, this whole thing probably won't matter in a day or two. Everything will be fine, and I will still love my father until the end of time. But man, today sure started out rough.
I can only hope tomorrow will be a better day. See you then.
UPDATE: Literally at the exact same moment in which I typed the words "See you then" I received a text message from my father which, among other things, included this phrase: "I love you, and I want the best for you, and for you to succeed in whatever you try to do."
Maybe today taught me that you need to fall apart before you can come closer together. Maybe, today is going to be a great day after all.
With all that said, though, I can't tell you that we necessarily agree on things 100% of the time. We were raised in different circumstances and we have different priorities and values. Because of these differences, we sometimes have disagreements about how to do things (usually resulting in me doing things his way because he's my father and he generally knows better than I do).
Today was one of those days. Storytime.
Today started out as any day does: I was awoken around 6:30 AM to read scriptures and pray with my family. So I did that, and, as I typically do, I went back to bed afterwards. I have been following this pattern for many weeks now, and although it's not exactly the most industrious or motivated lifestyle, it's what I do. I've been setting an alarm to wake up for real around 9:30 each day, although I usually will catch up on news and social networks in my room until 10:30 or 11:00 or so.
Look, I know that I could probably use a little bit of motivation to get up earlier and work harder and such. I get that. I'm not telling this story to exclaim how hard I work, because I know that the lack of responsibilities my life currently holds allows me to be a bit lazier than I should be.
What I am trying to say is that after I do eventually get up, I have been making an extra effort lately to get things done. This blog has been helpful because if nothing else it has given me something to do, a reason to get up each day. Dramatic, I know, but it's real.
In recent days I have spent time researching about things I will need to know about my mission, scheduling doctor's appointments, dentist's appointments, and consulate visits, and shopping for things I will need to take on my mission. The past few days have been the most productive ones I've had in a long time, which makes the subject of today's post especially frustrating.
Today, after I had awoken and spent what was probably a little bit too long on my phone, I was planning on getting up (this was probably 11:15 or so). My day was supposed to go as follows: get up, eat, get ready, read a lot of the Book of Mormon, and find some time somewhere to write a blog post. The majority of my day, meaning several hours, was already intended to be used to read the Book of Mormon, which I feel is a decently admirable aim considering I will be teaching from this book beginning in a few short weeks.
But like things usually are with my father: it wasn't good enough.
A few minutes before I had already planned to get up and get going, my dad knocked on my door. He came in, and asked me what my plans were for the day. I told him: I was going to get up, get ready, and read the Book of Mormon.
But somehow, this wasn't enough for him. Even after all the days where I got up later than today, after all the movies I watched and the useless things I spent my time doing, when I told him that I was actually going to use my time well today, it wasn't good enough.
He asked me if I had a copy of the Book of Mormon in Spanish. I said that I did, so he went over to where I kept the English and Spanish versions of the book and opened them both to the beginning and told me that I should read them side by side in order to learn Spanish.
Look: this is not necessarily terrible advice. I specifically got a copy of the book in Spanish so I could do that. So if you think this whole post comes about because my dad told me to try and learn some Spanish, you are incorrect. Don't worry, this isn't the worst part yet.
So I told him that I didn't want to do that because it was difficult. I know it sounds like a lazy excuse, but you try to read a book that's difficult to understand in your native language and then try to teach yourself a new language by reading that book in that language. Is it impossible? No. Should I try harder? Yes. But I was already planning on studying the Book of Mormon!! In a language I understand!! Shouldn't that at least count for something???
Not to my dad.
My dad told me that I'm going to need to learn Spanish somehow, which is true. I know that I should probably put more effort into it. He continued by telling me that I need to prepare for my mission in every way I can and not waste my time on things that are important (which is true! But I thought that me setting aside several hours to read the Book of Mormon in English was at least a good start).
Which is when he insulted the blog.
Oh man, what a shot through the heart.
Here's the thing: I get that my dad and I have different values. I know that not everything I do matters to him in the same way that not everything he does matters to me. I get that.
But when he told me that I "shouldn't waste my time on that blog" because it "doesn't matter to the people in Mexico", man, that hurt.
Look, I get that writing blog posts is not exactly going to help me prepare for my mission, but it's still something I enjoy doing! It matters to me! So this was incredibly difficult for me to process.
My father then continued by saying that the things I was sharing were "personal". Which, I mean, is fairly true. The things I write about are pretty personal, but that's kind of the point. I didn't start the blog to be a journalist of world events or to report on things that don't matter to me. I started the blog to share my thoughts, feelings, and ideas with the world. I created the blog to be personal, to be intimate. I wanted a space to express myself, so I created it.
But again, it didn't matter to my dad.
He went on, and asked me if the blog even mattered to anyone and then told me to write in a journal instead. This bothered me. I don't want to write in hopes that someday someone stumbles across my journal and decides to read it. And honestly I don't know if this blog matters to anyone else. Maybe I am just writing into the void. But the point is that the blog has the ability to matter to anyone. It can have an effect on anyone who visits it, which would not happen if I wrote some things down in a book and kept it on my desk.
Of course, I mean no disrespect to people who keep journals. I am impressed by the dedication that people have to journal writing and I totally respect them for doing that. I just don't think it's for me. So I told him that I didn't want to do that, and that even if the only person the blog meant something to was me then it was good enough. But that wasn't enough for him.
And so then he finally nailed the coffin shut and told him that the blog wasn't important to him at all, that he had read it and found it too personal. And I mean, it hurt. It genuinely and legitimately hurt that something I invest my time and effort into just doesn't matter to the one person I wish I could impress. It's frustrating that I can't seem to make him happy.
And look, like I said before, I love my father. We typically have a very good relationship and I know that he is a great man. He has taught me more things than anyone else and I am grateful for what he does for me.
But today was just not a good day.
So I left. I was so frustrated that he felt it necessary to come into my room, tell me what to do, and then tear apart something I care deeply about (especially on a day that I had already intended to be a productive day) that I took a shower, gathered up some things, and left. I have been writing the entirety of this post on my laptop in a small corner at a public library because I didn't want to be there anymore. Call it childish, call it irrational, call it stupid. But just imagine for one second that you spent your life making a masterpiece and when you showed it to someone you hoped to impress they asked you why you didn't just keep it to yourself; you'd probably be pretty frustrated too.
This blog isn't a masterpiece. I'm bad at metaphors. You get the idea.
In the end, this whole thing probably won't matter in a day or two. Everything will be fine, and I will still love my father until the end of time. But man, today sure started out rough.
I can only hope tomorrow will be a better day. See you then.
UPDATE: Literally at the exact same moment in which I typed the words "See you then" I received a text message from my father which, among other things, included this phrase: "I love you, and I want the best for you, and for you to succeed in whatever you try to do."
Maybe today taught me that you need to fall apart before you can come closer together. Maybe, today is going to be a great day after all.
