Realizing Harmony

Every so often I like to go back and re-watch movies or at least parts of movies that resonate with me.  Wednesday night we watched highlights from The Rookie.  This one hits me on several levels.  But the one I want to briefly talk about right now is the Father-Son relationship.

For those who haven’t seen the movie, it’s based on the true story of Jim Morris, a guy who as a kid had dreams of becoming a Major League Baseball Pitcher and pitching in the World Series.  But his father poo-poo’d his dream as nothing more than a childish fantasy about a ridiculous game.  They moved a lot, as his father was in the Navy, and ended up in a dusty Texas town where there was no baseball.  He managed to play a bit anyway, at least until his arm gave out.  Then, having had his dream crushed, he wound up teaching science and coaching the school’s (losing) baseball team.  It has a happier ending, but I don’t want to completely spoil it for you.

What strikes me about the Father-Son relationship is that the father doesn’t understand his son and makes no effort to understand him nor his passion.  He practically kicks him aside and seems to almost plan ways to crush his spirit.

Early on in the movie, when they’re planning one of the first moves, the father, to quell Jim’s objection to leaving again, and at that particular time (he was wanting to wait just a bit for the end of the current baseball season) says, “It’s my job to decide when we move.  It’s your job to make the best of it.”

He’d never waste his time watching such a frivolous expenditure of time… there are far too many more important things to do.  After they moved to Florida, and Jim is playing well in a game – apparently in Jr. or Sr. High School, you see him looking around, and only seeing other kids’ parents in the crowd.

After the game he rides to the Naval Base, finds his father, and tells him, “I threw 13 strikes!”  His dad, not giving any evidence that that means anything to him, responds, “Did you win?”  Then, when Jim affirms that he won, the father goes back to his papers, and eventually looks up and comments that they’re going to have to move again.  This time, though, he doesn’t take responsibility for the timing, but rather blames it on the Navy.  And crushes Jim one more time – informing him that they can’t wait 3 more weeks for the end of the season, and he can’t stay behind with friends.  They have to move as a family.

Yet, as a viewer, you understand that he’s not trying to crush him, he’s just completely ignorant.  He has no idea what baseball means to his son. He says things like, “There are more important things in life than baseball.  The sooner you figure that out, the better.”

After he’s grown, and is coaching baseball, you get the idea that the father may not even understand the game when he gives Jim’s (pre-teen) son a baseball mitt for a birthday present.  They have this tense conversation:

Son (Opening up the crudely wrapped present, and seeing a full sized baseball mitt): Whoa!  It’s kinda big.

Father: Oh, you’ll grow into it faster than you think.

Son (to Jim): Look Dad, it’s got no fingers!

Jim: That’s ’cause it’s a first-baseman’s mitt.

Father (with a concerned look on his face): Is that wrong?  (Long pause)  I think I’ve probably got the receipt around here somewhere.  We can get you another one.

Son: Oh, that’s OK.  I like first base.

Jim’s son runs outside, while Jim stays behind for a moment and gives his father a look of disdain.

It seems to me he’s upset with his father for several reasons:

For the years of crushing his (i.e. Jim’s) passion.

For the years of neglect – having shown not only no interest in the game, but also having spent no time with him, and no time watching him play.

For his ignorance of the game.  He not only didn’t spend time with Jim, but he never bothered to learn much of anything about Jim’s interest.

And yes, there was probably a bit of jealousy too.  He was probably a bit jealous that now his own father, who’d neglected him and crushed his dreams of baseball all those years, was now (suddenly) showing an interest in his son.

Later, when Jim comes to his father asking for some advice that regards a decision he has to make – about whether to try again to play – he just knocks on his dad’s door and stands there awkwardly before saying something about his options.

Jim: I don’t know what to do.

Father: Give it some time.

Jim: I haven’t got a lot of that.

Father: You’re asking me?

Jim: Yes sir.

Father: Your grandfather once told me it was OK to think about what you wanted to do until it was time to start doing what you were meant to do.  (Long pause.)  That may not be what you wanted to hear.  (Even longer pause… as Jim turns to walk away.)  Goodnight Jimmy!”

Jim: G’night.

Then, when Jim gets home he’s talking to his wife and says, “I swear, sometimes I think he lies in bed at night just figuring out the one thing that he can say that hurts the most.  I was this close thinking he was going to give me some good advice.”

One last scene, he’s just finished playing a very important game and sees his father a ways away.  He breaks off his conversation with others, goes up to his father and says, “Sir?  I… I didn’t know you were here.”

Father: I wasn’t missing this one.  Watching you tonight, not many fathers get a chance to do that.  I guess I let too many of those things get away.

Jim: So did I.

Father: Well then.  (And he turns to walk away.)

Jim (Calling out after him): Hey Dad.  (Father returns.  Jim gives him the game ball.)

Father: (Looks at ball.)

Jim: Thanks for comin’.

Father: (Smiles then leaves without saying another word.)

What is it about this that moves me so much?  I think it has a lot to do with the parallels to my own life.

My father never really “got” me, nor spent much time making any effort to understand.  Oh, to be sure, he understood i loved music.  He loved music too.  But our tastes in music were worlds apart.

He was (and still is) into classical music.  His idea of a “good time” was to first spend time studying the libretto of an opera or the historical background of a composer, then head off to the opera or symphony and get caught up in the story (that’s in another language, so you can’t really tell what they’re saying, except by remembering the story line and/or watching the acting), or in the music that goes on for seemingly hour upon hour.

And, rather than asking what we were interested in, he ordered us us all to study the necessary materials in the afternoon before the concert/opera, and then he’d drag us to the show.  It was almost as if he was saying, “It’s my job to decide what we’re doing.  It’s your job to make the best of it.”

I performed in a variety of musical groups throughout Jr. and Sr. High School – Band, Jazz Ensemble, Marching Band, Orchestra, Concert Choir, Select Choir, Musicals, Church Choir, Church Orchestra, Youth Group Chorus, etc.  But my father never showed up for any of my concerts.

I also played basketball on the church basketball team for 5 years.  Again, he never showed up for any of my games.  Not even when I played on our Church League’s All Star Team.  He just had “more important things” to do.

One day, he took me to a free concert so I could right a review for an English class.  It was a concert of Ragtime music.  He saw that I seemed to enjoy the concert, and after reading my “review” he went out and bought me a book of the Complete Works of Scott Joplin.  I took that and taught myself how to play the firt page of The Entertainer.  Then, being frustrated with the fact that so many others were playing cheapened, simplified versions of that piece (this was about the time that The Sting came out), I decided to switch.  So I taught myself Joplin’s most famous piece, The Maple Leaf Rag.  When I had most of it memorized (it took about a month), my sisters helped me play a “trick” on my dad.  They covered his eyes, ushered him into the living room, and sat him down on the sofa.  Then, while his eyes were still covered, I snuck in and played the Maple Leaf Rag on his Steinway Grand Piano.  He enjoyed the performance.  When I was done, they allowed him to look again.  He saw me sitting there, and at first instisted that we were just fooling around, and he wanted to know who we’d brought in to play.  When I convinced him it was me (I think I had to go back and play a bit of it), he offered to give me piano lessons.

My first lesson was that evening.  He gave me several 5-finger exercises to do, and taught me proper fingering for playing a scale.  That was it!

And, since that was it as far as the depth and challenge of my first lesson with him, I decided it would be my last lesson with him as well.

After all, I’d just finished playing (from memory) 4 pages of fairly complex syncopated music, and he was trying to reduce me to the most simplistic playing of all.

It would be about the same as someone who’s doing 2nd Year Algebra being offered special tutoring in Math, and for the first lesson being asked to go back and work on Addition Tables… you know: 1 + 1 = 2, 2 + 2 = 4, etc.  It was BORING, not to mention insulting.

Anyway, rather than continuing on down this depressing memory lane, suffice it to say I resonate strongly with this movie.

It reminds me that, while I was fortunate enough to have a father present, he was emotionally absent.  He wants to be thought of as “Daddy”, but he never behaved as my “Daddy.”

The good thing is that I know (now) that he was at least making some attempts to connect and/or show that he cared.  He just didn’t know how much more he needed to connect.  And he didn’t practice what so many have said: It’s more important to be interested than interesting when you want to connect with others.