Michael Burns
MDI Contributor
Walking out of the ocean after an early morning mile swim at Cowell Beach, Santa Cruz, I felt utmost joy and contentment.
For this, I was full of gratitude to you Dad for how you started me off on a love for swimming and athletics at such an early age. I still have that 70-year-old picture of me splashing around in a river, with the help of a rubber float.
When I was in the 6th grade you got me onto the Athens Athletic Club swim team in Oakland. Part of our training was to run the 3- mile loop around Lake Merritt. All the swimmers were older than I, but I was so focused on the run (plus I was very shy and unsocial) I finished faster than all but three of the team. At future runs, the faster runners were staggered to start last, and we still ended the same way.
Thanks Dad.
You got me onto a tricycle, then a 2-wheeler with training wheels, then taught me to balance with no training wheels, and that led to me riding racing bikes. I’ve ridden thousands of hours and miles over the years, and at 76, riding about 100 miles a week. Tennis, football, basketball, volleyball, golf, have all given me a healthy and valuable relationship with my body.
Thanks Dad.
Remember the time I scared the bejeezus out of you (I assume) with that near-death auto accident in 1975, and the concussion and broken femur, ankle, wrist that put me into a coma for seven days? I bet you did some thinking and wondering if your parenting had anything to do with that result (again I assume). I would have.
I loved that special time we had together when my rehab from the accident had progressed to the point that I was able to run. You were my timer as I ran around Lake Merritt, like I did when I was on the swim team. You also timed me for a mile run at the high school. Muchas Gracia Papa San.
The list of things I thank you for is a long one, so I’ll turn to the topic of the month of my men’s circle (East Bay Circle of Men): mischief! A theme which I’m sure didn’t make fathering me easy.
I am curious where I got the impulse to be mischievous. It surely wasn’t you or mom that modeled that kind of fun for me, My friends on the block, Chuck and Richard, both of whom you disapproved of me playing with, did model that behavior for me. Maybe it was their influence on top of innate little boy mischief that was part of my nature.
I know I got “busted” for doing kid stuff, like taking carrots out of Mrs. Skeen’s yard next door; playing football on a neighbors lawn in football cleats I got for Christmas; hitting sister Peggy with my toy gun; finding a way to crawl under the elementary school building and getting in trouble for that; being taken to the police department. for drinking beer up in the hills, and on and on.
Funny that I never thought about having a penchant for goofing around. Probably because I felt that you wanted me to look like the “good little boy” who was polite, considerate, helpful, and well behaved. Looking back on my youth, I was constantly adventuring or taking the “road less travelled” behavior-wise.
When I went away from home to live at U.C. Santa Barbara, I was very aware of choosing to act out and be at the forefront of pranks. I wanted an audience among my mates (and girls). I wanted to to be witnessed. I wanted to feel and act freely on my impulses. I guess becoming a pot head as a sophomore, and beyond, was an expression of mischievousness, but there was more to it than that.
I became attracted to, and used, pot to escape feeling the emotions I was starting to recognize within me. I grew up with feelings of confusion and inadequacy around girls already. Adding to that sense of lack, I experienced a deep sense of rejection from the coolest fraternity on campus. I’d heard and learned about this frat from Peggy when she went to UCSB. A number of my good friends were accepted by the Delts, but not me.
I didn’t understand and didn’t know how to explore these strong feelings. I got no modeling from you Dad of having or dealing with emotions. So I found that being high on pot was a desirable way to live with them. So for letting me chart my own path to learning about emotions, thanks Dad.
Again, no end to the list of things in my life that I thank you for, and also no end to the list of things I could have chosen to not do that were mischievous, troublemaking, or stupid. I want to thank you Dad for the whole package.
“Embrace all men” is a standard my men’s circles sanction. I’ve learned to do that, and most importantly, embrace all of me, and continue to fine-tune the parts that need maturing.
I also learned from working with, and relating to, other men, about how to recognize and empathize with what you went through as a boy/man/father/provider. I stopped judging you and began to love you unconditionally.
As I write this, today is Rosh Hashanah, a new year, soon to be Yom Kippur, time to atone. What a time to be thankful for you being my dad/mentor/teacher/role model in so many aspects of who I am.
Chaim Charles Bernstein, 1916, Toda Raba y Baruch Ha Shem