Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Language of Love

Just Own Yourself
 


 
Many years ago when my boys were in grade school, we took a trip to visit grandma and grandpa.  And when I say trip, I guess I'm luckier than most people who don't live near their folks.  It was only a twenty-minute drive door to door.  Being a single mother and working in the corporate world at that time, visiting mom and dad's house was a welcoming time to kick back, unwind, eat mom's awesome pork chops, and take a breather while grandma and papa entertained the kids. 

One particular evening comes to mind during a routine Monday evening visit.  Simple as the night may have seemed to most, it made a significant impact upon me. 

I loved to sit in dad's favorite spot - an oversized, tan upholstered chair in the family room that faced the television.  I wasn't much for TV, but there was some sort of contentment I found sitting in that chair. I'd normally grab a magazine, kick up my feet on the large ottoman, and munch on popcorn sprinkled with parmesan cheese.  I'd hear my boys laughing as they played with my parents in the background, knowing that before too long, my dad was going to want to relax with a bowl of butter pecan ice-cream in 'his' chair.

Here comes my favorite part... 

He'd pace back and forth in the kitchen, several feet behind the chair, expecting me to move – to the couch, to another room in the house, essentially anywhere; it didn’t matter where, as long as he could reclaim ‘his’ chair.  Sometimes he'd clear his throat, make unusual noises, or even stand directly beside the chair – however, the whole while he shuffled to and fro or stood beside me, he never said a single word to me! 

It became a game of sorts.  I'd sit, he'd pace or stand next to me, no words were ever exchanged, but I always knew exactly what he wanted.  I always waited for him to ask me to move, but for some reason he just wouldn't ask.  So, eventually, my mom would finally end up asking me to move, speaking for him, telling me that my dad wanted to sit in his chair. 

I never really understood what our little game was all about, until one evening while in the midst of him pacing behind me, it hit me like one of those vivid light-bulb moments.  My dad was never really one for words or showing his emotions.  I'd always wished differently, always yearned for that perfect "Father Knows Best" father, until I started to read between the lines and accept my father for who he is and not what I wished for him to be.  That's when I figured out that by him not being able to ask me to move from his chair was his way of saying "I love you". 

No wonder that was my favorite place to sit, and why the game went on for so long. 

I came to understand that the language of love can be communicated in many different ways, and not to expect or anticipate receiving it in the way we might think is the “right” way.  Some people can easily verbalize their emotions.  Other people feel awkward showing emotion or articulating their feelings, so they express themselves in nonverbal ways, such as my father.  For others, even a slight touch on the arm or some small gesture of kindness is their way of letting you know you are loved and appreciated.  We have to open not only our ears, but also our eyes and hearts to interpret the many signs and symbols of love. 

My boys are now grown, my parents have since moved from that house, and I do miss our little game.  It was so sweet and simple, yet spoke volumes.  Today is my father's 69th birthday, which is probably why I find myself reflecting on this story and what he's taught me. 

Happy Birthday, dad ... I love you, too. 

Peace and blessings to all,

Victoria




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