Skybridge to Enlightenment: Life Lessons in Tolerance
Teaser. It is one of the oldest challenges in relationships: you once were close enough that you could talk openly about anything and everything. But now, you are unwilling to share your true self because of a fear of rebuke, rebuttal, or rejection. In her sermon, Elizabeth Vise brings us into her relationship with her Dad and shows us how to restore love and intimate discourse to a relationship that once had it but lost that closeness.
Elizabeth Vise is a relative newcomer to Pathways, having become a member in July of 2006. She is the head of Guest Services and Facilitator for the Spirituality Study Group. She teaches Biology at Tarrant County College and lives with her husband, Jack, and their three dogs: Ginger, Faith, and Shadow.
There we were, my dad and I, walking across the skybridge from the parking lot into Methodist hospital. We were there to visit my stepmother, Mimi, for one of her many hospital stays. I don’t remember if this was the first or second knee replacement, the shoulder replacement, the gall bladder removal, the hip replacement—she’d had so many replacements that we started calling her “Teflon Mimi.” It could have been this, or it could have been one of her several bouts with pneumonia, a broken leg, or something else—but whatever the reason was for our visit, we definitely had our routine SET. I would drive the 650 miles home to Lubbock from Tucson, where I was in graduate school, and I would spend 4, 5, 10 days—whatever time I could spare—to help support Mimi through the surgery or sickness and help Dad cope with the stress of watching a second spouse slowly disintegrate before his very eyes. [photo of Dad and Mimi]
Dad and I had been buddies since I can remember. We started sharing Soul Talk when I was very young. One of my earliest recollections is the day I asked a crucial question about Santa Claus. I said that I couldn’t figure out how Santa had gotten all the way across town from Sears to Montgomery Wards AHEAD of us, given that he had a long line of people waiting at Sears and he ALREADY had a long line of kids waiting at Ward’s by the time we got there. Dad, while being SURE to keep available to me the possibility that Santa really exists, helped me understand what I had observed. The ensuing conversation was full of ideas about efficiently spreading love around the world and how the idea of Santa was the important thing—the idea that every kid would get a chance to feel special at Christmastime and that these “Santas” were simply helping to make that happen. I agreed with Dad that this was a good thing.
Dad and I went shopping together a lot. On weekends, we would go “knockin’ around” which meant going to Montgomery Ward’s or Gibson’s or the drugstore just to walk up and down the aisles and look at stuff. I’m guessing that this was one way Dad could learn what MY interests were, and it was a great way to start conversations about all kinds of things. On the spur of the moment, we would decide to throw our sleeping bags on the grass and “camp out” in the back yard, looking up at the stars and talking about how big the universe is—what The Infinite really means. I loved those times, being together and doing soul talk.
Dad had a special love for Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address—he would read it and weep in appreciation of the eloquence and beauty of the language. I knew, even as a young girl, that it was unusual for a grown man to cry, and this somehow gave me a rare appreciation for him as a person. Often, Dad and I would talk about deep and mysterious things. I was a science geek, even as a little kid—as was Dad, who was a physics professor [photo of Odessa College]. I came home one day absolutely electrified by a film we had seen in school—In Search of Ancient Astronauts—that presented the idea that the earth might have been visited one many occasions by ancient extraterrestrials. I was so intrigued and fascinated that I couldn’t stop thinking or talking about it. I remember Dad helping me to think this through, sifting through various ideas, scenarios, and so forth, about how this might or might not be true. I don’t remember his poo-pooing my ideas or telling me I was crazy to entertain such ideas. He may have, but I don’t remember it—so strong was my curiosity and my imagination. We often discussed the Presence and the Nature of God, the possibility that God might be “bigger” than a god that just took care of us earthlings, and how that might be FOR such a God.
When Dad petitioned the Masonic Lodge and went through all the various degrees, we (the family—this is a picture of us during that time, before Mom died, My brother’s name is Mark.) began to learn some of the Masonic philosophies, as Dad was fascinated and enriched by the nature of Masonry and the spiritual depth of the Masonic “work.” He would read passages from various books on the subject and ask me what I thought about these ideas, bringing me as much as he could into discourse that he held so dear. This was especially important to him later, as my stepmother, Mimi, wasn’t interested in discussing the deep meanings of ANYTHING. I remember many occasions when Dad would get teary-eyed as he spoke about the Supreme Architect of the Universe and how the idea of a Supreme Architect was bigger than any one religion’s idea of God. Those discussions made me think. And we would often think together, which I loved.
As I mentioned, Dad was a physics professor at Texas Tech. When I was an undergrad majoring in Biology at Tech and still living at home [here is a photo of us at about that time], I would often ride to school with him in the old Suburban (which is the first car I ever drove). Sometimes, we’d meet for lunch at the Faculty Club and sometimes I would even introduce him to my friends. Dad and I were friends. But I was growing up. Our philosophies were growing apart, and the soul talk was evaporating. One Christmas break when I was 19, I found myself biting my tongue to keep from lashing out with anger and frustration at both my parents—I don’t remember the particulars, but I remember thinking that they were such fuddy duddies about things. There WAS a considerable age and cultural gap—Mimi was 50 years older than I and I felt that she just wanted me to be the perfect homemaker, always freshly dressed and coiffed, cooking in the kitchen, keeping a spotlessly clean house—and I felt that I HAD to get out of the house before I started saying things I knew I would regret.
I now understand that my need to please my parents was getting in the way of my need to BE myself, and THAT conflict inside ME was coming to a head.
Within about 2 weeks, I was happily installed in my first apartment. I would still go home on Sunday to do laundry and eat Sunday dinner—“paying my dues” and spending time with my parents once a week, which was enough for me. They, on the other hand, looked forward to my visit. For Dad, I think it was his best possibility for deep discussion. On many occasions, he would meet me at the front door or in the kitchen with a book in his hands, wanting to read some pithy quote so he could hear my response and, of course, tell me HIS views about it. Or he would read the Gettysburg Address for umpteenth time, and I would roll my eyes and sigh—this was well-trodden ground and I was bored. Unfortunately, I don’t remember ever coming home with my own pithy quotation, so we may have both been stuck in a rut.
What I remember about that time was the growing sense that my parents wanted me to be “their little girl” and not necessarily my own person—at least not too different from their prescription for me. Dad [show photo of just Dad] would often say “I support you in all your laudable undertakings.” I interpreted this to mean that, as long as I did what Dad thought I should do, he was behind me 100%. I started to think that Dad’s love was conditional on my staying in HIS camp on various issues. Over the next few years, Dad would provoke arguments with me, my brother, or almost anyone, I think, just so he could have a stimulating discussion (too often, it was an argument) about some issue. The heated discussions took their toll. Dad was a very conservative Republican who, as an ex-Navy man, was fiercely defensive of his country, his government and most government leaders. As a young adult, I turned out to be a moderately liberal person, and as I began learning more about political, economic, social, and environmental and issues, I often found NOT FAULT, mind you, but DIFFERENCES of opinion on many of these topics with Dad. But I didn’t know how to talk with him about these kinds of issues without going on the defensive. When the science and politics came together, it got tough, sometimes, to talk about anything at all without feeling like I wanted to shout hurtful accusations or run away and avoid him altogether. I remember actively NOT paying attention to political issues, just so I couldn’t be a suitable sparring partner for him. At times, Dad got downright belligerent and argumentative with people, I think so he could get some kind of attention. On many occasions, I was invited to “supper club” with my parents and their friends, where Dad would openly embarrass Mimi in front of her friends when the topic of conversation didn’t interest him, misbehaving by either clamming up and refusing to participate in conversation OR by criticizing someone at the table until their kind nature was stretched to the limit. It was difficult for me to continue to admire someone like that.
To their credit, Dad and Mimi helped me get out of an unfortunate first marriage, a marriage I had entered, in large part, to appease them. The experience was extremely painful for us all and we never found a safe and non-threatening way to talk about it. A lot of damage was done, and after that, I was far less inclined to share my life and my thoughts with them. By this time, though, I was living in Tucson and working on my Ph.D. which definitely fell into the “laudable undertakings” category with Dad.
That had its drawbacks, too, though. Once, Dad asked me about the birds in his backyard. A kestrel (also known as sparrow hawk) was coming in and attacking his precious sparrows and doves. He wanted to get his pellet gun and shoot the kestrel. I explained that (1) it was illegal in the city limits to do that and (2) the kestrel deserved to live and (3) it wouldn’t really matter because another kestrel would come to take its place—he was putting out seed for the sparrows but THAT in turn, was putting out sparrows for the kestrels. And even though I had almost finished my PhD at that point and bird behavior and ecology was my specialty, he didn’t like my answer and completely dismissed what I had said. (I guess my explanation didn’t give him permission to go shoot the bird, which is what he wanted to do.) I just threw up my hands and decided never to offer my expert opinion again.
The times I zipped back to Lubbock when Mimi was in the hospital were often very stressful for me, as I dreaded the long hours I might have to spend alone with Dad, hoping like crazy that he wouldn’t ask me a biology-related question or try to make me listen to “his” radio talk show (that would be Rush Limbaugh who, in less than five minutes could say something to get me so angry and indignant that I really couldn’t listen to his show). But Dad LOVED Rush Limbaugh and I now think he desperately wanted me to hear these views so he would have someone to debate with—to continue his brand of Soul Talk. However, this was NOT my idea of a good time.
Once, I got home and found a pile of junk mail waiting for me (that always happened), but this pile had one extra item: it was a thank-you-for-paying-your-annual-dues-note and a membership card with MY name on it for United We Stand America—Ross Perot’s grassroots political action group that was established in the early 90’s when Perot was a presidential candidate. Dad had gotten a membership in my name without asking me. I was furious and thoroughly indignant that he would do such a thing and ASSUME that I shared his views on those things. Which, in this case, I most certainly did NOT. I thought Perot was a megalomaniacal nutcase who was stirring up people’s ire just for his own amusement.
When I finally erupted about the membership to the political action group, I think it was a big shock to both Dad AND me to KNOW that I was not Dad’s “mental clone.” This was an undeniable indicator that what had drawn us together and kept us close for so long—sharing our true selves through witty banter and mind-expanding dialogue—might never be restored and that we would be permanently separated from each other.
And so our relationship was. Strained, pained, difficult, and lonely. Sad, unsatisfying, and stuck. Let’s go back to that moment as Dad and I were walking across the skybridge going into the hospital on that bright summer day. We were engaged in some kind of superficial conversation, when I was struck by a single simple thought: I thought this: I am so intent on having MY voice heard and affirmed that I am ignoring his voice. It is not fair for me to expect him to value me and my opinions if I don’t allow him the same courtesy in return.
Our relationship was instantly and forever changed.
It was a powerful thought, about tolerance, and forgiveness, and kindness…the thought of extending to the other a consideration of their needs. All the while not expecting them to return the same kindness, consideration, and tolerance. And while it seemed to come upon me all of a sudden—like a voice out of nowhere—in fact, this idea represented the culmination of many things I had been reading about and work I had been doing on myself, growing myself personally, or quite some time.….
Soon after my divorce back in 1991, I began trying to understand how I had gotten myself in that situation and how I had allowed my parents to dictate my actions. I began to read a lot. I started with a wonderful book, Making Peace with Your Parents by Harold Bloomfield [slide], which gave me some excellent insights about how to address unresolved conflicts and how to deal with resentment. I also read Toxic Parents by Susan Forward [slide]. In that book, I learned that my difficulties with my parents PALED in comparison to those that many people have suffered. But these two books gave me the insight that, even if their actions brought about negative consequences, my parents—Dad in particular—were doing the best they knew how to do. It is very rare that parents truly act out of spite or malice. My parents weren’t mean or inconsiderate; they were HUMAN BEINGS with faults, just like me. Doing the best they could with the set of philosophies and ideals that they knew.
While I was a student at the Univ. of Arizona, I had the opportunity to participate in a program for the clinical psychology PhD students—whom I affectionately called proto-shrinks. I could, for $10, get an hour-long session with one of these proto-shrinks and, while helping them gain clinical experience, get pretty good therapy for myself. I did this for three semesters. Early in this process, I had a vivid dream in which I threw my Dad on the ground, sat on his chest, ripping his shirt and pummeling him with my fists, beating the tar out of him and screaming at him in anger and frustration. I think this dream was an indicator of the intense rage I felt at not being heard and not having my opinions validated by my Dad.
My proto-shrink therapist recommended The Dance of Anger by Harriet Lerner [slide]. This book explained that relationships tend to get “comfortable’ with each participant playing a particular role in the relationship. The book says that, if one person wants to change the nature of a relationship, they only have to change THEIR part of the “dance” and THAT change in action or attitude would necessarily and inevitably, change the dance itself. There’s more to it, but in the interest of time, that’s all I will say.
Suffice it to say that this book made sense to me especially given that it partly explained what I had been experiencing with Dad.
I decided I was ready to learn how to remain steadfast (not slip back into my old habits) and change the relationship with my Dad. My proto-shrink helped me learn a three-part technique that I want to share with you briefly here. This is a set of three statements that don’t attack or blame; they just explain your feelings and what you plan to do about the situation. It goes like this: First, at the appropriate time, you say “I am noticing that you are doing ….x “ Then, you say “This makes me feel like ….y” And third, you state clearly and without anger: “Therefore, I am going to do this thing about it.” And whatever you say you’re going to do, be darned sure you are really willing to do it! As I drove home the next time, for 12 hours on the road, I practiced variations of that sort of conversation: “Dad, I’m noticing that you want me to sit and listen to Rush Limbaugh’s radio show. This makes me angry because I feel that you want to force me to adopt your political beliefs and that you don’t respect my opinions. Therefore, I am going to leave the kitchen until you turn the radio off.
I got the opportunity to use that very conversation the next day. It took ONE TIME. The radio was turned off within about 10 minutes, and Rush Limbaugh, although Dad still spoke of his admiration for the radio host, was never a point of contention again.
It was THIS work and much more that helped me grow stronger and clearer about who I am, and with that, it got easier and easier to let go of my need to agree with and please Dad.
Somehow, this all came together for me that day on the skybridge. When I decided to stop trying to control my father and realized that he still needed to try to control me.
Mutual respect was long in coming, but we were headed toward it as soon as I gave up trying to force him to agree with me, which is exactly what Harriet Lerner in the Dance of Anger said would happen! After that day, I remember feeling a sense of detachment from his opinions [neutral slide]. In some ways, I withdrew even more from our relationship, but in other ways, that withdrawal made it much easier for me to treat him like I would treat anyone else—with kindness and acceptance. I learned to just smile and think “well, that’s the way HE is, and it doesn’t have anything to do with ME. We didn’t spar, or if we did, it was not vicious or defensive. I was satisfied just to let Dad have his views (however misguided they were) and to try to walk a mile in his moccasins before passing judgment. Love that had drained away began to flow back into our relationship. And for those last few years before he died, we got along much better. Dad and I still disagreed, sometimes strongly, but I no longer expected him to drop his views in favor of mine. I had finally learned how to BE with my father. Once, we made a quick Christmas trip to see Grandma, his mother, in Greenville. The drive from Lubbock to Greenville takes about 8 hours each way, and we managed to do the 3-day trip very amicably. Although I don’t remember the details of our conversation on that trip, I do remember stopping at a gas station to drop off and take on fluids. I got us a drink and some kind of snack. He remarked, “You’re being so nice to me.” I thought “Well, I would treat anyone else this way, so why not you too?” Maybe he was just remembering all those times we had disagreed so strongly.
How often do we, with all the sincere and well-intentioned feelings we can muster, attempt to herd someone into our philosophical corral without considering what THEIR wishes are—thinking they MUST agree with me on this! Because, if they disagree, that might mean I am wrong. That’s how I felt and I guess it’s how he felt too. I wish I could ask him. I realize NOW that inciting intense arguments may have been his way of trying to share soul talk and regain the close relationship we had had … that I may have been the one who was closed—that I was the one who totally misunderstood his meaning. I don’t know that I ever asked him to explain WHY he thought a particular way. “Please tell me what you mean by that” was not in my repertoire, and I regret that.
I have recently learned from my fabulous husband, Jack, who is also a Mason, that the phrase “I support you in all your laudable undertakings” has deep significance for Masons—it is, as I understand it, a statement of respect and endorsement that the other will always behave in an honorable way. The wound I carried for so many years of feeling “wronged” by my Father’s conditional love was totally unwarranted. But, after hearing this spoken and deciding what it meant, I never stopped to consider that I had misunderstood Dad’s meaning. I never thought to ask him for clarification. How often is it that we use the same words but are NOT speaking the same language?
Please, if you are hearing me at all, please talk with each other while you can. It may be difficult, it may be scary, but I suggest you do it anyway. It ought to be worth it.
This morning, I’m so grateful that I had the opportunity to share with you how I rediscovered soul talk with my Dad. I’m missing him this morning. My hope is that perhaps I’ve said something here that might help you return the soul talk to a relationship of your own. Acceptance, affirmation, forgiveness, and compassion can go sooo far toward creating a harmonious relationship, but this is difficult to achieve, especially when the water is wide between the two shores. But difficulty is our friend, I think, because it gives us reasons to grow.
I really believe that tolerance is the way. Novelist George Eliot says this: “The responsibility of tolerance lies with those who have the wider vision.” That’s one of the things that is so attractive to me about being a UU. Unitarian Universalism is, at least in part, about having that wider vision and allowing people to follow their own heart, feelings, and thoughts, without fear of rebuke, judgment, or recrimination.
The truth is, I think, that everyone is searching and yearning for greater understanding and to be understood. We just go about it in different ways. As I realized in a flash of clarity on that skybridge, walking and talking with my Father, we too can realize that it is only fair to treat others the way we wish they would finally treat us. With mutual respect, genuine regard, and unfailing love.
3984 words. 10:41 PM Sat. 17 Feb, 2004