Sometime in the late 1970s, on a military base in Germany, an MP came to my father’s church, and said a bomb threat had been called in, and services would have to be canceled. A certain high-ranking general who would later be infamous attended the services, and it’s worth mentioning how much protocol my father violated when he answered, “It’s a good day to die,” and went on with his services. The general came and no bomb went off and apparently the MP never reported the incident, or, in any case, my father never got in trouble. We used to beg him to tell this story at dinner parties. The ridiculous climax of “It’s a good day to die.” We thought it was courage.

Only recently has it occurred to me that my father chose for all of us that day. For the Army and the general and the Military Police and his own young wife and two children. He chose for his entire congregation. Perhaps he would argue that we could have found no happier place to die than in service to god.

Despite the fact that he lives four minutes from me, I haven’t had a conversation with him in months. Sometimes I think about those of you who have lost parents and I’m ashamed of my resistance. But here’s the thing, my choice has value. I have value. My love has value. And I see this situation from a parent’s vantage as well as a child’s. I would never excommunicate my child. Even if he were a republican. Even if he were evangelical. He is different from me, with rights of his own.

Lately, I’ve wondered if my father made an announcement from the pulpit about the bomb threat, and let the congregation decide whether to go or stay. Maybe my family rewrote the story to seem more brazen. More puritanical. Maybe we edited out his humanistic impulses because that’s not the father we knew.

5 thoughts on “Bomb”

  1. There should be no shame, if your resistance is based in integrity. If your choice is a considered thing, not rash.

    I stepped away from my father, not because of him, but for him and myself. It didn’t matter if anyone else understood; it mattered that he and I did. With his recent passing, I am relieved to know I am not regretful; it wasn’t an easy choice to make.

    Your choice has value, you have value, your love has value. I agree. Completely.

  2. I’m sorry about your dad, Rebecca. That’s hard.

    I would rather be friends than not. Get along than hold myself apart. I have learned, over the last year, how dangerous that impulse can prove. Boundaries. I still have to work hard to keep them. I re-evaluate constantly because I hope, too, to have no regrets about my choices.

    1. Thank you, Jill.

      A rash choice is an easy thing, a considered choice, not so much. I’ve no doubt that yours was no easier than mine. With regard to boundaries, I, too, had to learn to put them in place, not only for my own peace of mind, but for that of others, as well. Constant re-evaluation is a good thing, a necessary thing. It keeps you aware. It does no one any good to lose awareness. Having read, through your posts, of how you are striving to put those boundaries in place, I’m sure it will get easier, and that your impulses will be less “dangerous”.

      Best to you, as always.

  3. I’m constantly rethinking what to do (or not) about my dad. He lives a mile away and a world away.

    When I become motherless, I made more of an effort, and for a while, he did too. But the bottom line is that it’s always about him. This is so the opposite of my mother, that I generally find it too painful to deal with him. Having to protect myself all the time.

    I too worry about having regrets when he’s gone. I settle for the once or twice yearly holiday get together and mostly take care of myself.

  4. I haven’t had parents since I was about 12/13. They are still living, and I even have a cordial relationship with them at this point, but they each in their own way broke that parental bond. It’s an odd thing to realize that you’re parents may be cool people, but they were horrible parents, and then figure out how to forgive them for that.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *