Father - EROL GÖKA

Father

Whether it''s the mother or father, the both as being a parent have many common points like the most common feature such as voluntarism and sacrifice. No doubt that there can be some exceptions but in view of their place in the heart of the kid, to be a father and mother are precious social values that are incomparable with each other. To be a mother means to have a large team of a loyal fan grup, while to be a father means having a relatively fewer supporters and can be analogous to a small team which played the game away.

Let us forget about the invention of certain days such as father''s day for one second. Forget about how it is related to the consumption society. Also Forget the fact that how this uncontrollable burgeois class desire is not even finding anything wrong to rich off our family ties. Just take the father''s day and compare it to the mother''s day. You will find how the father''s day is much duller and simpler. This situation is actually a proof as to how mind fixation is implemented and how come we are pretentiously celebrating it.

To be a father is also quite a sad and strange thing in the scientific world. There are tons of popular publications about being a mother which decorate the shelves. However, the research about being a father is quite slim and rare and very new. Even publications on ''not having a father'' outnumber those ''having a father.''

In that case, instead of bragging about my occupation regarding the psychology of being a father, I would like take a walk from the path consisting of our memories.

My dad was one from the first generation guest workers in Germany. As he left for Germany, I was about to start the primary school. When he came back, I was an expert doctor and had two kids. When my father had left, I and my mother along with my brother moved to Denizli from a town and rented a small apartment. It was pretty tough days back then. In these tough days, besides my mother, my biggest supporter was only a picture about my father in my mind from an ironsmith factory back in the time when we were in the town. He was at the anvil, a strong man who knew how to mould the tempered iron with his bare arms. He was such an admirable master. The destiny had bartared us but one day he would return and save us from these tough days. I was completely sure about his strong and gallant stature. I was no longer very young when he started to visit us once in a year during his permission. One day when I had a fight with a kid in my neighborhood, we cussed bullying cliches of kids about fathers ''My father can beat yours''. I knew my friend''s dad well but it was little chance that he would know mine. By chance, he might have seen him for a while. In all of a sudden my friend''s attitude went to its extreme level. He was so determined to claim that my father was not so strong or gallant, but to the contrary a tiny toony guy. I had no chance to wait for the next visit of my father in order to test the boy''s claim. Anyhow, my father came late at his next visit. Everyone was concerned about why my father was so late and worried about his delay, while he was heading for our home by a coach. I was expecting him to come as soon as possible so that I could jump to his lap and embrace him. He finally arrived. It turned out my friend had been right. I was 10 years old and my father was just taller than me only by a span.

It was one of the biggest dissapointments I had ever had. The whole picture of my gallant, strong father had just evaporated. My physically strong father image was dashed into pieces but my strong father on the spiritual side remained like a bronz statue.

My most vivid memories from my teenager years is surrounding around my complaint ''hey daddy, it''s not enough that you just send money''. I was being a complete brat with this speech manners deficiency and it took quite a long time for me to fix it. I had the notion, ''oh well my father always owes me''. I had the oppurtunity to blame him for not being a father anytime I wanted. Unlike my mother who used to make the fuss ''I carried you 9 months in my womb'' he couldn''t give me similar reproaches.

My stupid struggle with my dad or more correctly the father figure in my head lasted until I was 35. I always took myself as the reason of my successes and my father as the responsible for every bad thing happened to me.

When he came back for good, I realized finding how he struggles for my own sons more than I do and that he took care of them as much as I did. God, what kind of a love he had! It was so evident that he only wanted his grandsons to be happy and asked for their smiles on their face, including their health and happiness. When dealing with my kids, I observed my dad''s own childhood and realized that he was once a kid himself and that he was a human being like me. I settled with peace about him.

I have been living in Ankara since 1994 with my father as my neighbor. Those who know both my father and mother, assume that what essentially keeps me up is my mother''s sharp intelligence. I am objecting to this assumption. I find the major portion belongs to my father and my relationship with him. The father, the bronze statue in our soul, our handle to life we hold on to sometimes through squabbles and sometimes by only trust.

Our father… In our life struggle, he is the touchstone whose responsibility we test and the approving authority which tests our responsibility. He is the ultimate address of our apologies for our faults. Our father is the source of work, the maintenance of kids. Our father goes abroad and may not come back again. Our father is at the mine exposed to collapse. Our father waits at the front in war and becomes the matryr.

To be a father means to show consent for a small and a distant away-team role without audiance.

    +

    Cookies are used limited to the purposes in th e Personal Data Protection Law No.6698 and in accordance with the legislation. For detailed information, you can review our cookie policy.