I remember when I was my father's son...
...and nothing more.
For a long time growing up, I had no identity of my own. Our friends were usually the kids of our parents' friends. Dad played tennis. I played tennis. Dad golfed. I golfed. Dad fished, I fished. Dad was a goalie, I was a goalie. Dad was a catcher, I was a catcher. My sister and I generally did what our parents did.
Actually, now that I think about it, Laurie swam. And she played Third Base. And she played piano. She was more rebellious. She even ran away from home once. I never did. She became her own person at about age 7. I became my own person at about the age of 37.
But on the other hand, Dad was an accountant, she's an accountant.
But then on the other other hand, Dad's a Certified Public Accountant, and Laurie's also a Certified...Massage Therapist.
I guess it's normal for a boy to want to grow up and be like his Dad. I think it was especially true in my case - I am, after all, a junior. Eric Thomas Soderstrom, Jr.
I was once told that "Thomas" is not technically my father's middle name. Apparently, it isn't on his birth certificate and was added some time later. I have heard different stories about how and when it was added. And I have never seen his birth certificate, so the stories may or not be true. But it seemed reasonable when I was told about it, and I started believing it.
This vexed me because technically, if the stories are true, I am not a junior, despite what it says on my own birth certificate. And there were times when I would write "Jr." on certain applications and not on others. And sometimes, "S_O_D_E_R_S_T_R_O_M__J_R_." wouldn't fit in the boxes allotted for last name. It became a real problem when we got our first mortgage. The notary public and our mortgage broker were both very concerned- "Well which is it? This is important." I settled on using my own birth certificate that I had seen as the rule and had to tack on "Jr." every time I signed. And, of course, I screwed up several times because I am not accustomed to writing my name that way and then had to initial and date every single goof.
I have occasionally been mistaken for other Eric Soderstroms. Often, I was mistaken for my Dad. But once, I was mistaken for a Physicist from Cal Tech. I had a friend at Cal named Laura Schultz. Her father was a Physics professor at one of the Southern California U.C.s. I called her once over break and her father answered and asked, "Can I tell her who's calling?" I said, "Eric Soderstrom." And he got all excited and started asking me questions about some particle accelerator. He was thrilled that a brilliant scientist was calling on his fair daughter. His demeanor changed considerably when I explained that, no, I was an English major in some of his daughter's classes at Cal. "Oh...hold on, I'll get her." Oddly enough, that guy committed suicide in October of 2006.
There's another "Eric Soderstrom" who writes for a golf magazine, and since my father is such an avid golfer, I have been asked if they were the same person. They could tell by my swing that it surely wasn't me.
There's also an "Eric Soderstrom" who is very active in the Gay/Lesbian/Bi-sexual community in the East Bay. And when people ask if that's me, I say, "No, that's my father."
OK, no I don't.
When I was very young, I was called "Ricky." When we would visit my grandfather, Papa Harry, he always said, "Hello there Ricky...Racky...Roooooo." Ricky lasted until I started Kindergarten. Then it was, for the most part, Eric. Except for my cousin Rob, who I haven't seen for several years, but he still calls me "Ricky...er...Eric." Hard habit to break for him, I guess.
My Dad has always gone by Rick. And most of his friends called me "Little Rick." Once his friend Dick Jacoby walked past me at The Club and said, "Hey Little Rick!" I replied, innocently, "Hey Big Dick!" That got a lot of laughs that, at that age, I was just beginning to understand.
My Dad was, and still is, I imagine, fairly well known around town, and when people saw me, I was "Rick's kid." My Mom too. She worked at the post office in the grocery store. So I was also "Sue's kid."
And I was taught to always refer to my friends' parents as "Mr. Moyer," or, "Mrs. Lescohier." I never called them by their first names, even when they told me too, until I was 21 or so. I think by that time, I figured if I could drink a beer with them, I could call them by their first names.
Oh, except now that I think about it, I still call the parents of the friends I grew up with by their last names. "Mrs. Kishi," "Mr. Gillen," and so on.
Anyway, the point is, I had no identity of my own except for my connection to my parents.
Perhaps it was when I got my first job. Or maybe when it became a career. Or perhaps it was much later when I started getting a reputation in speech recognition circles. I don't remember when it happened, but at some point, I became my own person.
Anyway, since Jake has a different last name than either Rachel (nee Bainter) or I, and since Jake has always called me Eric, all of his friends have always called me Eric.
I remember feeling a little nostalgic for the respect children used to give their elders by referring to them as "Mr.," "Mrs.," "Miss," or even Ms." so-and-so. But it just sort of makes sense these days with all of the non-traditional families. And it seems that most kids today refer to their friends' parents by their first names. And since they call me "Eric," it would be silly for Jake's friends to call Rachel, "Mrs. Soderstrom." Even though Jake calls her Mom.
Anyway - back to the point that I am sure is around here somewhere...
Rachel and I are watching Jake grow up, and we are seeing him develop his own identity. He is becoming his own person and not just "our child." He has his own interests and tastes in things. He has his own morality, his own style of dress, his own talents and abilities. He is building his own identity at what seems to me to be a much younger age than I did.
I mentioned in an earlier post about how another child's parent told us how Jake stuck up to bigger kids that were teasing her son when he was injured. It was great to hear a tale of our boys courage from a world we don't know much about - Jake's world outside of our home.
For the first time this year, he had a math problem that neither of us could help him with. I can do a lot of algebra, and there are certain kinds of heavy math in the work I do. But I'll be darned if I could remember how to factor a polynomial. But eventually, he figured it out- on his own.
The other day I heard some great music coming out of his bedroom, and it was him playing.
Last week, when we were picking up school work for Jake, the school nurse said that several girls had come to her saying they were worried about Jake. So I guess the girls call him Jake. Anyway - that means that there are people in his world that care about him a lot that we don't even know about, let alone know personally.
When I meet his teachers, or other parents in athletics, I introduce myself as "Eric Soderstrom, Jake Storti's Dad." So in that sense, I have defined myself as his father. But for the first time last week, somebody defined me in relation to Jake.
Jake has been out of school for two weeks now. Last Thursday, I went to the market, and a kid about Jake's age approached me and said, very politely, "Excuse me, sir, aren't you Storti's Dad?" And then he asked how Jake was doing, and I told him much better and he would be back in school Tuesday. Can I tell him who asked about him?
It was weird. Jake is always Jake to us. Sometimes he's "pickle" to his mom. And sometimes he's "boy" to me. But he has always been Jake. In our world everyone calls him Jake. In his world, it seems, most people call him "Storti."
The wrestling team calls him "Storti." Sometimes they call him one or another affectionately derogatory freshman nicknames, but generally, it's "Storti."
And now I'm "Storti's Dad."
I'm not "Eric Thomas Soderstrom, Jr.," or even "Eric Soderstrom." I'm Storti's Dad.
I have been Jake's Dad for a long time, I just never realized it before, I guess. At least not in this way.
He's not taller than me yet, but the other day I was in my socks and he was in his new Doc Marten's and, well, I felt short next to my son. Rachel told me to get over it - she went through that one a while ago.
On a call Friday, my friend Gary reminded me of the advice I gave him about spending as much time as possible with his boys because one day you wake up and realize that you can't play, "One-two-three- SWING!" anymore. It wasn't that long ago when I gave him that advice, and when I did, the experience was still fresh in my mind.
And tonight I realized that this is the last Presidential election that Jake will be too young to vote in.
I had a little cry in the car on the way home from the store when I was Storti's Dad for the first time. I'm sure part of the emotion has to do with my 40th birthday coming up. I am feeling older. I used to be wise beyond my years, but the years are catching up with me.
I'm realizing that our boy is becoming his own person- he's making a name for himself.
I'm also realizing that I'm not ready for it yet.
And I don't know if we'll be ready to be "empty nesters" in three short years. Especially if they fly past as fast as the last eleven have.
The other day I said to Rachel, "You know, if we got you pregnant this year, I'll be 58 when he graduates high school."
And she said, "What do you mean 'he'?"
Let me be clear - I'm not sayin' anything, and I'm not NOT saying anything either.
And I want to stay on message: Jake is growing up too fast for me. And I need to do a little more growing up myself and accept it.
And I need to learn what this next phase of parenting is all about. And quick.
Mike McGrath - can you fit me in on Tuesday?
For a long time growing up, I had no identity of my own. Our friends were usually the kids of our parents' friends. Dad played tennis. I played tennis. Dad golfed. I golfed. Dad fished, I fished. Dad was a goalie, I was a goalie. Dad was a catcher, I was a catcher. My sister and I generally did what our parents did.
Actually, now that I think about it, Laurie swam. And she played Third Base. And she played piano. She was more rebellious. She even ran away from home once. I never did. She became her own person at about age 7. I became my own person at about the age of 37.
But on the other hand, Dad was an accountant, she's an accountant.
But then on the other other hand, Dad's a Certified Public Accountant, and Laurie's also a Certified...Massage Therapist.
I guess it's normal for a boy to want to grow up and be like his Dad. I think it was especially true in my case - I am, after all, a junior. Eric Thomas Soderstrom, Jr.
I was once told that "Thomas" is not technically my father's middle name. Apparently, it isn't on his birth certificate and was added some time later. I have heard different stories about how and when it was added. And I have never seen his birth certificate, so the stories may or not be true. But it seemed reasonable when I was told about it, and I started believing it.
This vexed me because technically, if the stories are true, I am not a junior, despite what it says on my own birth certificate. And there were times when I would write "Jr." on certain applications and not on others. And sometimes, "S_O_D_E_R_S_T_R_O_M__J_R_." wouldn't fit in the boxes allotted for last name. It became a real problem when we got our first mortgage. The notary public and our mortgage broker were both very concerned- "Well which is it? This is important." I settled on using my own birth certificate that I had seen as the rule and had to tack on "Jr." every time I signed. And, of course, I screwed up several times because I am not accustomed to writing my name that way and then had to initial and date every single goof.
I have occasionally been mistaken for other Eric Soderstroms. Often, I was mistaken for my Dad. But once, I was mistaken for a Physicist from Cal Tech. I had a friend at Cal named Laura Schultz. Her father was a Physics professor at one of the Southern California U.C.s. I called her once over break and her father answered and asked, "Can I tell her who's calling?" I said, "Eric Soderstrom." And he got all excited and started asking me questions about some particle accelerator. He was thrilled that a brilliant scientist was calling on his fair daughter. His demeanor changed considerably when I explained that, no, I was an English major in some of his daughter's classes at Cal. "Oh...hold on, I'll get her." Oddly enough, that guy committed suicide in October of 2006.
There's another "Eric Soderstrom" who writes for a golf magazine, and since my father is such an avid golfer, I have been asked if they were the same person. They could tell by my swing that it surely wasn't me.
There's also an "Eric Soderstrom" who is very active in the Gay/Lesbian/Bi-sexual community in the East Bay. And when people ask if that's me, I say, "No, that's my father."
OK, no I don't.
When I was very young, I was called "Ricky." When we would visit my grandfather, Papa Harry, he always said, "Hello there Ricky...Racky...Roooooo." Ricky lasted until I started Kindergarten. Then it was, for the most part, Eric. Except for my cousin Rob, who I haven't seen for several years, but he still calls me "Ricky...er...Eric." Hard habit to break for him, I guess.
My Dad has always gone by Rick. And most of his friends called me "Little Rick." Once his friend Dick Jacoby walked past me at The Club and said, "Hey Little Rick!" I replied, innocently, "Hey Big Dick!" That got a lot of laughs that, at that age, I was just beginning to understand.
My Dad was, and still is, I imagine, fairly well known around town, and when people saw me, I was "Rick's kid." My Mom too. She worked at the post office in the grocery store. So I was also "Sue's kid."
And I was taught to always refer to my friends' parents as "Mr. Moyer," or, "Mrs. Lescohier." I never called them by their first names, even when they told me too, until I was 21 or so. I think by that time, I figured if I could drink a beer with them, I could call them by their first names.
Oh, except now that I think about it, I still call the parents of the friends I grew up with by their last names. "Mrs. Kishi," "Mr. Gillen," and so on.
Anyway, the point is, I had no identity of my own except for my connection to my parents.
Perhaps it was when I got my first job. Or maybe when it became a career. Or perhaps it was much later when I started getting a reputation in speech recognition circles. I don't remember when it happened, but at some point, I became my own person.
Anyway, since Jake has a different last name than either Rachel (nee Bainter) or I, and since Jake has always called me Eric, all of his friends have always called me Eric.
I remember feeling a little nostalgic for the respect children used to give their elders by referring to them as "Mr.," "Mrs.," "Miss," or even Ms." so-and-so. But it just sort of makes sense these days with all of the non-traditional families. And it seems that most kids today refer to their friends' parents by their first names. And since they call me "Eric," it would be silly for Jake's friends to call Rachel, "Mrs. Soderstrom." Even though Jake calls her Mom.
Anyway - back to the point that I am sure is around here somewhere...
Rachel and I are watching Jake grow up, and we are seeing him develop his own identity. He is becoming his own person and not just "our child." He has his own interests and tastes in things. He has his own morality, his own style of dress, his own talents and abilities. He is building his own identity at what seems to me to be a much younger age than I did.
I mentioned in an earlier post about how another child's parent told us how Jake stuck up to bigger kids that were teasing her son when he was injured. It was great to hear a tale of our boys courage from a world we don't know much about - Jake's world outside of our home.
For the first time this year, he had a math problem that neither of us could help him with. I can do a lot of algebra, and there are certain kinds of heavy math in the work I do. But I'll be darned if I could remember how to factor a polynomial. But eventually, he figured it out- on his own.
The other day I heard some great music coming out of his bedroom, and it was him playing.
Last week, when we were picking up school work for Jake, the school nurse said that several girls had come to her saying they were worried about Jake. So I guess the girls call him Jake. Anyway - that means that there are people in his world that care about him a lot that we don't even know about, let alone know personally.
When I meet his teachers, or other parents in athletics, I introduce myself as "Eric Soderstrom, Jake Storti's Dad." So in that sense, I have defined myself as his father. But for the first time last week, somebody defined me in relation to Jake.
Jake has been out of school for two weeks now. Last Thursday, I went to the market, and a kid about Jake's age approached me and said, very politely, "Excuse me, sir, aren't you Storti's Dad?" And then he asked how Jake was doing, and I told him much better and he would be back in school Tuesday. Can I tell him who asked about him?
It was weird. Jake is always Jake to us. Sometimes he's "pickle" to his mom. And sometimes he's "boy" to me. But he has always been Jake. In our world everyone calls him Jake. In his world, it seems, most people call him "Storti."The wrestling team calls him "Storti." Sometimes they call him one or another affectionately derogatory freshman nicknames, but generally, it's "Storti."
And now I'm "Storti's Dad."
I'm not "Eric Thomas Soderstrom, Jr.," or even "Eric Soderstrom." I'm Storti's Dad.
I have been Jake's Dad for a long time, I just never realized it before, I guess. At least not in this way.
He's not taller than me yet, but the other day I was in my socks and he was in his new Doc Marten's and, well, I felt short next to my son. Rachel told me to get over it - she went through that one a while ago.
On a call Friday, my friend Gary reminded me of the advice I gave him about spending as much time as possible with his boys because one day you wake up and realize that you can't play, "One-two-three- SWING!" anymore. It wasn't that long ago when I gave him that advice, and when I did, the experience was still fresh in my mind.
And tonight I realized that this is the last Presidential election that Jake will be too young to vote in.
I had a little cry in the car on the way home from the store when I was Storti's Dad for the first time. I'm sure part of the emotion has to do with my 40th birthday coming up. I am feeling older. I used to be wise beyond my years, but the years are catching up with me.
I'm realizing that our boy is becoming his own person- he's making a name for himself.
I'm also realizing that I'm not ready for it yet.
And I don't know if we'll be ready to be "empty nesters" in three short years. Especially if they fly past as fast as the last eleven have.
The other day I said to Rachel, "You know, if we got you pregnant this year, I'll be 58 when he graduates high school."
And she said, "What do you mean 'he'?"
Let me be clear - I'm not sayin' anything, and I'm not NOT saying anything either.
And I want to stay on message: Jake is growing up too fast for me. And I need to do a little more growing up myself and accept it.
And I need to learn what this next phase of parenting is all about. And quick.
Mike McGrath - can you fit me in on Tuesday?
posted by Eric Soderstrom at 11:21 PM
10 Comments:
Another nice light hearted post with a little tsunami of introspection.
I think there are a couple of different things that you talked about that could lead to an interesting late night/early morning conversation. One of those is when do you become your own person? I don't think it is a line you cross, just a name for a different part of the journey. The other related topic is how do you define youself as your own person? I feel that everybody is molded by their environment. You will always have similarities to your father. That may mean that people who have known you since you were little rick, may always see you as a younger version of big dick. Is it their perception that defines who you are? Is it your self-perception? If you believe yourself to be just yourself, does that mean you have rejected everything that you have learned from your parents? Do the things you have learned & the things that you have experienced define who you are now? Or are they just finishing tools to help finalize the sculpture?
In the end, I don't know that it matters how things are defined. It only matters if you are happy with who you are. I define who you are by your thoughts and actions. That means, you are the only person who is going to know the real you - if you take the time to look. Others that you share your life with will see most of the thoughts and actions & know you as well as any outsider could, but I think that your true self is only visible to you & I believe it is a lifetime process learning to see yourself honestly & being aware of the constant changes.
Woah... Flashbacks to college and cafes on Telegraph.
-Joe
Nice post, Ricky.
-Scott
Thanks, Scooter Mac.
--Eric
Joe, I think we are what we do (or don't do) more than what we think. I can have some nasty thoughts, and not acting on them is what makes me me. I also have lots of great ideas that I don't act on. Those also make me me - the things that, for whatever reason, I don't get around to doing.
I do try to be the kind of person who holds a door open, waves at people around the neighborhood, and let's people in in traffic. I help out at school functions and with Little League. And I occasionally pull off some really nifty things with technology.
Sorry - I clicked post on accident.
Of course, I'm also fat, I spend too much money, and I occasionally have a few cocktails too many.
I think you have to add it all together to sort out who you are.
great post papa!
it's awesome how you have case files on every Eric Soderstrom who ever lived...it was also news to me that you were a Jr. I kept saying-
"Shodershtrum Joonyah!" over & over in my mock Sean Connery burr...Jake's just a special kid...the few times I've gotten to hang with him at length have always stayed with me...he's a good soul
Hey bro...Looks like you're wading into deep waters these days. I guess approaching the big 4-OH could do that to a person!
Yeah, I ran away from home once, but I was like 6 and ran to Aunt Ellen & Uncle Bob's house with my Holly Hobby suitcase, but I forgot my toothbrush and mom trailed me in the family truckster the whole way! The funny thing is bro, I never felt like I had an identity back then. I was just really stubborn, yet I always looked up to my big brother & what he was doing. Not my Dad's son mind you, my big brother...We are all who we are in our own ways, if that makes any sense. See, I was always Ricky's little sister...Stubborn as hell true, but still, that was MY identity. At San Marin, I was Eric Soderstrom's little sister. Imagine not being quite as witty as him for the physic's teacher who was used to HIS crazy antics! (Why ah, no popcorn for the physic's movie, Eric's sister?)We're all who we are because of who we are with at any given point in time, not in spite of it.
You're doing fine. You're finding your way which is good at any stage of your life. How exciting to be associated as Storti's dad? That's a gratifying moment. Savor it, but anticipate more of them over the next few years. You didn't have a parenting manual for the last 11 years, so you'll do fine in the next phase.
I don't have the answers, but hey, I'm Eric's little sister! Love you -Laur
Ricky Racky Roooooooo,
I loved this post. I really love your writing style, letting the thoughts unfold on paper, like a 3-minute mystery where we keep reading to find how it all ties together.
I have much respect for you. I can only imagine what it must be like for you to grow up in the shadow of your father. I think as men we all grow up to some extent either emulating our father to get their love and respect (it's obvious to me when you see kids going into the military whose fathers were also in the military), or rebelling like I did (in my case it was more toeing a moral/responsible line, having had a father who unfortunately tread often on the other side of that line). At some point, often much later in life, we begin to see through it all and start to live our lives in a way which more accurately suits our spirits' manifestation. When a father is more balanced emotionally and doesn't narcissistically feed off of the glow of his children, then the children can be more free to choose their own path. They know the love will be there for just showing up as themselves, rather than for making their father look good. Thus if we do a good job, the world ends up with a Storti who can develop more independently from a Storti's dad. You know, you being a step father rather than a genetic father to Jake might make that easier for Jake to define himself.
On that note, back in my Chicago years, I once dated a sweetheart named Deann. She had been adopted and once she said something brilliant about it. She said, "It's great being adopted, because you know you don't have to be like your parents." How true.
If I were you, I'd spend some time thinking seriously about whether you call yourself Jr. or not. I'm not saying it's good one way or the other, but there might be some Koan insight value in that process for you.
Keep being the good dad that you are. Keep thinking too about what it might mean to be an ADULT son of your father as he is. It's easy to remain in that child/parent framework. Meeting as true adults would be a remarkable occurrence.
And one more thing...... all we almost ever see are images and perceptions. The reality of whom we see each other to be always seems to eludes us.
Great post, great man.
WAaaaah, I can barely post, I have to go find my hanky. Beautiful post, thanks for sharing it. I'm going to go stare at my sleeping children for a while now, and wonder where the last 11 years went. You're a great dad, Storti is a really lucky kid.
by the way...i just saw your pepper post on Rebekit's site and nearly spit on myself!
You're like some jihad fresh ground pepper bomber!
you funny bastid!
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