My dad, Sonny, always had plenty of advice to offer but he wasn’t the type to pipe up with unsolicited input. If you wanted to know what he thought about something, you needed to ask. His face gave away little unless he wanted you to see what he was thinking. It was a vocational asset when he needed to maintain a fixed, non-committal visage during high stakes meetings and mediation marathons in his work life.
When I was little, I’d eavesdrop when he was embroiled in heated, time-sensitive disputes and honestly, I think he knew I hovered nearby. Sonny never lost his cool, but, when necessary, he’d shift into a lower octave that made me shudder – grateful I wasn’t the adversary.
There were substantial cloaking advantages in the days before video calls. Sonny didn’t need to change out of his swim trunks, put a shirt on or make sure his hair was combed while doing business on the phone. He’d just sit in a comfy chair of choice – sometimes without pants on (just his ‘skivvies’) and lay people out with an economy of words. He didn’t need to shield his face or worry that he might not be taken seriously. All he needed was his voice.
Years and years ago when I debated about going to grad school, Sonny knew darn good and well I was struggling with the choice. Newly married with zero dollars to spare, I was willing to take out loans and work an extra job, but the biggest barrier was me. I wasn’t sure I had the acumen to succeed. For six months, I hemmed and hawed and got narrowly close to missing an application deadline – one that had the potential of providing a fellowship to offset the cost of tuition.
At Christmas that year Sonny asked if I’d made my decision even though he knew darn good and well I was still wavering. The January 15 deadline was creeping up and while I knew he’d help me out financially if I asked, it wasn’t the money that scared me. I figured I’d find a way…to find the dollars and cents. My issue was a profound lack of confidence, and he knew it.
We sat. (So many good things can happen when we sit with one another.) He with his second cup of coffee – me with my first cup of tea. The house that morning was quiet except for the chimes on the grandfather clock when they boomed the Westminster Wake-Up at 6am, signaling urgency. I cherished any amount of one-on-one time with my dad because Sue (my mom) was instantly alarmed any time she saw us putting our heads together. Sue always figured she was the foremost topic of conversation, but it was all in her mind; her worries that the world conspired against her.
The grandfather clock goosed me along. Standing up to top off my dad’s coffee, I paused to put my teacup in the microwave to give it a warm-up as well and in the thirty seconds that elapsed before the ‘ding’ (yet another bell…feeling Pavlovian) I summoned a deep breath and asked my dad, with my eyes closed, “What would you do if you were me? I want to go back to school, but I’m afraid I’ll fail.”
Sonny watched as my face flushed. Nervous about admitting my insecurity. As he blew on his coffee he smiled and said,
“You might…fail. But I don’t think so. And neither do you.”
There it was. That economy of words again…just three short sentences. My papa shared his thoughts, but I needed to ask for them.
As I sipped my tea, he reached across the table and grabbed my hand and gave me his signature squeeze, just as we heard Sue rumbling toward the kitchen – her anxiety rising.
When Sue asked, “What are you two doing – up so early?” Sonny didn’t miss a beat. “Just me and my girl watching the sunrise,” he said, as he gestured, coffee in hand, toward the window and the slice of morning light peeking over the trees.
“Just me and my girl.”
We never discussed grad school again, but two years later – at graduation – he whispered in my ear as he moved my lopsided tassel out of the way and said,
“See what happens when you believe?”
Over the years I’ve held those words close – a reminder to believe in myself, others, possibilities, goodness, love – especially in the face of uncertainty. Although the journey began with, “You might fail…”, the end of the story was mine to tell.
Vicki 😊
P.S. Before I let you go, here are two more posts about wisdom from my dad:
Verbal Guard Rail: Thanks, Dad! – Victoria Ponders
No Words Needed – Victoria Ponders
Hi – I’m Victoria, Vicki, Dr. Vicki. I hold a doctorate in Adult Education and I’m a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC), and author of Surviving Sue | Eckhartz Press.
Check out this link to learn more about my book “Surviving Sue” – all about resilience and love.
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Victoria Ponders 
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