Dreams from MY Father

I just finished reading Barack Obama's first memoir, Dreams from My Father. As you may know, Obama saw his Kenyan father when he was a baby, then his father (who already had a wife and two children abroad) abandoned him to pursue an advanced degree at Harvard. The next, and last, time Obama saw his father, a decade later, he came for a month-long, awkward visit. Nevertheless Barack's father wrote occasional warm, welcoming letters, urging Barack to come to Africa to be with his other (half-) brothers and sisters whom he had never met. Barack's young mother, Ann, maintained a legend of her ex-husband as a brilliant, inspired leader, downplaying his obvious absence in his son's life.

Barack believes in the myth, looks up to his dad, and then finally goes to Africa for the first time when he is in his mid-twenties. Amazingly, most of the many half-siblings and their mothers COMPLETELY embrace Barack as a wayward son who has come home. And Barack graciously accepts the hospitality and outpourings of love.

Since I was raised for the most part by a single mother also, I could not help comparing Barack's attitude toward his father with my own. During the first ten years of my life, my father was tenuously connected to the rest of our distressed household. I rarely saw him; he was at work seven days a week until late at night. The times I did spend with him I remember his pointed wit which seemed cruel. When my parents officially separated, my father moved several hundred miles away, and I saw him only a handful of times after that. We spoke on the phone and exchanged letters occasionally. At these times, he would often offer paternal advice, and provide verbal or written outpourings of support.

The letters were sincere and I appreciated the sentiment they held. Yet I wish I had the goodwill of the president-elect to put aside the resentment I felt at being abandoned. It occurred to me that if I were more charitable at heart, I would have a more positive take on my early years. We are what we are, however. My father passed away four years ago. Years before he died, I had let go and stopped feeling resentful, but then I never have been able to laud the heritage from my father.

In short, this is a good book which reveals exceptional (and enviable) character.