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June 2001 Issue

A Yardstick Called Abe

By Rob Dixter

When I was an undergraduate, I failed my final organic chemistry exam with a 45%. I knew less than half of the material on the syllabus. It didn't worry me too much, however, as I was still on my second planned route to become a writer for Generation J. (The first goal was to host a prime time game show where you get to insult contestants--but I was informed they were already looking at another candidate with red hair and glasses).

It dawned on me then that I had been graded my whole life, that people were always evaluating me, and that I kept looking forward to a time when I would not be compared to statistics or numbers or graded on a curve. So I asked my father when all this grading would be done, when could I be measured for me, when I would compete against myself.

At first I thought he would simply say, "Go ask your mother," which was his common answer whenever I asked questions that contained the word reproduction in them. But this time he looked at me and simply said, "When you're a father."

Fathers are not looked at in terms of other fathers, there is no pass/fail marker, and no one awards you a $25.00 gift certificate at a bookstore if you do a good job. Basically, you are asked to perform the hardest job in the world and the only thanks you get is if your children grow up healthy and leave the house to start families of their own.

Also, it doesn't hurt if they become enormously successful and end up buying you a house and a Porsche. (I told you Dad, all I wanted to do was dance around the house in a skintight red leather suit but you said no, and now look what Britney Spears bought her parents.)

Your children are 100% dependent on you as soon as they are born, and there's no manual. Dr. Spock is quite good at advising, but until you realize that these little things crying in front of you cannot eat or parallel park without your help, you could be in for quite a surprise.

So who do you base your actions on?

I think my father did a great job raising me, and I always ask him if he's amazed at how well I turned out. I still try to put my pants on both legs at the same time, but I've never been arrested. So where did he learn it from? His dad? And did his dad learn it from his dad? And so on? Then it must go all the way back to the father of us all--Abraham.

God made a covenant with Abraham and told him to look at the stars; the number of stars in the sky would equal the amount of children he would have. At first Abraham misunderstood and went home to get busy with Sara. But eventually he understood that he would be a father to the Jewish nation. He had fathered Ishmael with his servant Hagar, but it would be years until he would father Isaac with Sara.

Abraham tried to raise his son correctly in the eyes of the Lord, which is what most decent fathers try to do, except if you come from a well-known family in Jersey and your father's name is Tony S. Isaac would continue the covenant Abraham had made with God, which was quite a serious matter. Here was Abraham placing an enormous pressure on his son and Isaac never even asked for it. The most pressure my father ever put on me was when he told me I needed to go to college because it was a great place to meet girls.

Later, God showed up and commanded Abraham to take Isaac to Moriah. Isaac was expecting an afternoon stroll through the woods; maybe they'd even get a chance to see some animals (this was before they had created zoos). But Abraham was intending to sacrifice his son to God. I know I've said before that there is no manual for fatherhood, but if there was one, I can only imagine that sacrificing your son would be covered in the first three chapters.

Abraham never did sacrifice his son and the entire affair was a test of belief, but I can't imagine Isaac was quick to ask for an increase in allowance after that day.

Even our father Abraham had certain pressures and problems he needed to work through with his son. And maybe fathers today have certain pressures that they need to deal with while raising their children. All I know is that no father is perfect. But, if you care enough to put in a little effort, the results might really astound you.

Maybe I should stop asking my own father if he's amazed at how well I turned out, and start thanking him instead.

Rob Dixter is a freelance writer in New York City. And he's a very serious guy.

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