Father’s Day
(Editor’s Note: Ariele Gentiles does a ton of work behind the scenes here at Burnside, but doesn’t often contribute. David Gentiles is her father, and a name that will be familiar to Donald Miller fans. He’s a father figure to many, many people. It is with great joy and respect we post this article. To my dad and all the dad’s out there, Happy belated Father’s Day.)
A few years ago I finally arrived at an age in which I could somewhat objectively reflect upon a fairly unconventional childhood. It may not have been incredibly different from yours - many of the elements of a “normal” American upbringing are there. As per the status quo, I had a mother and a father, two younger sisters, a rotating menagerie of pets, an insatiable curiosity and friends of both the real and imaginary variety.
We moved around a bit when I was younger, leaving the home I’d known as an infant and young child near Houston, Texas for San Antonio when I was five; leaving San Antonio for Dallas when I was seven; and finally leaving Dallas for Austin just before the start of my fifth grade year. My father was a youth minister in the Baptist church for over 35 years, and the moves were always an amalgamated necessity - church politics and more intimate reasons, some of which have only recently manifested as family secrets. As I’m sure many of you know, the life of a minister, the church behind the stained glass windows and plastic smiles, can be just as ugly as you may imagine the lives and scenes behind the doors of any prominent government office or corporate boardroom to be. I was aware of this gross ecclesiastical malady from an early age - I watched from the nursery hall; I listened to the adults talk in hushed voices after I had been tucked into bed at night.
I was aware of other things too - my mother’s escalating descent into the basement of loneliness and depression, her diminishing respect and love for my father, my father’s own skewed, albeit well meaning, priorities to the students in his church and anybody else who didn’t quite fall under the rubric of immediate family. I’ve now come to believe that we - his family, were never consciously shelved (I know that we were never ignored) - but that in becoming an extension of his self and his life, we also became victim to his self-sacrificial predilection.
The move to Austin the summer following my tenth birthday seems to be a key moment in my life for a multitude of reasons, only a few of which are remotely relevant here. I’m convinced that my mental adolescence began long before the age of twelve or thirteen. At eight and nine, my cynicism and rollercoaster confidences were already bright and glowing with the emotional sweat that only a mind experiencing the loss of childhood notion and the gain of adult self-consciousness can ooze.
So, another relocation at age ten from a place I loved to a place I didn’t know only precipitated this feeling of life-dread. In time, though, I came to love our new church home in Austin - it was different and exciting and much bigger than any community we had been a part of. The message was primarily of Grace, of Forgiveness, of Love. I can see now with the move and new church community, God was preparing my family for something of which these messages were most important in the healing.
The relationship between my parents grew worse than ever before. My mother moved out of their bedroom and into the guest room adjacent to mine in the fall of my sixth grade year. A few months later, sometime after Christmas, she moved out of the house entirely and out of town to her sister’s in San Antonio. Divorce inevitably followed. This thrust my family into new territory - my dad into a new role as a single father and primary care-taker of three girls 11, 8, and 7, my mom as a still-young woman at 31 without her children, and us as the children of divorce struggling with a clueless dad and a mommy who became just a mother who felt thousands of miles away.
A million dinner disasters and frustrations and sad moments characterize the first few years of adjustment in a home that had housed five…and then only four. My mother soon remarried and started a new family, changing cities every couple of years like a pair of sneakers and, despite the fact that she has always emphasized how much she loves my sisters and me, our relationship flows a bit shallower today as a result. Truthfully, she is a very different woman than the mom I grew up with (she’s even recently changed her first name), and sometimes it’s hard to even remember my mother as I knew her in those new and naive days before my world began to cave.
Posted on June 18, 2007 12:00 AM
Comments
Ariele,
A touching, beautifully written tribute to your father. Please write more often.
John
Posted by: John Pattison | June 18, 2007 7:41 AM
Thank you so much for your story Ariele. As a fellow pastor's daughter, there was a lot in your story that brought back memories of my own journey with my father. I really appreciate you taking the time to put into words, things that I have often felt but not known how to express. I think I'll go call my Dad...
Posted by: Melody | June 18, 2007 10:52 AM
Truly touching. Thank you for sharing something so personal.
I think we often expect our parents to be perfect, but as we grow older we hopefully come to realize that they're just perfectly normal and as apt to make mistakes as we are. I guess that's just being part of a family -- forgiving each other's shortcomings, loving one another, and helping each other grow.
Posted by: Stephanie Nikolopoulos | June 18, 2007 1:31 PM
Such a great article. I am a pastor's son and have (or more accurately, am still currently) working through a lot of the same things.
I also know your dad and this was a great tribute to him. He's the one who sent me the link to the article and is so proud.
Posted by: J.J. | June 19, 2007 2:06 PM
What a fitting tribute to one of the most loving human beings I have ever known. But those of us who have known him and have been loved by him could never know what you do. Thanks for your transparent tribute, Ariele.
His three daughters are the best evidence of his devoted fatherhood.
Bless you all.
Please write more often. You have so much to say worth reading.
Posted by: Don Piper | June 19, 2007 2:11 PM
Great job, Ariele! You are an inspiration to us all. Thanks for sharing. Your Dad is special!
Posted by: Vickie Waters | June 19, 2007 6:58 PM
Ariele,
You are an exceptional story teller, and clearly a great writer. I'm shocked that you haven't contributed a piece before this. Thank you for sharing your story and your perspectives.
Posted by: Jon | June 21, 2007 4:28 AM
Ariele, that was a beautiful written picture of your life. Thank you for being so honest and open, look forward to hearing more from you. You have taken a very hard situation and showed all how God works his grace out in our lives, your forgiving and gracious spirit are evident throughout your writings, may all of us that have read this have the same grace with those who are hurting around us. thanks again and God's blessing
Posted by: jacqui | June 24, 2007 2:56 PM
Ariele: you've always been a talented , loving person. I'm proud to be your grandma.
Posted by: Maw Maw | July 3, 2007 12:24 PM
As a youth I knew your mom and grew up a youth under your dad at Barksdale Baptist. He put music to some of my poems. What a inspiring man of God he was and obviously is. He married me and unfortunately my ex whom I was married to for 23 yrs. It is indeed hard and lonely being a child of God's going through something that you know God abhors.
Posted by: Anne Doughty | July 26, 2007 1:06 PM
Ariele, not enough kind things can be said about your father. I'm glad to see you adding your eloquent words to the lexicon. Praise from a child is the most meaningful of all. It doesn't hurt when it's as artfully written as this little piece.
I knew your family in the DFW era. It was a beautiful family with three beautiful young girls. Hearing fragments of the events in the following years broke my heart, but at the same time bolstered my admiration for this quiet little man with the glint in his eye.
I've had spotty contact with David in the years since. Our occasional correspondence always starts with a proud report of the whereabouts and accomplishments of you and your sisters.
I didn't realize until years later how profound an impact your father had on my life and my personal metamorphosis of faith. Thank you for sharing your words -- and your father -- with us. You are justified in praising him, and he in praising you.
Posted by: Eric | July 29, 2007 8:00 PM
I go to Journey, where your dad serves now. What a touching tribute. His "fathering" to me has meant a lot. I always like asking about his girls and love how each of you feel loved and free to be your own person. I did not have that particular freedom in my family - with a mother and father. Good luck with all of your honest accounts. You do it so gracefully.
Posted by: Kate Harrod | September 8, 2007 3:37 PM
Hello Ariele!
Your father deserves such a very touching tribute from his own child. He has touched the lives of many and brought you up a very talented, open-minded, loving daughter.
As your father fare his journey in life with strong faith and compassion, I salute you Ariele, who braved to picture out your family. but I know the Heavenly Father is always with you.
I write this message as being so touched with your tribute on Father's Day as I am also from a "Gentiles Family". I dont know if we are related or was it a coincedence that we have the same Family name.
Maybe your father knew his descendants. I am from the Philippines happen to open and read your story. You are a very good writer Ariele! If you wish to write me here's my email ad genrosie@yahoo.com.ph Hope to hear from you. God bless!
Posted by: Rose L. Gentiles | March 26, 2008 2:17 AM