Anthropocene Essays - Midwestern Dads
By Atalie Sherman
If you live in the United States, you are probably familiar with the “crown jewel” of authentic American culture that is the Midwest. A quaint section of the United States with 65 million people, this area is famous for its iconic portrayal of the US, complete with vast cornfields, churches on every corner, and Subways galore. All in all, the Midwest boasts a uniquely American experience that’s all its own, and often confusing to outsiders.
If you’ve yet to experience the Midwest, it's likely you’ve questioned the hype behind the famed region. You probably don’t get the obsession with Hidden Valley Ranch nor agree that Walmart is a must-have attraction in any proper town. Perhaps year-round tornadoes and inconsistent weather changes aren't enough to convince you the Midwest has its charm, but I bet the unforgettable people will.
Midwestern dads, in my opinion, are a completely different breed of human. Characterized by their pristine lawns and endless supply of dad jokes, you’ll know them when you meet them. If the obnoxiously loud sneezes don’t give them away, I promise the grass-stained white Nikes will. I myself have endured the anxiety-inducing question after a meal of “you’re paying, right?” from many Midwestern dads, and enjoy their rigorous sports commentary as they stand in front of the tv, pacing around and correcting the calls of the major league referees. When it comes to weather in the Midwest, though, there's nothing like the uncanny ability for dad’s to sense a coming tornado.
As most Midwesterners will admit, tornadoes are a fairly common occurrence. Everyone knows their safety plan if one was to come by their house, and most people don’t bat an eye when they hear the sirens being tested. At my childhood home in late spring of 2010, the sky began to get this awful green tinge, as sure a sign as ever there was a tornado on its way. My mother quickly turned on Channel 6 to see where it was headed, and my sister and I watched tentatively as the weatherman predicted it would go through our town and hit some of our neighborhood, but hopefully not be far enough south to hit our house. My mom grabbed water, bread, and a portable DVD player for my little sister and I and headed to the bathroom.
I remember glancing out the back door before following her to see my dad outside on the back porch. I went outside to see him standing straight, arms crossed, looking out into the distance for the tornado in classic Midwestern dad style. Defiant and unafraid, no part of him seemed scared of the 300 mile an hour wind column headed to our area, sure to bring destruction and death with it. We soon headed inside and covered ourselves with a mattress, praying in our bathroom whilst bracing for possible impact.
As a kid, seeing my dad’s lack of unease made me feel fearless, as to me, he was in control of the situation. When he said nothing bad would happen to me as we sat and braced for possible impact, I fully believed him. As a kid who had not yet experienced anything life-threatening, the concept of death was incomprehensible for me, and as long as my dad was there to reassure me, I was going to be ok. Now that I am older though, and have looked back at this from the point of view of a teenager, I see my, and by extension humanities, tendency to feel invincible in the face of death. Dying wasn’t even a possibility in my eyes until I matured enough to realize it was somewhat guaranteed. At this point, I’ve seen people die, get sick, and get injured in a way I was oblivious to as a 5 year old who channeled her dad's confidence into bravery.
As we’ve all experienced in life, you come to a point in which the threat of death is a real thing, no longer something you can hide from behind a parent. Maybe it's better to go out in Midwestern-dad style, treating any prevailing moment against death as a triumph against nature. Perhaps taking the opposite extreme and choosing to be consumed with the worry of the unavoidable is a more realistic option, though I see that view as particularly unhelpful. Regardless, I understand that the ways in which we manage difficult topics directly impacts our growth as humans. To develop and change with new information, to rely on what is comfortable and to believe what puts us at ease is a natural characteristic of living. As we evaluate the means of managing difficult parts of life, it's important to understand that our individual growth as people is dependent on the ways in which we deal with hard-to-swallow topics, recognizing that each choice is a part of the process that uniquely defines us as human.