My Turn: Lisa DeFeis of Bay Shore living life one imperfect step at a time

My father was an imperfect man — a “work in progress,” so to speak, just like the rest of us.

Yes, he made some pretty bad mistakes in his marriage and as a parent, likely a result of his own painful childhood. But one of the things that my dad had down pat was unconditional love. No matter how I had messed up (again), I always knew my dad loved me.

My father never judged me, but instead helped me to face the mistakes I made head on — to understand it was not the end of the world. And he always had a story about himself experiencing a similar situation and also struggling (at times unsuccessfully) to do the right thing. I loved him so much for that.

I had just turned 11, and my friend and I took the bus to Korvette’s, a popular department store. She was older than I was and had convinced me it was “cool” to shoplift. We walked through the different departments, stuffing the brown paper bags we had brought from home with clothing, costume jewelry, makeup, etc. Then we headed for the exit.

All of a sudden there was that “tap on the shoulder.” A store detective asked to see our receipts. I was ready to crack right then and there, but my friend said we must have lost them.

Long story short, we were totally nabbed. I cried hysterically as we were being “booked” and told our parents would be called. My friend just smirked.

It turns out they did not call my parents, but they sure did call my friend’s — they must have recognized she was the ring leader and I was the gullible follower. Still, I felt so awful that I confessed to my father, sobbing.

My dad smiled patiently and said, “So what did you learn from this experience?” I told him that I learned to never, ever steal again. He then told me a story of his own: When he was about my age, some friends were planning to steal from a nearby marketplace. They invited him to go but at the last minute he declined, suffering ridicule as a result. He learned the next day that they had all been caught, arrested, and were now in deep trouble. He told me he thanked God for having made the right decision and that he never even thought about stealing again.

It was stories like this that gave me hope.

Like when I was 17 and a freshman at SUNY Geneseo who had just discovered alcohol. And as we know, unlimited alcohol plus zero supervision often does not bode well for young college students. Add an 8-year-old sister calling me every day on the single dorm telephone, asking when I was coming home and, well, you basically have a disaster.

After one horrendous semester I flunked out. Again I was horrified. Again my dad told me his story: When he had first tried college he had also flunked out. He ended up joining the Army and went to college a few years later. “And look at me,” he said, “I’m a doctor now!”

A couple of years passed and I continued to be the imperfect human that I still am, and my father continued to love me unconditionally, though I didn’t always appreciate it. I was trying to find my independence, while pushing him away — I see that now. But at times it included mean words and slamming doors, which makes me sad to think about.

My father’s life was cruelly cut short by a heart attack at age 54. I had just turned 19 and was starting to realize how much he meant to me when, in a nightmarish flash, he was gone. Somehow my family survived, but never truly recovered. I went to a community college and earned my associate’s degree. In 1992 I got a bachelor’s degree in sociology and then my master’s degree in social work.

I have been a clinical social worker for nearly 30 years now. For most of that time I have counseled teenagers and young adults who struggle to survive within troubled family systems. I teach them that it’s OK to make mistakes — especially if they learn from them.

Above all I teach them to practice “self compassion,” which is the ability to treat yourself the same way you would treat someone you love.

I’d like to think that my dad would be proud of me.

 Lisa DeFeis

 Bay Shore