When my son realized that I had a blog group on this site called Personal Storytellers, he nagged me about writing a diary on what he's learned from me. I have finally relented and the following words are from my oldest son. Hope you enjoy. :)
I've heard a lot of guys throughout my life opining about what it means to be a "man." Such a question is, of course, ridiculous, seeing as how "being a man" is a straw-man that the insecure use to equate that phrase to feats of pseudo violence or attributing strength to only those that have a penis. I'm sure Rosa Parks, Mother Teresa, Maya Angelou, Michelle Obama, and many other strong, intelligent women would have interesting answers as to what constitutes "being a man."
My father, whom you good kossacks know as Socratic Method, never taught me how to be a man. He taught me how to be a human being. However, he did, for all intents and purposes, teach me many things that every man should know, and lessons that men should follow.
Now, dad had reservations about me writing this--essay, I suppose you might call it--on what fatherhood, manhood, means. This is especially poignant for me because I have a baby daughter that has consumed my life and my love. He had reservations for many reasons, but the biggest being that I might make him to be something more than he was to me. That, I explained, is impossible.
It is impossible to articulate how much a good father means to a son. Again, this a topic I turn over and over in my mind as my beautiful daughter grows with each passing day. I want to be a good father for her. A good man. So here's what my father taught me about being a good father:
A good father can cook. Well. Any good father can cook a decent meal for his family, whomever that might be. And, while my father, brother and my brother's partner will always cook circles around me, I'm not shy about saying that my dad has taught me to cook very well. My wife can cook, too, but she doesn't take the joy and passion that I do in cooking a good meal.
A good father can make a living for his family--when he is able. For three years I was out of work. I was an alcoholic, desperate, and angry. I got drunk one night and said things to my wife that I will regret until the day I leave this Earth. She told me, in that stern but polite way she has, that I needed to take some time away from her. This so hurt my heart that I went, without word, to my father's house, and I talked with dad about it. "Drinking does nothing but pile problems on top of problems," he explained. I understood. Mom, during her bouts of depression and anxiety, would drink, thinking that the alcohol would suppress most or all of her problems. It didn't. I got the message. Loud and clear. So I quit drinking--not because of anything dad told me, but because I understood that dad--a union man for over thirty years--had raised us, through a divorce, through good times and bad, by making a decent living for us. He went to work sick, tired, lonely, depressed, whatever. I realized that I could never do that by boozing. I understand that many are out of work in this desperate time, and to those fathers that are out of work, I extend an empathic warmth to you. Being out of work, in no way, makes one less of a father. Indeed, many fathers choose to be stay at home fathers. Making a living has less to do with an actual job, than aiding in the security and overall togetherness of the family.
A good father has something he cares about that he passes on. Dad cared about the union. He has been a Democrat his entire life, but more important to him were union issues. Me? I care about caring for those that cannot care for themselves. I now work full time for a state program for juvenile sex offenders that have been beaten by their families and the world, and have started to beat back in the wrong ways. I counsel them in their group homes, and show them a better way. A way that is like nothing they have ever seen. Many of these kids don't know how to do their own laundry, or to be a productive part of a family in an every-day environment. I help them with that. I show them how to rejoin society more balanced and self-aware than they were before. I love what I do, and I love my kids. This I will pass on to my daughter, that love and empathy for those that are less fortunate. These are the values my father taught me.
A good father never quits. A good father never quits. On himself, on his family, and on the world in general. I love my wife and child, and I will. never. give. up. on. them. I will never throw up my hands and say " This is too hard!" Why? Because my dad never did. Through the worst of times he never once gave in; never once did he throw up his hands. Instead he went back to work the next day and put a smile on his face and did what he could for us.
And, finally:
A good father never crashes a good party. Jackson Browne once wrote "Let your disappointments pass/Let the laughter fill your glass/ Let your illusions last until they shatter." And dad let me do that. My illusions lasted until they shattered. Laughter has filled my glass. See, illusions are important to a child. Fantasy, illusions, day dreams, these are not things to destroy. These are things to encourage. Imagination is the doorway to compassion and empathy. Do. Not. Touch.
Dad let me make my mistakes. He let the laughter fill my glass. He was the shoulder my brother cried on when he came out to our family. He is the stronghold. The heart of our family. This is not to say my father is perfect, or a hero. That is the key here. A good father is not a hero. A good father is one that can, as Bob Dylan said, "Sing a little bit of these workin man blues," and still have the passion to teach his children how to better the world in whatever way they see fit.
If I can make half the difference in my daughter's life that my father has made in mine, I will be satisfied.