He was rarely ever there, and then he was gone forever.
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My father was flawed, and tortured, and I can safely admit mentally ill by today’s standards. He grew more introverted and pained as I grew up. Dotted along the timeline of my childhood, there were rare moments when he’d surprise me: helping me with my Pinewood Derby car or going with me on a scouting overnight. But as he grew more depressed and angry, he withdrew more. He hardly ever came to my sports games, never once went for a bike ride with me, never took me to a Red Sox game. Never. He was increasingly absent even though he was right there at home.
There are so many other things, rites of passage for a boy and his dad. For me, I was my own guide on a lot of these things.
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Then on March 15, 1990, the dad I had was gone forever, killed in a car accident just blocks from our house. The dad who was rarely there would never be there again.
I was 14 years old and in my freshman year of high school. So when I stop and think about the normal experiences a boy might have with his dad, I didn’t have ANY of those. None of them.
• Learning to Shave:
At some point, I started teaching myself to shave. I don’t remember how it happened, it just did. I used those cheap yellow disposable blades. At some point, my mom realized she was buying for me too.
• The Sex Talk:
I never had “the talk”. There were no birds and no bees. My mom never approached it either. I guess she figured I’d figure it out. There were no talks about how to treat women or what it would be like to lose my virginity. At some point, it just happened. My wife can probably tell you I’m STILL figuring it out.
• Learning to Drive:
My mom took me to buy my first car. I insisted on buying this hot little sports car. It was a stick shift. I bought it! I soon realized I couldn’t drive a stick shift. My best friend’s brother helped me learn to drive the stick shift I had already bought in the parking lot of our middle school. I kept popping the clutch until I finally stopped popping the clutch.
There are so many other things, rites of passage for a boy and his dad. For me, I was my own guide on a lot of these things.
• Drinking:
I never got to sit back and have that first beer with dad.
• Smoking:
I worked my way through my dad’s leftover pack of Kool’s that sat unsmoked in the drawer by his TV chair after he died. I threw up and never became a smoker. I went to my first Red Sox game with friends, My MOTHER drove me on my first date and picked us up afterward.
All of this leads to me NOW. I’m finding my way as a father of two girls and making up my own blueprint as I go. I bike with the girls, build forts in the house, go to Dodgers games whenever we can. And yes, I can’t wait until that one day when I hope they invite me to their first father-daughter dance. One thing I know for sure—I want to be there for the girls, and experience life with the girls, and make them feel loved and confident with parents who love them and always will.
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Photo: GettyImages
I’m sorry for the loss of your dad. I feel much of what you’re feeling as I’ve experienced much of the same. My father is still very much alive and is still the coldest person I have ever known. I may be bitter and have some issues to some people but here they are: Some things I’ve never got to share with my dad: Tie a tie (I learned in the Marine Corps). Shave (which is why I hate doing it and have a full beard now). The Sex Talk (He did “attempt” to when I was 18 years old!… Read more »