…who didn’t know his Father.
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If you were fortunate enough to grow up with your father in your life, your beliefs and behavior are a reflection of him in one way or another.
The things you observed him do. The lessons he taught you. The stories he told you. The times he protected you. The questions he answered. The questions he asked. Part of who you are can undoubtedly be traced back to these interactions with your father.
But for children who grew up without their father, there’s a void that’s nearly impossible for anyone else to fill.
This is the situation my father endured growing up in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn in the 1950’s and 60’s. When my father was just five years old, his dad passed away leaving his mother to care for him and his infant sister.
Because this was such a traumatic event for my grandmother, she wouldn’t talk about her late husband. This meant that once he passed away, his memory was gone as well. As a result, my father knows very little about the man his father was.
Like many widows who suddenly lose their husband and have two young children to support, my grandmother was thrust into survival mode and spent most of her time working just to put food on the table. This left my dad more or less on his own with no one to set boundaries or learn from.
There was no guidance. No direction. No one to challenge him. No one to emphasize the importance of school. No one to encourage his love of photography and music.
But that wasn’t the toughest part. The toughest part was the lack of a consistent, positive male role model in his life.
The male role models my father had access to were the older guys in his neighborhood. But the only thing they taught him was how not to behave.
And so it went. My father navigated through the most formative years of his life without his dad, and some of the most difficult times came during the holidays when he saw his cousins interacting with their fathers. Seeing that always left my father wondering what it would be like if his father was still around. But ultimately, he had to face the bitter realization that no matter what he did he would never know the answer to that question.
I wish I knew what to say to my father when the subject of his childhood comes up in conversation.
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I wish I could sympathize with my father. I wish I could understand just how difficult it was. I wish I knew what to say to my father when the subject of his childhood comes up in conversation. I wish I could do something to heal the wounds that stem from growing up without his father.
But no matter how much I talk with him about it, no matter how much I try to put myself in his shoes, there’s no way I’ll ever understand what he went through and how he feels.
But I know he would say that’s a good thing.
His pain is something he would never want me to feel. By being there for me when I was growing up, he ensured that I never would.
In spite of all the challenges he faced growing up and the fact that he never knew his father, I never felt any tension or strife from my father when he was raising me.
He was always there for me. He was always supportive. He always did everything he could to help me learn and grow as a person.
And even though he didn’t have a relationship with his own father and his childhood was more difficult than I can imagine, I never got the sense that he endured anything other than a normal childhood. Given the circumstances, that might be the biggest complement a son can give to his father.
Like many personal tragedies we encounter, growing up without a father can have disastrous consequences. But as with all personal tragedies, you ultimately have the power to decide how you deal with the situation you were dealt.
My dad is living proof that personal tragedies don’t have to define who you are.
Whatever part of my dad may have been incomplete from the experience of growing up without his father, he filled in on his own and paved his own way. That’s just about the most inspiring damn thing I can imagine and I can only hope that whatever parts of my father I reflect include a little bit of his perseverance and courage. I should be so lucky.
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Originally posted on bknation.org. Reprinted with permission.