My Dad: Part VIII (Fatherhood, Grief, and Reflections)

Last night we went and saw Hell’s Kitchen The musical, somewhat based on Alicia Keys and her life, from my limited research. I went in with the limited knowledge that I wrote in the prior sentence, and nothing more. I have found that it often helps me when I go to see a musical, because I have no expectations and am more engaged. Also, I am largely uncultured, so having a partner who is decidedly cultured means I am along for the ride, but in a beneficial to me way. I enjoyed it, and found it to be very emotional for a number of reasons. Being a divorced dad, there are moments when my kids are with me where I can see the struggle of being a single parent. I am fortunate that my kids have a robust support system, and I am not truly ever a parent doing all this on my own. But there are moments I feel like I walk a tightrope about decisions related to my kids. Trying to decide what is right in terms of protecting them versus allowing them to experience life and the potential challenges and pitfalls associated with it feels like some of the biggest decisions in my life. Seeing the community, and the wisdom that comes into a kid’s life, and realizing my kids won’t get all of that they would have after the death of my dad, but also just seeing a somewhat parental figure die still hits me pretty hard. As I have said before, I am more emotionally raw nowadays than ever before. Where having kids opened me up, losing my dad means that there are a lot of little things that surprise me in the way they hit me all of a sudden.

Seeing a kid, especially a daughter, reaching out wanting a present, dad always hits me. I never want either of my kids to feel that they are the ones reaching. I want to be a constant presence, no matter where we may be at any point geographically. My daughter, being my first, means she is the first kid who gets these feelings, fears, anxieties, and all attached to our relationship first. I work to make sure she does not have to be aware of that, because that is grown-up stuff, and not her concern. But I always worry about that. I have started reading Ryan Holiday’s “The Daily Dad” this year, trying to commit to daily reflection and journaling. The bit for today talks about showing our actions and having that matter more than speaking about our plans or speaking to our behaviors. In conjunction with the entry for yesterday, I realized that often the men who identify with Stoicism, and who ascribe to its teachings, have leaned more heavily into speaking about what they do, and trying to avoid emotion in an effort to prove their belonging. They have focused on the talk, but not the walk. That felt reflected in the character of Ali’s dad in the musical. He said he would be there, but often was not. I think about all of the men who are trying to prove themselves in the world today. The toxic online communities and the people who are shooting mothers in broad daylight, and those who are defending and funding them. They are more interested in a performative version of masculinity and even Christianity than they are in the work. They like to talk the talk, but they will never walk the walk, because they are too interested in congratulating themselves and seeking the congratulations of others like them.

I think for a long time I operated in a similar way, just without the glee over people suffering (other than fans of my team’s rivals…I wish them a very bad season every year). I have always wanted to be good. A good person, a good partner, a good parent, in good shape, et cetera. I sought validation for all of that, and often felt empty because of it. I kept going to the well, and no matter how desperately I wanted a drink, what I would pull up never quenched that thirst. For me, it was never seeing myself as “good”. I saw myself through a lens of “not good enough,” and in some ways that was my kryptonite, but in other ways it has been my secret power. It held me back because in an abusive relationship, I stayed. I overextended myself in an effort to prove my worth. I suffered in an effort to get the slightest positive feedback, but I never looked within. That pain was immense, and it took me years to recover. In that recovery, I worked on better boundaries and self-worth, which have served me well. I did not lose the part of me; I have just worked to protect it, which means I do not go into any situation thinking I am better than someone else, or that I deserve something from someone else. I kept the soft parts of me soft, and that means I was able to find a partner who appreciates all of me (other than maybe my logistics and planning, none of us are perfect). It also means that, unprompted, I have gotten feedback that I am a good dad from multiple women in my life. Most importantly, my daguhter telling me as we watched Full House that I was a better parent than Danny Tanner.

My abusive ex more than once told me I should kill myself, that my kids would be better off without me. She also asked me many times to parent her kids because she couldn’t do anymore. She raged and broke their televisions or other things. I try to have conversations with my kids where I let them be kids and validate their feelings while explaining mine. In the time when I was reeling from the end of that relationship, my dad was there. He didn’t offer wisdom or a lot of words, really. But he sat with me. When I felt empty and lost, he sat with me and made sure I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t in danger of self-harm or anything, but he made sure I never suffered alone. He would bring over food, and we would watch stuff together. Maybe a game, a tv show, or a movie. He was there, walking the walk, and never felt he needed to talk the talk. I don’t know if I told him he was a good dad, much before he died. I believe I told him that when he said he was ready to go, but in the haze of the moment, I honestly can’t recall. But he didn’t do it for recognition. He didn’t pretend. He did it. That is what I strive to do. I think the world would be better served by the people who show up, even when it is hard. Who are more concerned with being there rather than proving they could have been there. Actions do speak louder than words, and for many people, their actions and words do not line up. Those who do are the ones we should revere, we should celebrate, and we should immortalize.