¡Hola!
Everybody...
I guess this is not your typical fathers day blog offering. Sometimes the hardest thing is to be honest with one’s self… My fathers were good, if flawed, human beings, but they gave much.
I guess this is not your typical fathers day blog offering. Sometimes the hardest thing is to be honest with one’s self… My fathers were good, if flawed, human beings, but they gave much.
Happy
Father’s Day, everybody...
* * *
What Does it Mean to Be a Father?
What
have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?
-- Antonio Machado
-- Antonio Machado
I had two fathers and
possibly more. I had uncles, older cousins, as well as elders from the
community who were to me as fathers in some respects. But the two that were
most influential was my biological father, Edwin, and my stepfather, Vincent. The
two men were polar opposites.
My father was almost
all yang: penetrating intelligence, extroverted, creative, charismatic -- he
was everything a little boy wanted as a father. I adored him -- worshipped the
very ground he walked and I wanted to be just like him. My father passed on to
me the gift of the thirst for knowledge and I could never repay him for that.
My father’s example taught me that there was a higher purpose in life and he
taught me love for knowledge, beauty, and truth.
My stepfather,
Vincent, was almost all yin: he was easy-going, definitely not cerebral, loved
doing things with his hands, and loved music. As a child, he would take me to
his various jobs and brag to his friends and co-workers that I was a genius.
Then he would say something like, “Go ahead, ask him anything,” and his
co-workers would and I would almost always get the answer right. He used to get
a big kick out of that. Vincent, instead of resenting my intelligence, supported
it. Any other man would’ve felt insecure, but not Vincent, because he was easy
going almost to a fault. Not that he was a pushover, he wasn’t, he had the
hands of a carpenter, large and rough, and I saw him knock out a man much
bigger than him with one punch. He was simply less confrontational than my
father. Vincent’s example taught me dependability, consistency, or “showing up”
as might have put it.
These days it’s
popular for talking heads and politicians of all stripes to go on at length
about fathers and fatherhood. On one side, there’s the myopic notion that almost
all social ills can be placed firmly on the shoulders of fathers -- or
“absent” fathers. Of course, this is just a form of scapegoating. Sure, fathers
are important in the development of young minds, but a father being more
“present” doesn’t automatically translate to a better, more just society.
I once created a
leadership development workshop that utilized relationship-building skills. My
assumption then and still, was that the essence of leadership is about the
ability to connect to people, not forcefully leading them by the nose. Whenever
I would ask workshop participants to list what they perceived as leadership
qualities, nurturing -- the core skill for relationship -- was almost
never mentioned. When our culture emphasizes bread-winning and individual
success for men at the expense of care-giving, the welfare of children suffers.
A father’s absence influences the son and daughter’s development of social
skills, self-esteem, and attitudes towards achievement. But more importantly,
our culturally warped understanding of masculinity contributes to various forms
of maladjustment, such as lack of impulse control, violence, incompetence,
dependence, and irresponsibility. The son of a psychologically absent
father experiences a weakened identification with what it means to be a man,
and the daughter experiences a weakened relationship to the masculine
principle.
Yet, in the name of
family financial and psychological welfare, our legal system emphasizes the
importance of the father’s job (or ability to earn), and therefore his absence,
and award child custody to the mother nine times out of ten. When societal
attitudes are unsupportive of the father’s active involvement in the family,
then we see the fragmentation of family relationships so common today.
Don’t misunderstand
my point: I am not advocating for some vague notion of “men’s rights.” I am
saying that we -- all of us -- need to redefine what it means to be a man.
In the end, we are
all flawed creatures. We all make mistakes. As for me, I would say that if you
were to ask my son, he would give at best a mixed review. More likely, I don’t
think he would characterize me as a “good” father. And he has good reasons for
his view. In the final analysis, I too am seriously flawed human being. I guess
what is important is not to get too stuck in who’s “wrong” and who’s “right,”
but to do the right thing at the right time because it is the right thing to do
at that moment.
And yet my own
experience leaves with the feeling that a good father, however that is defined,
requires more than getting the task done right. Perhaps fatherhood is more
about being genuine and revealing ones vulnerability to those you love. When I
reflect on the relationships between fathers, sons, and daughters, I am
reminded of the words of the poet Rumi: “Out beyond rightdoing and wrongdoing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” My son, if he chooses, will one day be
a father and if he can take even a little of what my own teachers gave me, then
he will be a man.
My name is Eddie and
I’m in recovery from civilization…
No comments:
Post a Comment
What say you?