Fatherhood

A special responsibility I have is being a father. It has forced me to encounter the father I wanted. It has forced me to value the fathers I have. It has forced me to forgive the fathers that failed me. It is asking me to love not only my daughters but the little boy still living inside.

I wrote this while in the midst of my divorce. I was in a dark space, a sacred space. A space where I began the process of becoming a man, and along with it the task of being the best father I can. Happy Fathers Day.

A Boy's Death
“I hate my Dad” as tears fall from my eyes. The love a boy has for his father likely hides behind these words. “I'm embarrassed of you”. Again words cover the love a boy has for a lover. Such a charming facade I can hold, but sadness teaches me to be cold.

A boy doesn't trust the miscues or life's love tools. Mom tucked those skills deep within, maybe so her boy will never go. What puts him on the quest for “It”? A call, a lashing, a prayer, a fall? More like loosing it all!

A boy’s love is lured to the conscience for a soft kiss. A boy’s love is stretched thin by lies, praise, and the gaze. I will stack my trophies for all to see.  "It" says you can't  impress me. Each step towards success is distance I put between “It”.

A race well run but for what? I've won the race of contradiction. To the bottom when I was told it was the top. In my search for love I lost it all. I was anxiously greeted by death.

I feel discomfort and pain. Mommy can’t help, but its similar to pain she once felt. Birth! Into the belly but not hers!

Alone on the dark journey using nothing but my broken and misguiding compass, calibrated by my emotions and fear. With a whisper to guide me , I start anxiously by running. It is cold and dark; hot and stuffy; My sweat burns and blisters burst. Fatigue sets in and weakens me, forcing me to sit. The whisper calls “It is here”.

Stillness and fright are a result of my fight! With the little arrogance I had left I ask “Who are you"? “I am” the whisper replies. Knowing my time had come I resisted and foolishly cried out “I…AM….NOT….READY”. “You are not, but I am”. “I don’t belong” I reply with pity. “You have always been” is softly sung.

A blow to my groin, I see my blood. Death’s grip tightens around my ego with each slow and syrupy drop. Lying in agony and pain without dignity I ask “what did I do wrong”? Joyfully the whisper sings “enough for me to find you”.

It’s in the transformation of a boy to a man where death's beauty can be experienced. Transformed for a moment he has been shown what love is. It is like cool refreshing water on a thirsty man's lips.

Love is painful, endures all, is kind and gentle, is the truth, is without deceit, is forgiving, and is a gift from God to a boy. When the boy takes that gift and gives it away to all, he can call himself a “MAN”.