Of all the challenges I’ve faced in life, fatherhood was by far the greatest challenge and the one for which I was the least prepared. In the months leading up to my son, Aric’s birth, I was happy and excited. I was looking forward to being a father. All that changed the night my son was born.
When the doctor looked at me and said, “Congratulations! It’s a boy,” I came face to face with an ugly reality and it terrified me. When the nurse asked me if I wanted to hold my son, it took everything I had just to mutter a soft “No.”
I remember the nurse and my wife joking about me being a scared, new dad. I knew they didn’t understand. I wasn’t scared of my son because he was tiny, or fragile, or breakable. I wasn’t afraid I would drop him (well, maybe a little). The truth is, I wasn’t afraid of my son. I was afraid of me.
My father wasn’t a part of my life while I was growing up. What few memories of him I do have aren’t good. I knew enough about my father, and his father, and his father’s father to know I come from a long line of not-so-good dads; men with long tempers and short fuses four generations deep, fathers who took their anger out on their kids; men who beat their sons.
I received my first black eye from my father when I was three. I don’t know what causes a father to beat his son. Whatever it is, it was in my father, it was in his father, and it was in his father’s father. I was terrified it was in me.
The first time I held my son, he was already several hours old. I made a promise to Aric that night. “It stops here, right here, right now, it stops.” With that promise, my purpose in life was to break that cycle.
I didn’t know the first thing about being a dad, let alone a good dad. I didn’t know what a good dad looked like, at least not a good dad born into my family.
Aric was a happy baby, seldom fussy. For the most part, he was just content to be wherever he happened to be. At the time I was still in college. Since Aric was such a good baby, instead of taking him to daycare, I took him to class. We were seldom apart the first year of his life.
I thought once I settled into fatherhood a bit it would become easier. In many ways, I guess it did. In the most important way though, it was always work. I knew I could never let my guard down. I couldn’t take that chance.
There were a lot of happy, fun times in our house. One of my favorite memories is from when Aric was about 10. It was a tradition for me to read to him before he went to sleep. One of the books he chose was The Lives of Christopher Chant. When I would read from that book, I adopted a different voice and posture for each character. “Reading time” was more like a mini-theatrical production at the foot of his bed.
No matter how much fun something was, though, I never let my guard down around my son. I never let myself completely relax when my son was around. There was always a part of me that was working to make sure I kept the ‘bad dad’ in me at bay.
When the kids’ mother and I divorced, I understood a little better why my father hadn’t been part of my life. It’s tough being a part-time dad. A lot of things about parenthood are tough, though, but we do them anyway.
Despite our divorce, my ex-wife and I never stopped caring about each other. We never stopped wanting what was best for our kids. We never stopped working together to raise the kids according to our beliefs and values.
I always made an effort to show my kids I loved them. I always made an effort to show my kids I was proud of them. I always made an effort to keep that part of me that was like my father locked up where it needed to be.
Last month I spent a week camping in the Black Hills with my kids and their families. My son’s family used to live with me for a few years, but this was the first time I had spent an extended amount of time with them for quite a while. I watched how my son interacted with his kids. I watched how he looked at them when he thought nobody was watching. I watched how much fun they had just being silly with each other.
After they went to bed the second night, I sat by the campfire awhile alone. I thought about all the things I could have done differently as a father. I thought about all the things I could have done better. Then I thought about what else could have happened but didn’t. Then I decided it was time to forgive myself and just accept that I did the best I could with what I had to work with.
I learned a lot that week with my kids in the Black Hills. I learned that whatever it was that caused the fathers in my family to beat their sons, it’s part of me. It’s been part of me since I got my first black eye from my father when I was three. I learned that I missed out on a lot with my kids because I never let my guard down. I never just let myself be silly with them. I learned that no matter what I missed out on, the decision I made the night my son was born was the right decision. I learned something incredibly beautiful. I learned what a good dad born into my family looks like. He looks like my son, Aric.
Until next time, take care of yourself, and each other.
