Fatherhood

This fictional letter is between an archetypical father and son.  The content of the letter is informed by the many hours I have spent talking with both parties, and the common themes I have observed throughout the years in my practice.  My hope is that it can help fill the gaps in all the unspoken space between fathers and sons out there… 

Dear Son, 

I am not sure if this letter will help you, hurt you, or make you even more confused.  But I think it is worth a shot to help you understand me, so that you can better understand yourself.  I am writing you this letter so that you do not have to wonder what I really thought, felt, or believed while I raised you.  I do not want you to toil over whether or not I was interested in your life, truly accepted you…loved you even.  I want to put all my cards on the table as honestly, and thoroughly as I can.  So here we go. 

I think the relationship between father and son can be a complicated one…at least it was for us.  To be honest, I wasn’t sure about becoming a father.  I had some notion that I would someday have kids, as that is the “normal” thing to do.  But when I found out we were expecting our first child I was somewhat conflicted.  I was conflicted about whether I really wanted kids, or whether I would be a good father or not. And then you came along and I was rather excited! My imagination was filled with all the typical father-son activities like playing catch in the yard, or teaching you to ride a bike.  I was overall in good spirits about this forthcoming chapter in my life.  And as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into years, I found myself never fully arriving into the identity of a confident father.  I am not even sure what that identity in its fullness would look like, but I suspect it was not me.  I tried to be a good father to you.  I did. And also, I didn’t try hard enough.  I didn’t try hard enough to listen to you when you needed me to. I didn’t try hard enough to not let my anger get the best of me all those times.  I didn’t try hard enough to treat your mom the way I should have.  I didn’t try hard enough to put myself in your shoes.  I didn’t try hard enough to realize that all you wanted from me was to be told everything was going to be okay.  I didn’t realize that it was probably more important for me to get excited about your interests, than try to get you excited about mine.  Most importantly, I didn’t try hard enough to simply get to know you.  I know now that you were hesitant to be yourself around me.  You were afraid to be your true self, even if your “true” self was ever-evolving.  And it’s no wonder why.  I hardly showed much effort to understand you.  And even worse is that at any moment if I didn’t like what I was seeing I immediately aimed to extinguish it.  Whether it was as simple as an eyeroll, or as direct as angrily calling you names, I acted out of reflex as I couldn’t stand to think that my son was going to become “that.”   And the tragedy is, I didn’t even know what “that” was.  I only saw my insecurities, my failings, my darkest fears being projected onto the face of my small child.  I didn’t know.  I didn’t know the harm I was doing in my ignorance.  I didn’t know that those small gestures would live on in your mind well into adulthood.  I didn’t know my few words or gestures would generate a voice inside your head. An echo.  A voice questioning your every move. A voice criticizing your every thought.  A voice that would impact your relationships.  And a voice that would ultimately play a role in developing your identity as a father.  I do wish I knew then what I know now. 

While I have many regrets about our relationship, there are some things that I would not change.  I do not regret working hard and creating a stable life for you and the rest of the family.  I know you would have rather I been around more.  I know you believe I worked more for myself than I did to support our family.  And, if I am being honest, there were times that I did.  Whether it was that promotion I didn’t necessarily need, or that overtime to pay for an unneeded expense, there definitely were decisions I made that were selfish at the end of the day.  And I still do not know exactly how to feel about those decisions. Sometimes I regret them, and sometimes I do not.  Those were goals that I had, and they were for me. I can admit that.  I hope that you have similar ambitions for yourself.  Ambitions to be a good father and husband, and also ambitions that belong to you, and you alone.  In regard to my anger, while I regret the harmful outbursts, I do not regret the anger I displayed to you that was warranted.  There is a difference between causing harm and causing pain.  Pain is not always a bad thing.  Especially emotional pain, as it can be an effective teacher.  While I did not always strike the balance perfectly, I tried my best to discern when you needed a gentle touch, and when you needed a firm hand.  I am certain there were many times I chose incorrectly, or didn’t even choose at all, just acted out of emotion.  But, I would also say there were many times that I did choose correctly, even when you did not see it that way.  

I can tell you that fatherhood can be a confusing experience.  There are many aspects of our relationship, and my role as your father that I still do not fully understand.  I do not know why talking to you was so difficult. I don’t know why I could speak so easily with your mother, or even with friends about you, but I could not speak to you.  It was almost as if there was a force keeping me from being open with you. From being vulnerable with you. It was automatic. Anatomical even.  I would just freeze up, or I wouldn’t even be consciously aware that I was holding back so much.  Maybe it was my childhood. My distant relationship with my father.  Or maybe something natural was unfolding.  Perhaps there was a reason you were kept in the dark. Some cosmic or evolutionary mechanism at work, fueling your drive for a sense of approval.  As if not being entirely sure of where you stood with me kept you on your toes.  Kept you striving for more to get my approval, while at the same time questioning if you needed it at all.  But maybe that’s just me trying to make myself feel better for not telling you what I should have.  I should have just told you how much I cared about you.  I should have told you how proud of you I was, simply for just being you.  I should have told you how much I loved you. 

I know that you carry a lot of pain.  I know that you are often unsure of yourself, even when you do not realize it at the moment.  I know you are often tempted to blame this pain on me. I know you often think of the many ways I let you down.  In moments of anger you hold me responsible for your shortcomings.  I wish I could take it.  Take the responsibility for all of it even.  Because the reality is, I am responsible for much of it.  I was responsible for you.  I was responsible for taking care of you. For protecting you.  I was responsible for raising you in a manner that would make you a good human being.  It’s probably a fool’s errand to try identifying the line in which I stopped becoming responsible for your life, and you did.  I do not believe there is a line because even as you continue to grow into adulthood, my fingerprints remain on your decision making.  Had I chosen differently, you may have chosen differently.  Had I said something different, you may have felt different about yourself.  As much as we both would like to point the finger at each other at times, or distance ourselves from one another, there just is no way to neatly separate our identities.  I am part of you, and you are part of me.  

What I would ask of you is to trust that I did want the best for you.  That in the end all I wanted was for you to become a better man than me, even when I was threatened by the fact that you were becoming that.  In regard to the pain and the shortcomings, I am happy to take the lions’ share of the blame.  The buck stops here after all.  But I will challenge you.  I will challenge you to do what perhaps I could not.  Start now in your early years to take on the responsibility.  While you are within your rights to lay blame at my feet, make the choice not to.  Make the choice to face your decisions head on.  Develop the reflex to assume responsibility until proven otherwise.  Not as a practice of self criticism, but as a practice of humility.  I have come to realize that true humility is the best characteristic a father can have.  It took me a lifetime to learn that, and if you can take anything from this letter, please learn that lesson now.  

Well, I think that’s it. That is the best I can summarize my experience as your father. This letter clearly does not cover it all, and it certainly is not an exhaustive account of all my mistakes, successes and everything in between.  All I can do is hope that it provides something for you.  Perhaps a sense of closure?  Some validation? I guess what I really want for you is to have a good sense of yourself.  Because what really matters is that you hold yourself accountable to your standards, not mine.  What matters is that you approve of yourself.  What matters is you. 

Love, 

Dad