Becoming a Man, what it means to be a Father

With Father’s Day rapidly approaching I’ve been thinking a lot regarding what it really means to be a Father and when you really become a man. I don't think I really became a man until my Dad died which is sad and stupid and fucked up, but that’s the way it is, if I’m being honest, which I’m trying to be.

One of my favorite examples to give, when people ask what being a Father means, or of how my Dad was is the time I moved to New Jersey. I was 18 years old and dating a woman who was 22 and I was totally and completely infatuated with her. She had already graduated college and I was halfway through my first year and not doing a very good job of it. I was too involved with going to goth clubs with my friends and exploring the NYC goth scene to do things like go to class and write papers.

I dropped out of school because it was interfering with spending time with her and with my working shit menial jobs to make money to move in with her. She eventually got kicked out of her place up in Port Chester and moved back in with her mother in South Jersey. I would work all week at Costco, then take the LIRR into Penn, walk to Port Authority and take the two hour bus trip down to Cherry Hill every Friday, spend the rest of Friday and all of Saturday with her and be back in NY in time to work the closing shift on Sunday. It totally fucking sucked.

We started looking for places together and everywhere in North Jersey or NY was too expensive. All the way my Father kept trying to talk me out of moving in with her and into going back to college. I wouldn’t listen and we argued often. We eventually found a place in South Jersey and were committed to moving in together. Despite their misgivings, my parents helped me pack, rented a minivan, and drove me down there. Once down there they took us to Bed, Bath, & Beyond and bought some things for us. We said our goodbyes and they were off.

While I was there, my Dad would send me care packages; video tapes of Giants games (when they won), and news clippings pertaining to the Giants, and any news clippings pertaining to the Islanders. He would call me often, not to hound me, but to keep in touch. When things started going bad he tried to council me.

Finally, it was at a point when things were not going to get better and he said “Christopher, just come home, I’ll take the for sale sign of your car, all you have to do is go to school. Just come home.” When I finally agreed, he again rented a minivan, drove down to South Jersey, helped me pack, and took me home.

Being a parent is trying to prevent your children from making mistakes, realizing when you can’t stop them, and being there to help them stand up, and dust themselves off when they do. He never rubbed it in my face, he never hit me with an “I told you so,” he just told me how proud he was of me for realizing my mistake and coming home.  And how happy he was I was home and how much he loved me. He even repainted my room and had my Mom get me new curtains and bedding.

I would make a lot more mistakes and he would do a lot more helping me up and dusting me off. He was the BEST, end of story and I'll never measure up, and I'm cool with that. But he loved me so much; he never gave up on me. He was the only one, other than Erin, who never gave up. And it took him dying, for me to really fully become the man he saw in me. What I’m not cool with is him being gone and I’m not OK with him not getting to see the man I’ve become. I love you Dad, with all my heart, always and forever.