What It Means To Be A Father...And A Son

Once in a while (much too seldom...) you run across something on social media that affects you, touches you, hopefully changes you. 

Occasionally, I do plays. It's a huge time commitment, but you meet people and get to know them in ways you wouldn't otherwise do. This morning I read a post from an actor I met almost a year ago. He spoke of his father who recently passed away. His words were beautifully painful as my friend poured out his soul and relayed the ache he felt on this crisp October morning. Without releasing his name (and without his permission...), I'm including his post here.

I woke up with an aching heart just moments ago. I miss my Dad. As I pondered this new hole in my heart, I realized it was Saturday morning. For over 40 years that meant basketball or tennis with one of the toughest competitors I ever knew. For a good portion of that experience, it was just the two of us. But, over the years we had so many good friends join us. Everyone was welcome. So many wonderful lessons along the way. Some not so pleasant, but there was always the companionship and inclusion. You see, my dad was also my big brother. I am blessed to have four wonderful, loving, caring, and beautiful sisters. And an amazing Mom. But no brother. Because I don't know anything different, I can't say if I missed out by not having a brother, I can say I didn't notice, I had my Dad. My favorite, and most consistent memory, is the post game breakfast. Bacon, eggs, and toast. Sitting on the counter when I was younger, and standing by his side as I got older, I was skilled in the delicate art of an over easy egg and crispy bacon. Then casual conversation about life. I love him. I miss him. He was tough. Expected top performance, or better said best, consistent, honest effort. Go full tilt or stay home.

A few years ago I decided to try my hand at community theater. It's been a riot. Generally, it's been much easier on the knees. In doing so, I learned of another side of myDad...his love of the performing arts. I knew he was a singer, dabbled at the piano, and played the harmonica. I didn't realize he loved to act. His eyes lit up as we talked about my new adventures, and as he shared his memories. I'm glad I have those moments to remember.

Dad, I love you, I am grateful for you. I miss you my dear friend. I miss our talks, discussions, competitive banter. I miss your presence and embrace. I'll see you again when the time is right. Until then, I will hold you in my heart and hope these memories will fill this hole.😥😏

There's the obvious, a son missing his father, and in a bit of selfishness, I thought of my father and how I missed out on so many things. Then I thought about how wonderful it was for my friend to have had his father with him all his life--something I did not have.

But after that, I thought about all those children growing up without a father, some--like me--because their father's died or some with fathers imprisoned, and others because their fathers left. Reading these words today made me realize the joy, the hard work, the rewards that come from choosing to stay, to live up to one's responsibilities, to be a father to your children. There are millions of men who will never know what that's like, millions of children who will never have those opportunities. I know I haven't been the best father at times, but I thank God for the time I've had and hope to have in the future.

Once in a while you read something on social media that's worth sharing. And so I am.