"FATHER'S DAY"

FATHER’S DAY”

            I’m beginning to work on a book about my mother and me – her agency as a single, working mom, raising me as both mother and father.  In thinking about this, I’ve encountered many of the memories of abandonment by my father.  As many of you know, my father was absent from my life from the time I was an infant.  The absence was bad enough, but the fact that he had abandoned me hit me deeply in my soul as a boy.  My life into my mid-20’s was dominated by this abandonment.  Why did he leave?  Why did he never come back to contact me or see me? 

I am sad to say that the psychic energy of my young life was dominated not by the presence of my loving mother, who stayed with me, but rather by my absent father who abandoned me and never bothered to contact me.  I’ve corrected that over the years through therapy and good friends, and I also want to correct it with this book – I don’t know if it will ever be published, but at least my kids and grandkids will have it.  I’ve developed an outline for the book, and I’ll be glad to get your comments and suggestions on it – contact me if you’d like to see the primitive outline.

So, it should come as no surprise that I have ambivalent feelings about Father’s Day.  I am so proud of our kids, David and Susan, and that makes this day a day worth celebrating.  I’m always feeling the loss of the man who left me on this day, however.  I am thankful to my mother, who gave such time and energy to me in an effort to be both mother and father to me.  More about that later – in the book!

For today, I want to give thanks for those men who stepped into the breach to bring me fatherly love.  There were many of them – in my church, in my school, in sports.  Space only permits one of those for today.  Baseball was one of my outlets for establishing my masculinity.  As a boy, I was a good fielder, decent pitcher, so-so batter, but I remember praying every day in the summer that the rain would stay away so that I could play baseball – I loved it!  We played pick-up games, but what really counted was Little League.  I don’t remember how old I was – eight or nine, I guess.  It was the last inning of a game where we (the Coca- Cola Bottlers) were leading the other team by one run.  The other team was in its last bat and had two outs, but the bases were loaded.  If we could get one more out, we would win!  I was playing second base, and the batter hit a routine ground ball to me – all I had to do was catch it, flip it to first base, and the game would be over.  The ball went right through my legs into the outfield!  As the other team celebrated their victory, I ran off the field and hid under the stands, crying uncontrollably.  My mother came to console me, but I told her to go away.   

I don’t know if she sent him or not, but in a little bit, a man in our church named Joe Brady came over to talk with me.  He had two sons near my age (one of whom would die later in a tragic tractor accident).  I don’t know remember what Mr. Brady said to me, but whatever it was, it worked.  I came out from my hiding place, not fully restored but at least understanding a bit that baseball is a game of learning to deal with failure – the best hitters in the game fail 70% of the time.  At that tender age, I needed a man, and Mr. Brady stepped into the breach.  Later on, after my first year in college, he would arrange for me to get my first full-time summer job – working at Delta Fertilizer Company as a laborer.  It was the job that convinced me to go to Brooklyn for the next summer, an experience that would change my life forever!

And, I want to note the passing of my “adopted” father, Dr. Gayraud Wilmore, in April of this year.  He volunteered to be my adopted father 3 years ago after he had read one of my “dreams of my father” blogs in 2017.  He was 98 and tired and was ready to go, but I will miss him!

So, I’m grateful for men like Joe Brady and Gay Wilmore who stepped up;  I’m grateful for my mother who did as much as she could for me; I’m grateful for Caroline, David and Susan who have helped me to learn what it means to be a man and a father.  Not all of us are biological fathers, but we all have the opportunity to step into the breach.  Let us find our places.