I hated my father for a very long time. Of course, when we are honest with ourselves most of our hate comes out of deep hurt. And that is exactly what it was for me: I felt deeply hurt that my father was never quite able to be the man that we seemed forced to celebrate every Father’s Day. He was never quite able to be the father that I needed. If he made it through the day’s “celebration” without getting drunk and/or yelling or berating one or all of us it was a good day. I do not say this to defame or castigate my father. He was a much more complicated man than his alcoholism or his abusiveness. He was brilliant, talented, creative, funny, a good provider, and even sensitive. Though I can probably count them on both hands, there are times when my father showed up as the father I believe he truly wanted to be. The man beneath the armor. But it would be disingenuous to act as if there was not a much darker side to my relationship with my father.

Inextricably connected to my ability to be a father has been the healing work I have had to do around my relationship with my father who, sadly, lost his own battle with chronic alcoholism twenty years ago this year, at the age of 54. His tale is one that has been told far too often, written in the Book of Men and Masculinity throughout the ages. These tales lack the hallmark ending and no two dollar card can make it all okay. As a man in long-term recovery from his own addiction I am not only changing my story but I’d like to think I am even changing my father’s story.

The more I have been able to free myself from the pain and hurt of my fractured relationship with my father the more I have been able to see him as a human being who was full of suffering, trapped in the armor of masculinity in which he ultimately suffocated.

The process of forgiveness in my own relationship with my father has not been about forgetting him or even “the good, the bad, and the ugly” experiences but simply letting go of the hurt. The more I have been able to let go the more I have been able to emerge as my best self. It has not been perfect. There are vestiges of the best parts of my father and the worst parts of my father still inside of me. There will always be. For that I am actually grateful; all of those experiences have helped to create the man – and father – I have become.

A lot of what I learned about how to be a father I learned from my father. I learned a lot about what not to do and how not to be. Every young man watches the men around him to figure out how to be a man. How to treat women. How to treat kids. My father was not a horrible person. He was just a very sick person. He had a lot of childhood trauma that I had no idea about until after his death. My father didn’t talk about his daily life so there was no way he was going to open up about some of the most painful experiences of his life. So he just went into the basement and listened to his country albums. Or spewed the toxic poison of his pain all over the people who loved him the most. Such is the sad experience for so many men with trauma. I found a worksheet from his time in treatment where we stated so simply, “I’ve never thought anyone would even care about my problems.” My heart broke when I read those words while cleaning up his office shortly after his death.

The real truth? I miss my father. Not a week goes by that I do not think of him and what we could have had. I talk to him all of the time. I have spent the past twenty years asking him to be the father he never could be while he was alive as I have navigated the inevitable trials and tribulations of life. My relationship with my father has transformed over the years since his death as I have matured. As I have gotten glimpses into my own darkness. As I have come to realize how people experience me versus how I want to come across. All of that has brought me closer to the father I never met. I think about the father he wanted to be versus the father he was. I think about who he was in his heart of hearts. That is the father I celebrate – and grieve – on Father’s Day. The truth is, I never hated my father. I just hated the fact that I never really got the chance to meet him.

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I love being a father. It is truly one of the greatest experiences of my life. I am only six years into this journey and I have grown and changed so much as a result of my beautiful daughter, Grace, coming into my life. In fact, I often tell people, “I cannot really say I have changed because there is no part of my life that has been untouched by this amazing and challenging experience. It is not change – it is transformation; nothing is as it once was.”

First, I am so very clear that I would not be a father without my recovery from addiction, twenty-one years ago right after graduating from college. I would mostly be a sperm donor who was unable to truly connect with his daughter because of all of his own pain and trauma. Those twisted forces would have pushed and pulled me in so many directions that like a tornado I would leave incredible wreckage in the lives of those who were foolish enough to try to love me.

But that is not my story.

I have been raised by the men of the recovery community since I was 21 years old. They have shown me how to be a real man – and as a result a truly loving and healthy father and husband. I am far from perfect. There are times when I get frustrated. Upset. Irritated. Times when I am controlling. Unreasonable. But she’s 5 years old. She is only being a five year old. She doesn’t have the wealth of experience or intellect that I do that enables me to apply reason to any of the numerous behaviors I want her to either stop or start, depending on the day or my mood. And I know it has much less to do with Grace than it has to do with me and where I am at emotionally, physically, and even spiritually at any given moment. The better I take care of myself the better I am able to be present for Grace. That is an axiom for any relationship that our society is still trying to accept.

The truth is I didn’t want to be a father. I was so desperately afraid of hurting a child and causing them pain that I was determined to spare a child of any of that experience. I did not trust myself. But it was not my decision alone, thank God. My wonderful wife, Nancy, not only had a deep desire to be a mother but she saw in me the father I could be. The father I have become! But I could not see that man through the wall of pain and trauma I was still carrying with me, long into my recovery from addiction.

Until I held that beautiful girl in my arms for the very first time. In that moment, I knew I wanted nothing other than to do everything I could to be the best father I can be and that means surrounding myself with support, asking for help and always remaining teachable.

Esther Perel, the popular relationship and sex expert, says men are finally being given permission to be fathers. Not just providers or disciplinarians. We are whole people who are invited – even expected – to be emotionally engaged in our children’s lives.  The challenge has been – and still is – learning how to do that. I was not shown how to nurture a child, in fact, I was shown the opposite. I was not taught how to allow my more vulnerable and softer side to lead in how I develop connection – in fact, I was shown the opposite. Yet I have been working very hard to learn these important relationship skills as they are indispensable to being a loving father.

I am a very human and imperfect father. I am constantly learning and growing. This coming father’s day is less a celebration of me than it is of the gift I have been given: I absolutely love being a father.

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