When I was just 9 years old, my father walked out of my life, succumbing to drug addiction by the time I turned 19. For most of my childhood, I dreaded Father’s Day. I often took extra shifts at my job, trying to find a quiet spot in the back of the store where I could avoid the families celebrating together. At times, I even escaped into the woods, hiking or biking, desperate to steer clear of the joyful fathers and their kids.
For a long time, I felt bitterness towards friends who enjoyed healthy relationships with their dads. They had something I yearned for—a mentor, a guide to help me navigate the complexities of growing into a man, a partner, and eventually, a father myself. I longed for the chance to give my dad a cheesy Hallmark card and a tacky tie.
Reflecting on my father, I often remember that I didn’t shed a tear at his funeral. It wasn’t until nearly a year later that the tears came, but not because of his death. I cried for the loss of hope that he would change and become a part of my life.
Anyone who experienced life with an absent father can relate. Growing up without one creates an imbalance as you look back at your childhood, focusing on what was missing. You realize there were countless lessons you had to learn on your own, without the love and guidance of a father figure. On Father’s Day, that sense of loss is amplified.
When I became a father at 24, I struggled to articulate the feelings surrounding my own father’s absence and how it fueled my insecurities about my new role. The prospect of fatherhood was daunting. While many first-time parents feel anxious, for me, it felt like navigating uncharted territory. I knew there was something vital I wanted to give my son, yet I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what that was.
That first Father’s Day was pivotal. My son, a tiny infant, was celebrated through a card my wife created, adorned with a green handprint that captured the essence of his babyhood. As I examined the smudged print, I realized that we shared the same hands—slender fingers and blocky palms. My dad had those same hands. In that moment, I recognized my position: I stood between an absent father and my son, who needed me to step up and offer what I never had.
From that day forward, Father’s Day transformed for me. It shifted from a painful reminder of absence to a celebration of the opportunity to be the loving father I had always wished for. I made a promise to be present, even if I didn’t fully grasp what that meant. I understood that I could provide my son with experiences and love that I grew up without.
Now, when Father’s Day rolls around, I think back to my feelings of loneliness and longing. It serves as a reminder of my commitment to break the cycle of absence. While the day may traditionally be about gifts and recognition, for me, it’s a chance to reassure my children that I am here, that I care, and that I will always be a constant presence in their lives. And that realization feels incredibly fulfilling.
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In summary, growing up without a father creates a unique perspective on Father’s Day. What once felt like a reminder of loss has become a day of commitment for me, inspiring me to be the nurturing parent I always craved.