A reader writes:
Weldon’s piece hit close to home. As the son of an absent father (my parents’ divorce became final before I turned 2) who had no relationship with his father, Fathers’ Day seldom had meaning for me. To this day, I just know the day happens sometime in June. I know my mother felt compelled to fill the role of father, either herself or through groups like Big Brothers of America. I know she felt guilt and shame over my fatherless upbringing. Because her divorce occurred in the mid-1970s, before the vogue wave of divorce in the 1980s, people treated her, and my sister and me, differently. People pitied us and thought we kids were fragile. Teachers and good Catholic church members condescended towards us. When the wave of divorce in the 1980s hit, I had teachers ask me if I could talk to affected peers about what they should expect (like I knew).
Organized sports became my father replacement.
My all-male high school experience shaped my sense of being a man for others (a great Jesuit high school!). Being the child of a fatherless upbringing caused me quite a bit of anxiety as I became a father myself. I had no role model (positive or negative). My wife and kids get excited on Fathers’ Day, but I feel conflicted about it. I feel it’s more for them than me. The 30 years of being fatherless has yet to condition me to appreciate the celebration of now 10 years of being a father on Fathers’ Day. It’s odd.
Another takes a much darker turn:
I’m glad you brought this topic up, because you’ve given me a place to vent on an adjacent topic: those of us who did grow up with a father at home, but who may have been better off if we had not. Every Fathers Day, when I see the parade of old black-and-white photos with “I miss you, Dad” posted on Facebook, here’s what I want to post: “I don’t miss my father. If you do, you are blessed.” (My wife wisely talks me out of it.)
My father was either absent and cheating, or home and beating. Or molesting my sister. His passing was mostly a relief. I attempt to conjure up positive memories but find mostly scraps. The closest thing to a compliment I can make is that his insistence on my living a life of integrity, honesty and respect was successful enough so that it stuck even when, in my 20s, I realized that his own character had none of these things. And that my own successful fatherhood can be partly credited to doing the opposite of what he did.
The Dish 