My father walked out when I was just 9 years old and succumbed to drug addiction when I turned 19. Throughout my childhood, I often shunned the celebration of Father’s Day. There were times I would work an extra shift at my retail job, seeking refuge in a dim corner of the store to avoid the sight of families enjoying the day together. Other times, I’d escape into the woods—hiking or mountain biking—anything to distance myself from the fathers and children reveling in their time together.
As a child, I harbored resentment towards friends with strong relationships with their fathers, feeling envious of the connection I desperately yearned for. I longed for someone to guide me, to share lessons about growing up, becoming a man, a partner, and eventually a father myself. I wished for the chance to present a Hallmark card and a silly necktie to a father figure.
When memories of my father surface, I often reflect on how I didn’t shed a tear at his funeral. It wasn’t until nearly a year later that the tears came—not from grief over his death but from the realization that the hope I had for his redemption and presence in my life had vanished.
For those raised without a father, this sentiment resonates deeply. The absence of a parent casts a long shadow over your childhood, leaving you to grapple with what was missing. You become acutely aware of the lessons you had to learn on your own, without a guiding hand or a loving presence during tough times.
Father’s Day amplifies that sense of loss, making the absence of a father feel even more pronounced.
At 24, when I welcomed my first child, a son, I was overwhelmed with insecurity about my own lack of paternal guidance. I might not have had the right words to express my feelings, but I knew the prospect of fatherhood was daunting. While all new parents experience anxiety, for me, stepping into fatherhood felt like navigating uncharted waters without a map. I understood that I was missing a crucial piece of myself, and I desperately wanted to provide my son with what I never had.
That feeling weighed heavily on my mind during my first Father’s Day. My son was just a baby, and my partner gifted me a card adorned with his tiny handprint in green paint. It was clear she had struggled to get him to stay still long enough for the impression. Yet, as I looked at that smudged handprint, I realized something profound: my son and I shared the same hands—slender fingers and block-shaped palms. My father had those same hands.
This realization marked a turning point for me. In that moment, I recognized my position: caught between an absent father and a new son who needed me to step up and provide the love and guidance I had longed for. I had the chance to break the cycle of absence.
From that day forward, Father’s Day transformed for me. I stopped viewing it as a painful reminder of what I lacked and began to see it as an opportunity to give my son the love and presence of a dedicated father. On that first Father’s Day, I committed to being there for him, even if I didn’t fully understand what that entailed, I knew it would be more than I ever had.
Now, as Father’s Day approaches each year, I reflect on my past loneliness and the void I wished to fill, reaffirming my commitment to break the cycle of absence. While the day is traditionally about celebrating fathers, for me, it serves as a reminder to my children that I am present, I care, and I am here to stay. It feels good to know that I can provide what I always wished for.
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In summary, Father’s Day can hold a different meaning for those who grew up without a father. It can become a day not only of reflection but also of commitment to break the cycle of absence and provide a loving presence for the next generation.