The Ways Of Becoming A Man

It can be difficult for a son to understand their father and who he is. We come into this world as boys and whether we know it or not, we need men to mentor us. We need them to take us under their wing and teach us their ways. The ways of being a man. 

For me, that was confusing. I often feared my dad, but honestly, I thought for the longest time that he was doing what he did to make me tough. His actions, his words, and lack of love, were his mentoring. However, looking back at the little boy I once was, I realized that this definitely was not mentoring, but instead a series of lessons on how not to be a man. At least a man with virtue and good character. On a side note, it is interesting how I can sit here and type these words, often harsh ones about my dad, but if anyone else would say anything bad about him, I would not be happy. In fact, I may come to his defense. That’s just how we were raised. It was no different with my brother. We may have fought a lot as kids and not gotten along all the time, but if anyone ever did or said anything about him, I would be there to stand up for and with him. I guess that’s family. 

When I do look back at the things my dad did to mentor me I think of a few things that others would probably find disturbing, especially nowadays. For instance, he taught me how to box and fight dirty if needed. He showed me what he learned in the Army, and I absorbed it all, realizing that what he was teaching me was valuable. Though, he taught me by beating the hell out of me, but I learned. I learned to take a punch and to ignore the pain and discomfort of the heavy blows to my back, stomach, ribs, and head. I remember leaving these “lessons” in a great deal of pain, the type of pain that is deep under your skin, but knowing I could handle it. He made me tougher. 

There were other times he would take me to a bar in a nearby small town, get us both a burger and fries, shoot some pool, and even let me sip on part of his beer. He’d drink a few while we played pool, and then give me the car keys to drive us home. I was often between ten and thirteen years old when he did this. To my dad, a ten year old boy should know how to drive a car. Again, this might seem like it was a bad experience, but I look back on times like this with a smile. He was teaching me to drive, and sometimes in snowstorms, and often while he was a bit drunk. 

There was another time I gave a hitchhiker the finger. My dad didn’t see me do it, but then the hitchhiker became irate and started yelling as our car passed, flipping us off and jumping up and down. I was about ten when this happened. My dad said, “Chuckie, did you give that guy the finger to make him so mad? If you did do it, speak up or I am going to go back and kick his ass.” I knew he was serious. This was not road rage like you see today, with all these insecure, weak men trying to show their dominance. It was a calm, matter of fact statement that I took seriously.

I admired my dad’s toughness and ability to fight if needed. I heard stories over the years from my mom and my grandma. There was one story I liked to hear and often begged him or my grandma to tell it. It was about a tough guy in the 1950’s who was a biker, all decked out in leather, and he used to like to pick fights with younger guys, hitting them with leather gloves and brass knuckles. He came into town one evening when my dad was a senior in high school, standing on the corner of a small restaurant where you got milkshakes and burgers. A typical 50’s diner with Chuck Berry and Buddy Holly filtering out of the jukebox. The motorcycle man got off his bike, came up to my dad and said he was going to “give him a beating.” He started to put his leather gloves on and before he could, my dad drove his foot into the man’s crotch so hard that he fell to the pavement, where my dad commenced to give him a beating. To me, a story like this made my dad a hero because he beat up a bully. It’s why when I would get in a fight with a bully at school, or even be arrested for fighting at another school, I thought he would be proud of me. My fighting felt justified. I was seeking his approval. It’s what many of us young men do with our fathers, we want their approval so badly that we will even mess up our own lives if necessary. 

My dad was also a charming, handsome man, and he did help provide for his family until he took us to bankruptcy. As I sit here thinking of the ways that father’s mentor their son’s to be men, I realize he actually mentored me to be the opposite of him, whether he knew it or not. I am the opposite because I love my wife with kindness and compassion, not abuse her. I want to help people, especially young people during my life, not harm them. I want to mentor young men and show them what it means to be a confident man, not someone so insecure that you need to put those insecurities on display as anger. I still admire toughness, but when one is truly strong and capable of handling themselves, they do not have to show it. Their confidence is silent. My dad was tough. Tougher than most I believe, but he was also broken. He was hardened by life and what I believe was undiagnosed mental illness. I believe that he did not know any other way to raise his sons, but to make them tough through showing them what a man should not do. 

I had someone tell me that I “Broke the circle” and am not like my dad. I believe that is true. It took a lot of hard work and being mindful and aware of my words and actions. Still, there are moments when I look in the mirror and see the man standing before me, realizing that he is also capable of a lot of harm and destruction, and therefore is in a constant battle to do some good in this world. Oh, I would never harm anyone, especially my wife or anyone I care about. That is not a part of me. That circle never even came together. My worry, as my dad did, is to harm myself. He did so in many ways, and one was through a bottle. I have never been an alcoholic per se but I have used alcohol to escape my reality and my anxiety and depression, even if it was only for a few hours. My dad destroyed his body and in the end paid for it, eventually killing himself by removing the kidney dialysis. His suicide, like other suicides that I have known by tragic men, often stare me in the face. I know it's there, available to me like an open door, and I have been on the brink of coming to that end by my own doing. However, I have broken the circle by knowing my purpose and what I have to live for. 

Those moments when I have sat in sheer despair, sadness, and even anger, I can see through my dad’s eyes and become frightened that he may find his way to the surface of my consciousness. Then, I realize that even with that thought, I give him a great deal of empathy and forgiveness, and that is what has made me strong. It’s made me different from him, and more capable. Empathy, forgiveness, and love has broken the circle.  

I had to come to the realization that I was meant to be my father’s son. I stopped asking, “Why me?” I stopped asking long ago, “Why did he harm us so much?” Instead, I accepted my time with him, all twenty-five years of it, as a test of my own character. He tried to destroy me, his youngest. I believe that with all my heart. He tried his damndest to ruin me, but I took the pain and learned from it becoming a man who truly had to mentor himself, taking little pieces from other men that I admired along the way. 

Men have a choice to change and become the best versions of themselves. They can start by understanding what was within their control in their lives, and what was not. Those things that are not, the things that have already happened, especially when they were young and innocent, need to be let go. Empathy and forgiveness is for yourself. I have empathy for that seven year old boy I once was, and empathy for the ten and fifteen year old. I have forgiveness for the twenty-five year old man who silently celebrated when his father died. 

There are many ways of becoming a man. Choose a path of love.