Where Letting Go Is The First Step Towards Newfound Fatherhood
I called my father this morning, a rather unusual thing for me since our relationship doesn’t necessitate the usual banter and warmth that sitcoms project upon those of us who rarely see our fathers.
When I grew up, I revered my father, a man whose voice and charisma reassured his young son that he’d always be there even if he wasn’t there physically. Soon, I came to find out that he made similar promises to my brother who was 5 years my senior, my sister who was 6 months my senior, my brother who was 2 years my junior, my sister who was 4-5 years my junior, and a few others now scattered throughout NYC and Miami. I was fraught with confusion during my early childhood, but soon it grew into adolescent rage and virulent insecurity in my own person. My semi-annual phone calls or visits from him ranged from boring drop-offs to a new apartment with a new woman to promises often left unkept with an eventual empty-handed return home.
My mom did everything she possibly could to assure that I was on the right trajectory, but not without a few
