Lessons from Dad
My dad passed away a week and a half ago. I had the honor of officiating his funeral service, and today I’d like to share a story I told during the service. (So if you’re reading this and you were at the funeral, you might want to find something else on the internet to occupy you for the next few minutes!)
Dad was not one to dispense moral lessons. I got my sermonizing from the other side of the family. In fact, I’ve joked that most of what he taught me in my childhood was taught through Billy Joel songs. He’d put on a record and I would ask him about lyrics I didn’t understand. I learned about getting stoned from “Piano Man.” I learned about hitchhiking from “Worse Comes to Worst.” I learned about the USO from “Allentown.” Embarrassingly (for him more than me), I learned about Catholic sexual ethics from “Only the Good Die Young.”
But the most important lessons my dad taught me occurred in one difficult, pivotal conversation.
Shortly after my parents got divorced, my dad asked me to go on a walk. I was puzzled at first because we were not recreational hikers. But as soon as we got to a secluded spot he broke down crying. Between sobs he said, “Son, I’m so sorry I haven’t been the kind of father I could have been for you.”
As a somewhat conflict-avoidant 17-year-old, I demurred. “What are you talking about, Dad? You coached all my ball teams, you taught me to drive. [You explained the world through Billy Joel’s eyes.] You’re not a bad father!”
“But I so rarely tell you that I love you,” he continued. “Or that I’m proud of you. It’s hard for me to say these things, but they’re true. And I will do a better job of making sure you know it.”
And over the next 24 years, slowly but surely, he kept his promise.
***
It seems like there has been a masculinity crisis in the US my entire life. And look, my dad wasn’t a perfect man or father. But this conversation we had so many years ago shaped a lot of who I have become. It communicated to me, either explicitly or implicitly, that:
It’s okay to cry.
It’s okay to say emotional things out loud.
It’s okay to admit you have missed the mark and commit to do better.
Depending on your experience and context, these lessons may seem basic or obvious. But they are not what my dad had been taught about what it means to be a man. He had to overcome decades of conditioning from a society whose vision of masculinity meant never crying, never speaking vulnerably, never admitting fault.
His love for me spurred him on to change. This is a great reminder when so many of us are wondering if people can really change. Real change seems rare. Sometimes it even feels impossible. But if one thing in this world can change our hearts, our minds, and our ways, it’s love.
Thanks, Dad.
