“He was a humble man,” my mother said to me.
“He was a kind man and a sweet romantic, just like you.”
“You look just like he did when I married him.”
I never knew him, but I was proud that I was like him.
I stood taller because of it
I felt handsome because of it
I smiled because of it
I walked differently because of it
Sometimes I still do
I needed it then
Especially then
Then it was hard to suffer the Wrath of the Father.

Sometimes it still is.

Once, not too long ago, I was free of the father.
That’s what I thought.
I was sure of it
Free
Finally free of the need for an influential male figure
A hollow vessel
A dancing puppet
A broken doll on a dirty floor
A fallen deity
Drunk on the couch in his underwear
I was now Man
The master of my own fate
And I blazed an uncommon trail in my rise to adulthood
It was great to be free of the Wrath of the Father

Sometimes it still is.

I found how deep my love goes one day even less long ago
Yes, I bet you can guess
I became a father
Fatherhood has been the one consistent true joy in my life
And I know that at least part of that is because of the Wrath of the Father
But the rest is all me
An uncommon man
An uncommon friend
An uncommon father
And I model myself after how I wish he would have been
Had he bothered to be there
His absence lashes my soul and drives me to
Be Present
So still I suffer the
Wrath of the Father
But I do so gladly and with a strong heart