I remember well the day I was born. I popped out and there was Dr. Ware standing over me with a giant pair of scissors. I grabbed him by the necktie, called him a son of a bitch and told him to get his hands off me. I then bit off the umbilical cord, asked the nurse for a cigarette and walked out of the hospital. A week later my parents found me shooting craps and drinking malt liquor with a bunch of disreputable fellows on the corner of Broad and 7th Streets. They yanked me a way, clothed me, fed me and began the long, arduous journey of trying to cleanse me of my bad habits.
My mother was one of those stuffy types. She had gone to Goucher College and then Parsons School of Design in New York City. She was a learned woman of a handsome pedigree. As an 8 year old, she tried to introduce me to art, great literature, classical music and culture. However, I was too busy distilling moonshine and chewing tobacco to pay much attention to her. My biggest fear was she would talk Dad into sending me off to one of those fancy New England boarding schools. Mother and I had kind of a Widow Douglas/ Huck Finn relationship. I was wired for mischief and misbehaving. Skirt chasing, drinking and breaking things came natural to me. I was especially good at the latter.
Pop was more laissez-faire and didn’t sweat the small stuff. He was a great father and role model. It was as if he knew whether I went to Groton or dropped out of high school and became a dish washer, I would eventually find my way. Dad hit the beaches on D-Day, led a company of men during the Battle of the Bulge and lived a remarkable life. He never hesitated to tell me he loved me and would always come in my room at night, put his hand on my forehead and tell me my prayers. To this day, just thinking about those moments brings me peace, joy and incredible gratitude. I can’t imagine how hard it would have been to grow up, or to overcome my innate bad boy wiring, without a loving father.
Yesterday was Father’s Day. I am a left-brain realist, and can be quite a curmudgeon, but I am always surprised at how nostalgic and emotive I get when thinking about Warsaw, Virginia, the small town where I grew up. I feel so sorry for those who bemoan their childhoods. There is nothing I regret. “Idyllic” sounds too corny and literary, but it fits. A couple years ago, I had reason to be at the Court House, and the town had just cut the grass. The smell of fresh cut grass enveloped my senses, and brought me back to childhood, playing sandlot baseball with my buds, walking down to the Drug Store and buying a bag of penny candy for 25 cents. It shocked me that these emotions were so strong. I am not that guy. Besides, I am big city guy. L.A. and New York are more my style. I like the bright lights, the bustle, bars and restaurants that are always open, seeing tons of people every day. Why do these small town emotions grab me the way they do?
Maybe it has something to do with “love.” The type of love the ancient Greeks called “agape” love. Maybe as a child, due to our innocence and others’ forgiving nature, we are more apt to experience this kind of love. As much as I respect my dear departed mother, I grew up in a man’s world. I am one of 4 boys. My youth was spent playing sports and doing fun guy things, like throwing snowballs at cars and putting tacks in my teacher’s chairs. To this day, even with two daughters, I know nothing about women. I am ok with this, since medical science is conclusive that women cannot be figured out.
Over the weekend, I had the honor of traveling to Montross, Virginia for my godfather’s 95th birthday. I took the “back way” to make sure I drove through several towns and hamlets, all places that stirred nostalgic memories of people and experiences of long ago. Once again, I was shocked at the intensity of emotions I felt. I am a Cool Hand Luke, not one of these “therapy dog” modern men who blather on about their “feelings.” As it was Father’s Day weekend, I began to think about all the men who played a role in my upbringing. Mr. Wright, Mr. King, Mr. Coggin, Judge Spruill, Uncle Massie, Dr. Knight, Mr. Walker, Mr. Farmar, Levi Jones, Tommy Scott, my two godfathers, and I could easily name 15 or 20 more. All men, all fathers, and all of absolutely outstanding character. Their wives and children were all family, but they were pillars, absolute rocks in my eyes. I never wanted them to think less of me. Wanting this approval, over time I think I morphed way from my innate bad wiring to more acceptable circuitry.
When I became a father, I quit drinking, I never wanted my children to see me drink. I wanted to be a role model. I took my children to church, taught Sunday School and coached all their teams. Had I not had so many male role models, I likely wouldn’t have had any notion on what manly responsibilities were. The thought of being a role model to others likely wouldn’t have entered my thick cranium.
My friend Aimee is one of those rare women who defies the Hot Crazy Test. She’s great looking, but doesn’t have a mean bone in her body and is very sensible, i. e., not crazy. During the summer of 2020, we would “walk to the riots” and the very first observation out of her mouth was “I bet 90% of these kids come from fatherless homes.”
Bingo. Aimee nails it. Illegitimacy and the lack of fathers in the home raising their children is likely the biggest societal problem in the western world. As a society, we tend to focus on other issues, perhaps for fear of someone labeling us judgmental, but as I have said before, pissing people off by telling the truth is outrageously fun. It is also a duty for those of us who are civically responsible. The elephant in the room which defines so many of our national problems is the total breakdown of the traditional family structure. We think we are being kind hearted by engendering permissiveness. Isn’t tolerance a virtue? “Everything is ok, live and let live.” But are things really ok?
Would we all be better off if we mandated traditional marriage such that no children are born out of wedlock and all are raised by 2 parent homes? ( For all you libs, don’t freak out, I’m being Socratic).
One doesn’t have to be Walter Williams or Thomas Sowell to acknowledge the federal government’s role in the destruction of the traditional family, especially in the black community. Prior to Great Society programs, black illegitimacy was approximately 11%, now in many urban areas 90% of all black children live in single parent homes. Since 1960, illegitimacy has risen dramatically in all ethnic groups. I don’t believe that morality can be legislated, but I do believe that in a world of convention and natural liberty, society structures itself in a self-preserving manner. Not too many years ago, if one got a gal pregnant, he married her. There was no law that demanded this, but convention did. Convention has the way of making the right decisions, whereas government does the opposite. Was “convention” right in insisting that children live in two parent homes? Was “convention” right in insisting fathers live in the home and take care of their children?
We celebrate our permissive society. Who doesn’t want to be able to do whatever one wants? I know I do. My “humanness” wants to do the selfish thing. However, honesty requires one to think outside of one’s self. What works and what doesn’t? My guess is if the government was not so big and intrusive, many more families would be intact and children (and society) would be much better off. Perhaps in previous decades, the stigma of divorce existed for a reason, as it suggested to the community that one had shirked one’s responsibilities and thus divorce was frowned upon.
All of this is simply food for thought. I hear about a lot of pain in peoples’ lives, and I wish that they all had the experiences I had with a loving father and mother, many role models and a community of agape love. Fathers are important and a community of fathers even more so.
