Before I begin this post, let me take the time to acknowledge all the men out there who are fathers. Not the men who went half on a child. Not the men whose idea of fatherhood begins and ends with a state mandated payment. Not the men who have absolutely no idea where there child is, and are not sick with wonder, trying everything in their power to find out. These men are not fathers. But I'm hoping one day they will try to be.
The fathers know who they are, and so today is for all of you. I am thankful that, even though I can't provide as much as I desire to, the love and support that I give to my son places me in the father category. That alone would make my own father proud. And with those words, I begin.
Making my father proud may be the one unspoken factor that drives much of my determination and forces me to attempt greatness. Though I have a long way to go, I anticipate the day that I can smile and know that it is so: my father would have been very proud of me. As I stare at the words on the screen, the 'would have been' stings me to the core. My father passed in 2009, and I really don't think it's fully dawned on my yet. I've grieved very little, but thought about it often, and I guess that's okay. My how I miss him though....
And interestingly enough, with all of the life lessons and models of conduct that he left for me to dissect and follow, I see one in this as well. You see, my grandfather passed in 1993. I remember noticing my father in those rare moments when, reflecting on the loss or perhaps just remembering the man, he'd get lost in his emotions. My father hardly ever cried. In fact, I can barely remember more than a couple handfuls of times I saw my father in tears. But he was an emotional man, even more so as I got older. I remember watching him, think of his father, and once the sadness passed, there was such joy. He remembered the man who taught him things. Who gave him love and guidance, nurtured things within him, and showed him how to find his own strength. And this is what made him happy.
Now that these things have been passed on to me, I can put this sadness aside. Although I miss my father dearly, I still have all of these memories. Of him teaching me things. Loving me. Guiding me. Giving me an example of how to be a man.
And I feel like I'm getting there. I know where I want this life to take me, and I also see the possibilities of where my life can lead. All of these are good places, so I smile. In my mind, I am following the guidance of two and a half men. The wisdom, direction, and strength of my grandfather. The determination, humility, and love of my father. And my own growth and understanding of it all, as I'm half way through implementing these things into becoming the man that I desire to be.
I know my son is watching. And he is taking notes as well. This too, would have made my father proud.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
