I grew up watching my Dad come home from work every day, exhausted after hanging drywall for ten hours, his shirt smeared with white stains from the salt in his sweat. He put his lunch box in the kitchen, then went straight out to the driveway to recharge the air conditioner on my Mom’s car or to the basement to unclog the sewer line. He washed the dishes on nights Mom worked so she didn’t have to. He came to my football practices when he could make it. On Friday nights, when my Mom was at work and my sisters went to bed, he lit a cigarette and sat quietly with his thoughts on the front porch while George Strait or Vern Gosdin sang to him through the living room window. He told me stories about the Marines. On the weekends he took us exploring on local trails.
Dad worked construction until his shoulders gave out. He quit smoking when his first grandchild was born. He fought through some hard years with other addictions, but never made it our problem. He stuck together with Mom through times when both of them had reason to leave. Nowadays he comes over to my house to teach my kids pranks or wrestle with them until they’re good and rowdy, then he goes home.
In all these years, I’ve never heard him cuss except for a handful of times when maybe he cut his hand open on some sheet metal or mashed his finger pulling out an alternator. He’s never looked twice at another woman. He’s always come home in the evenings.
One time he won an arm wrestling contest at work.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve witnessed Dad’s faults. He’s a human being, but my Dad’s my hero. He’s my hero because he’s a man, he’s faithful, tough and kind.
As I look around, I don’t see many guys like that. Guys I know are lazy, passive, or timid. If not, then they’re insecure, looking for fights and other ways to prove to others what they secretly doubt inside themselves. Guys spend their time playing games or taking advantage of women. Most guys aren’t really men, they’re just big boys.
I’m not one to quote movies like Fight Club, but I must admit that Tyler Durden had a point when he said that “we are a generation of men raised by women.” Our fathers were all at work trying to pay off mortgages (or buy bigger ones), and now American males have a hard time figuring out who we’re supposed to be.
That’s what this blog is about, (re)discovering what it means to be a Man.
What About You?
Who is your motivation? Who do you model your life after? Is it your father, or someone else, like Kid Rock or Clint Eastwood? Let us hear about it in the comments!
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