So here we are again at Father's Day weekend and I do, at the outset, want to wish all the fathers out there a very Happy Father's Day. I also wish to extend this wish to all who assume the role of father-figure and also to those incredible men we call Father, the devoted Priests of the Catholic faith.
A couple of years ago I shared, albeit briefly, a little bit about my father and the pain experienced by his absenteeism. Let me start from the beginning. I don't have many fond recollections of early years with dad, I was always told he was "sickly". Sadly, I realized he was addicted to the bottle, struggled socially causing him to not hold steady employment, and then found out later that he suffered with heart disease and mental illness. I do recall the fighting and screaming periodically and there are at least two incidents where I was most emphatically scared. Mom eventually left dad, taking me and my sisters to live in a huge house full of lots of people; my grandma, an aunt, an uncle and now mom and three kids. I would later refer to home as the Walton's house. After time we were told we would have visits with dad and he had to take a bus to come and get us then we all rode another bus to his house and repeated the trip in reverse. Most of these visits were cool, one or two were not. I also have vivid memories, verified by a life-long childhood friend, of my dad coming to the school yard fence and just watching us, and all the other kids, play. He just watched, never said a word, quietly walking away.
Time passed and I was told one day that dad now lived in a special place in Amite; might as well have told me the North Pole because I did not understand that Amite was only 75 miles away. For reasons never fully explained to me we were not allowed to visit him for what seemed like a long time. Finally one year, during Christmas holidays, my oldest sister and I took the long drive with my uncle and we had a really nice visit. Dad seemed different, more at peace, and while not overly affectionate, was quiet and kind. We would never return. The next Christmas something that adults get involved with resulted in our 2nd visit being cancelled. I never understood what happened; it just happened. Within 6 months or so, not long after I turned 15, I was simply told that my dad had died. I don't even know exactly what he died from or how old he was at death. I was incredibly sad. To this day I marvel at how sad I was when reflecting on the sum of our relationship. I also remember that dad's funeral was my first experience with a funeral. He was a veteran; a military man gave me a folded flag at his graveside. I'll never forget that and the flag remains with me in my home today.
Why do I share this? It helps me and it helps me to be compassionate to all the many others who had a challenging relationship with their dad. Let me be clear; even though this all occurred 45 years or more ago, I love my dad. Absent and difficult as he was, he gave me the great gift of life, at some point he surely loved my mom, and despite all the pain, I know he loved me and my sisters. Sadly, it would never be words I remember him saying to me,
God brings good out of any situation. One of the great gifts God provided was many good men who, in various and different ways, were father figures. two were brothers of my dad: Uncle Durel and Uncle Jimmy. Uncle Durel took care of us financially; Uncle Jimmy helped me fall in love with football and the New Orleans Saints. Then there was an uncle we called Tiny and he lived with us and literally helped raise us. And finally there was Fr. Francis Hannigan, a Marist Priest who lived next door, loved baseball, befriended me, helped me become a lector at masses while in Jr. High, married Wendy and me and baptize my own son named Jimmy. Thank God for these 4 men in my life.
In 1977 I married Wendy; a girl I met in 5th grade and dated since the 9th grade. When we exchanged rings at our wedding, Wendy placed on my finger the wedding ring of my dad, still engraved with his and mom's initials, now joined with those of me and Wendy. In 1978 (I'm a quick learner) I became a dad. My son was named James Roland; Roland was my father's name. I hoped to be a great dad, I knew for sure that I must be present in a child's life. I know I made mistakes, but I love being a dad. In 1988 another child was to be; sadly we lost that child. We were pretty sure that event would be the end of bringing life to this world but no, God blessed us with Elizabeth in 1989. Did I mention, I love being a dad? I am so glad to have witnessed both James & Elizabeth become parents themselves; gifting us with grandchildren Calvin, Katelyn and Brennan. Did I mention I love being Pops?
This Father's Day, in addition to praying for fathers, I will hold in my heart a special place for the millions who had a challenging relationship with their fathers and the millions who had/have no relationship with their fathers. But I can tell you this; there is always a Father who never fails us, who always loves us and wants us to spend eternity with Him in Heaven. With Him, we are never abandoned, orphaned or left wanting for love. Trust in Him, rest in His loving arms.
To all the loving dads out there, good job and Happy Father's Day. To all the dad's struggling; just love your kids and be present to them. Love one another; be generous with the gift of you!
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