By Todd Craig
Fatherhood.
That’s a pretty heavy word with powerful connotations at its
every utterance. When I was a
socially awkward kid growing up, fatherhood meant finding a way to both meet my
father’s expectations and balance them with the reality of being a very
different person from most of those expectations, primarily with my being gay.
Let me be clear, however, that my father and I have a great
relationship, one that’s evolved past my failed attempts at hitting a baseball,
the arguments of adolescence, my inability to grasp algebra, and my
predilection for kissing guys.
So how would I go about describing my father? Well, he’s an amazing personality. He was born and raised, like myself, in
South Dakota. He’s first and
foremost an engineer; he’s even an engineer who’s the son of an engineer. The math, science, logic, and
schematics of the profession define his very essence and give a structure and
stability to his soul that many long for.
But to say that his profession defines my father would be
nothing less than a disservice.
My father is also intensely competitive, and that
competitive nature belies a passion for life and winning -- especially
winning. He loves winning. It’s crazy, but I’ve seen him will
himself to victory in card games based on pure chance. I’ve seen his balky putter roll a
Titleist into the cup from forty feet away just to keep the upper hand in a
match play contest at the golf course.
And as a child I lost probably fifty games of
Chutes and Ladders and
Uncle
Wiggly at his hand before I earned my first, sweet victory.
So my father is an engineer and competitor, but still, those
two labels fall short of defining him. My father inherited his thick, strong frame from my Irish grandmother. He was an athlete from the get go,
which helped him succeed in both social and academic endeavors as he grew
up. I’ve heard enough stories from
his army buddies and college reunions to know that he was well-liked and popular
throughout his life. In fact, my
father, for all of his freakish math and science understanding, is nothing like
a character from The Big Bang Theory. He’s an innately social creature, a
people person capable of striking up a conversation with anyone about any
topic. He loves sharing a cold beer with his golfing buddies and loves to “hold
court” with anyone who will listen to his endless supply of stories and ribald
humor.
True story about my
father #1: The first boy I ever brought home to meet my
parents was the boy who ended up being my husband. I was 32, and my husband-to-be was 20 at the time. I was insanely worried about how they
would react. You see, my husband
sashays into a room. He rocks a
Coach bag, pedicured toes, and enough attitude to beat the Queen of England
into submission. My parents
gave him a fair chance though, and when my father saddled up to my husband and
said, “We have a city councilman who just had that surgery to become a woman,” even
as my eyes rolled, I knew that the conversation had begun, and that we’d all be
all right as a family.
My father probably deserved a son carved from his mold. He deserved a son who was athletic so
that he could coach him about hitting a baseball and cheer him on as he broke
tackles at the homecoming game. He
deserved a son for whom math and science came easily so that he could explain
all of the ins and outs of engineering school. He deserved a son who was as comfortable in social
situations as he was so that he could take him out for a beer and introduce him
to his friends at the golf course.
But instead, he got me. Where my father’s body was compact
and athletic, my body looked like it was built for reading X-Men comic
books. And unlike my father’s
natural ability to connect with anyone, this queer, bookish, liberal arts major
certainly never held onto any amount of social swagger. Growing up, I shared little in common with Dad.
Where his world consisted of numbers and designs, mine filled with books and
poetry. Where he was social and
outgoing, I was painfully shy and withdrawn. Where he appreciated beautiful women, his son ended up gay.
Despite all of these hurdles to overcome, maybe it’s a
testament to my father that he still tried. He never gave up on me, and he found ways that we soon could
bond. He taught me how to
swing a golf club, and even though I never demonstrated any athletic prowess, we
watched countless hours of sports together. Some, like my Denver Broncos, I grew to enjoy as
passionately as he did.
True story about my
father #2: Shortly after the reception to our wedding
began to wind down, the guests all gathered in our honeymoon suite to continue with
the beverages and merriment. There
sat my father “holding court” again at the front of the table, regaling my
Boulder lesbians about how even though the election had already been called for
Kennedy how he went out and voted for Nixon anyway because he’d be goddamned if
he ever voted for a Democrat. It
would have been awkward talking politics anywhere else, but not for my old man.
He’s always stood for what he believed in.
Every spring, because of my father’s influence, I watch The
Masters golf tournament. And when
they play clips of Jack Nicklaus’ final major victory from 1986 as they do
every year, I remember watching it live with my dad who jumped out of his
La-Z-Boy recliner when Nicklaus holed his putt at the par 3 17th to
take command of the tournament at age 46.
It was a moment of greatness in the game of golf, but more importantly a
moment of greatness for fathers and sons watching together everywhere as my dad
and I were. You see, Nicklaus has
eschewed a professional caddie that day.
Instead his son, Jackie, carried his father’s clubs and walked
side-by-side with his dad on that day of his greatest win ever.
Looking back, my father has instilled a number of qualities
in me that I couldn’t shake even if I wanted to. He taught me how to work hard. He taught me how to enjoy sports, even though my aptitude
for playing them never really existed.
He taught me the importance of family and friends. He taught me that if you’re not ten
minutes early, you’re fifteen minutes late. He taught me to eat dinner at 5:00, feel free to be stubborn
when you’re convinced that you’re right, and to keep cool under pressure.
True story about my
father #3: My father voted for Obama in the last
election. The Republican party,
for whom my father so steadfastly supported all of his life, lost him with
their arcane social policies, their backwards thinking on health care, and
their lack of sane candidates.
Now all of the lessons passed my father to me are inherently
priceless. They formed me. They continue to shape who I am as I’ve
advanced throughout adulthood. And
five years ago, they became the foundation of something far more important.
You see, that’s when my husband and I became fathers with
the adoption of our infant son, and when I was given the task of trying to be a
dad to a little boy of my own.
And it has occurred to me on a near daily basis that I have
a pretty huge legacy to live up to when it comes to being a dad.