The Bridge

I thought of my father when my son was born.

I wanted to play catch with him one more time.

My dad is a Vietnam Veteran.

He can fix cars, turn an unfinished basement into a man cave for me, and handle just about anything.

I was none of that.

Now this beautiful baby depended on me to be a man he could look up to.

I felt regret and shame for things I’d done to my dad.

I’m holding my newborn son-why am I thinking I about something I said at 16?

When I held my son I finally understood how my father felt about me.

I was once his little bundle of joy.

I remembered him as my hero.

The hospital was surreal-all fun and games.

Reality hit as soon as we got home.

I was sitting on the couch holding my baby when I started bawling.

Not tears of joy.

What the hell am I doing?

What if I’m not enough?

I loved my son more than anything.

And still, I struggled to connect.

That scared me more than anything.

I had been hiding from myself for years.

Fatherhood wouldn’t allow that anymore.

Everyone says they’d do anything for their kids.

I believe most of them.

I’d protect mine with my life-that part came easy.

But would I do the work on myself so I could show up everyday as the father they deserve?

Not right away.

But I did.

It was uncomfortable.

Brutal.

And beautiful.

No, I’m not my father.

But I am am his son-and his lessons finally made sense.

My pops showed up everyday.

I can’t rebuild an engine.

But I can do that.

Nobody has this parenting thing figured out.

Just gotta get in there and learn as you go.

I take what my father gave me.

I add what life has taught me.

It’s my turn now.

The things we teach our kids, we teach our kids’ kids.

I see myself as the bridge between generations.

So here goes…