By Mark David Blum, Esq.

For most Dads, today, Fathers Day, is most likely a day of joy and pleasure. Slaved and pined over by adoring and grateful spawn, choked up by a new tie, a delicious meal, and Hallmark’s finest, male parents throughout the nation are recognized today for their contributions. My own two beautiful daughters give me every reason to get up in the morning and remind me constantly of both my own mortality and my success.

In this moment of mournful reflection, I turn my attention not forward; but to the arrears. Today is my annual “feel sorry and abandoned and alone” day. Despite folks thinking I was either hatched or fell from a spaceship, in reality I too had a mother and father; at least in a biological sense. By the time I had my sixth birthday, I was without a father and by the time I had my tenth, my mom too had gone her own way without me.

So many times over the years, on this day I would engage in my normal wallowing and bemoaning all that I did not have in life. Unless you have lived it, you have no idea how empty and vacuous a life can be without a father. Lacking a role model, someone to tell you how to be a man or a parent or a lover or how to make a double play at 3rd leaves a mark on you that extends well beyond your childhood. Nobody is there to get your back, lead you forward, or stand beside you.

Make no mistake, even in their absence, fathers do teach their children. Mine abandoned me and left me to grow up without him. It only took me 22 years to learn that lesson when in context of my first marriage/divorce, fate too took me away from my eldest daughter and left her to grow up without me. I will never be able to recoup all that I lost. It will take decades for my eldest and I to heal and rebuild a relationship. In her and through her eyes, I have watched her endure and suffer from a lot of the same pains and mistakes as I made.

I have tried to do better the second time around. Whether it be guilt or love or a sense of duty, my youngest has had the benefit of me being around. Though it has been close a few times and on many occasions, she too almost found herself with me, luck and fate have held us close and I have been able to complete my mission and obligation to her. She ate when I could not. I made sure she had a bed when I slept on the floor. Though I may never know if I succeeded or not, at least I know that I did all I could to protect her and be her ‘Dad’. Someday maybe I will get that chance again with my eldest; though her Marine beau will be a far better role model than am I.

But this diatribe is not about my girls. Rather, it is about my Dad.

I do not celebrate my father today and I do not do so out of choice. The loneliness never goes away but maturation gets you past that. I had the misfortune of getting to know the man when I aged into an adult. Seeing the person he is and how he treated those around him is what I hang onto when another Fathers Day rolls around. A lifelong raging alcoholic, 3 pack a day smoker, seven time divorcee, and a smattering of children and ripped off partners scattered about the State of California is his legacy. When I last heard news of him, he had topped 400 lbs, lived his life in a MuMu, and walked permanently linked to an oxygen tank feeding his tracheostomy. This is the image I carry with me when for a moment I might lament his absence from my life.

“Thankful” would be a better word. My life on the streets and homelessness and world traveling and epic and catastrophic bad decision making, for all their pains and sufferings, had a more significant and positive impact on me than anything my father could have done. Had he raised me, I probably would have turned out just like him. I give thanks I did not. But hey, at least he is still breathing: Being twenty years my senior, the day he dies will be the day the 20 year clock starts running on me.

Last night I saw the movie, Brokeback Mountain. Those who have not seen the movie will not understand its relevance to this discussion. The movie is not about homosexuality. Rather, it is a deeply moving story of loneliness and abandonment and trying to find happiness through substitution. That aspect of the story hit me real hard on the evening before Fathers Day and has hung like a dark grey cloud raining all over this otherwise beautiful sunny day. The English language lacks words sufficient to describe the ache of a young boy to be held by his Dad or, as a father myself, the ache to hold my own estranged daughter. Though I tried to fill the emptiness of my soul with the love and attention of others, that void remains forever unsatisfied.

I have tried to carry this experience into my practice when dealing with divorcing parents or custodial issues. Especially with fathers, I work hard to steer them into being good fathers at all costs. Sometimes I have to counsel them that IMHO, the best way to be a good father is to step aside and wait for your child to come back home. Unlike my own father, I tell these guys that when their kids do come back, to welcome them with open arms. What every child needs, at any age, is just to know that somewhere out there, someone will love them and protect them unconditionally. Every client is made to promise me, when the case is over, that they will be good parents to their children. Parents may use the legal system to beat the crap out of each other; and sometimes with good reason. At no time, however, should children be involved in the fight. I refuse to take a case where the client insists on following that tact because every day, I live the toll that such a fight takes upon a heart.

As I sit here this morning, I do not know if I made a difference in the life of a child; even my own. I cannot tell you which of my two daughters is happier; the one with a father or the one without. My love for them has never faltered; despite the pain and hurt I have brought upon them. I have no idea if any client or case I have worked has resulted in happier and more stable children. It will always be a mystery to me. The goal is that the moment before I draw my last breath, I will be able to declare that I was the best father and role model I knew how to be. Whether it was enough or done right will be for those who write my obituary.

Today is my 24th Fathers Day as a parent and my 46th as a son. Despite all that experience, I have never felt more alone and empty than I do this morning. But, that is OK as without that pain, I could not be the parent that I am today; whatever that means.