Broken Man

Father’s Day.

A day to read plenty of stories about fulfilling family relationships, memories of a time when as a little boy or girl, Dad was their hero. These are wonderful stories about the way things should be, sometimes made more poignant by the birth of the next generation or the inevitable passing of the patriarch. And while I would love to be able to write one of these feel good stories, unfortunately I can’t.

My story is a little different and certainly, I’m not alone in that experience. The way men have ignored, neglected, and abandoned their children in this country leaves many feeling empty today. Frankly, I imagine my story is probably somewhere in the middle of the road, not great but far from the worst.

No need to know my entire family history, but suffice it to say my father wasn’t around much for my childhood. The truth is, I don’t really know him, never have, viewing him more as a friend to visit once in a while rather than as my father. The details don’t really matter, but my guess is I’ve seen him an average of once a year since I was a teenager.

So I was surprised when he decided to travel to Florida last weekend, his second visit in eight months. I reluctantly agreed to this change in routine, both of us equally culpable in keeping this relationship at an arm’s length over the years. But even as we slogged through our usual schedule of playing golf, eating dinner, and talking about nothing for the first two days of his visit, I knew something was up.

On the third and final day of his trip, he said there was something he wanted to discuss over dinner. I agreed, and we sat down in a quiet Thai restaurant last Sunday night, alone in our corner of the restaurant. Through the dumpling and soup courses, over the panang curry and chicken and broccoli for dinner, nothing was said.

No real surprise there. I excused myself and headed to the men’s room, figuring nothing was to come of this conversation. This awkward dinner was over, time to get the check, put him on a plane, and move on with my life.

So you can imagine my surprise when I arrived back at the table and my father wasn’t ready to go. I’m not sure if it was something he had previously written or he had just scribbled it while I was gone, but, when I sat back down, he handed me a note, a yellow lined piece of paper inscribed with his inimitable handwriting in blue ink.

What would a good relationship with my children look like?

An interesting question, even if it took him nearly fifty years to ask. Turns out my father has been seeing a psychologist in his quest for answers as he faces mortality at 71. Or seeing a psychologist because his wife made him go.

Either way, the question spurred a discussion, perhaps our first meaningful discourse since his mother died three years ago. Actually, I did most of the talking, letting him know that a good relationship would require more openness, less pretension, and little to no judgment. It even became heated at times, our private corner of the restaurant a blessing as I basically let him have it.

We finally ended the discussion as the restaurant readied to close and I had nothing left to say. The conversation was limited as we made the short drive back to his hotel, both of us alone in our thoughts. Then, I exited quickly after arriving at the hotel, sharing a quick hug and surprising him with a copy of my first book as I left the car running.

Where it goes from here, who’s to say. It was a good first step, but we were back to semi-awkwardness during the drive to the airport the next morning. However, we did exchange positive emails in the week since and I’ll give him a call to wish him a Happy Father’s Day, curious to how he’ll respond.

Who knows, maybe I’ll even have one of those heartwarming stories to write next Father’s Day.

By Christopher Scott

I turned 44 today. Really the same as any age, but this year feels different. Different because I’m entering a new phase in life.

The transition started four years ago at 40. I was done. Done with work, done with people, just done. I finally said enough and retired from basically everything.

I became a recluse. Fortunate to be able to make a living playing cards and investing, I was finally able to live life on my own terms. I could speak my mind, choose my friends, and schedule my time as I saw fit, without any regard for political correctness or any worry that I would again be lied to, manipulated, or used.

It was refreshing. I was able to pursue activities and interests I was passionate about. I wrote three books, got into the best shape of my life, and offered my help to people I cared about. I even took up golf again after having abandoned my former career. Sure, it was a struggle at times, but overall, I was happy.

However, in the last year, restlessness set in. I needed more. More challenges, more passion, more stimulation. My novel writing phase complete and my poker playing career no longer as inspiring, it was time for a new challenge.

Fortunately, opportunities presented themselves as 2012 came to a close. First, I decided to not only publish my novels but also to let people know about my work. The response has been overwhelmingly positive, and I was surprised to have stumbled upon another potential source of income as well as another pursuit, promoting my books.

I also decided to reenter the business world. Having turned down several opportunities during the last few years, I was at last presented a chance to partner with someone honest, a person I could trust. The early returns spectacular, I expect this business to grow exponentially.

But, even after capitalizing on these new ventures, there was something still missing. And, I knew exactly what that something was.

I looked at the lives of my friends, people I knew in high school, in college, peers I know now. Certainly, some were happy, some not so much, but overwhelmingly, they had something I didn’t. Something that, despite all their other problems, invariably brought them happiness, understandably delivered fulfillment. Most of my friends had children.

Now, for me, having children has never been the no-brainer it seems to be for most. I’ve always doubted my abilities as a father after a dysfunctional upbringing, and until now, it was probably best I didn’t have children. But, the last several years have opened my eyes to what a good father I would be.

So, I’m moving in a new direction. Where it leads, who knows. But, I am done shutting myself off from new experiences. I am finished protecting my broken heart.

This is 44, and it feels pretty good.