Fatherhood
Coach's Son
I struggled with addiction as a kid… that’s right… TV. I couldn’t get enough of it. Still haven’t really kicked the habit. But because of this, I saw all the TV shows. I saw all the families. I saw all the TV dads. I saw all the talks… dad to son… dad to daughter… dad to Arnold and Willis Drummond… who, of course, became Mr. Drummond’s legal sons once they took on his last name.
By Stephen Kramer Avitabile3 years ago in Men
Finding My Own Way
If you've followed my writing on Vocal, you may have read a story about my father I published a little over a year ago. On rereading that story, I decided that it wasn't exactly what I wanted to say for this new challenge. It does say a lot and I'll link to it at the bottom of this story, but please, don't jump to read it now.
By Dana Crandell3 years ago in Men
What Dad Taught Me
For years I have liked to go to the mall on Father's Day. People who have fond thoughts of their father see a little of him in me, and a lot of good will comes my way. I realized I was a fraud because I had no children, but that did not stop me from enjoying the experience, and I also had the joy of finding the odd sized 3XL shirt that some thoughtful person "accidentally" put in the sale bin at the department store.
By Paul A. Merkley3 years ago in Men
Walking on Tip Toes
At church. At school. In sports. At home. Dad made his presence known everywhere, in somewhat big ways. Because of his job, he took me around the world, where we lived. I mean, we lived there, not just a quick look-see and off again. I was immersed in Latin American culture for six years.
By Sherry Lowell-Lewis3 years ago in Men
Bought and Paid For
For most of my life, I felt like a mere shadow in my father's world. It was as if my existence was nothing more than an inconvenience to him. His love language was gift-giving, and while I never went without material possessions, I lacked the one thing that truly mattered - his attention.
By Melanie warman 3 years ago in Men
The Planting
The Planting At times, there are memories that set themselves apart from the causal ones, those daily ones that we don't pay much attention to. Living at a place that was called O'Toole, my dad tilled the land (or he hired a person to do it) that was downhill from the house, a patch of property of about two acres. The method he used, or hired someone to use, involved a horse or mule, and a plow. It wasn't anything fancy, definitely nothing up-to-date as the world would see it today. A horse or mule and plow with a man to yell ("gee" generally means turn right, while "haw" means turn left.) was all it took to get the good earth turned and ready for planting. Leaving the back-breaking work after the plowing called sod-bustin', to be done that would take some time. From early morning when the dew was still glistening on the grass yet to be turned under, my brothers and I would walk with my dad to the virgin field just over the embankment off of the dirt road down from our coal-mining camp house. The coal mines weren't known, at least at that time, for paying the miners much money for the backbreaking work and long hours of breathing coal dust that would later cause Black Lung. In the early ages of the coal fields, many coal miners tilled their yards and fields to grow enough food to feed their families. It was a struggle to till the land because most of the land was on downhill slopes and was hard to get to plow. No matter what I thought or what my brothers thought, my Dad was determined to "turn the earth", he use to say. "You can smell life in the dirt," he'd say as we stood watching the "Gee Haw" man getting ready to put the bridle around the horse he brought with him from another field. He'd trained his animal and hired it out to the local miners in the area. The Gee Hall man was hired by many of the local coal miners because coal miners didn't know the tricks of the trade to get the horse or mule to turn left or right. The "Gee Haw" man was someone that my dad relied on to get the job done every spring right after the shows finished up and the dirt was dry enough to start planting seeds in. Living there on the hill, we were given instructions that required application, a hands-on approach that meant getting our hands dirty. There wasn't any sitting back and letting someone else do the work for us. Perhaps we didn't 'bust all the sod', but we gave it our best shot. We were children, my older brother David, me, and my younger brother (at that time) Billy Joe, learning the value of the land and developing 'character', as we were told. There wasn't anything like, "I don't want to do it or I'm not into this stuff." As children, we did our part, howbeit not the greater part of preparing the land for planting. We did what we could do with what we had. A spade, a mattock, and a pitchfork were common friends helping us get the job done. Mostly, Dad and the gee-haw man did a far greater portion to turn the land and get it ready for planting. The day was long and hot as the afternoon sun baked our heads and sweat poured off of our backs as we followed along behind my dad and the Gee Hall man until all of the fields were turned from green to dark brown. It was ready. We were there to observe, do what we could, and remember the lessons being taught. My Dad, a simple man from a simple era, planted integrity and honesty in his for boys who were yet to become men.
By Dan R Fowler3 years ago in Men
Chinedu's Market Journey: A Nigerian Tragi-Comedy of Dreams, Betrayal, and Unexpected Twists
In the heart of Lagos, Nigeria, lies the vibrant Chattering Market, a place where dreams are born, laughter echoes through the air, and the rhythm of life pulses with every step. This is the backdrop for Chinedu's remarkable journey—a tragi-comedy that unveils the tapestry of Nigerian life with its moments of joy, heartbreak, and surprising twists.
By okpala michael3 years ago in Men
Father's Footprint
Father's Footprint: Shaping My Identity A father figure has a significant influence on how one's identity is shaped. A father's presence and direction shape a person's character, values, and worldview from childhood into maturity. I examine how my own father figure shaped my identity in this introspective essay. I trace the footprints of my father's impact and consider how his presence has affected my journey of self-discovery and personal progress, from his wise counsel to his everlasting support.
By imran khalil3 years ago in Men
