Father’s Day
Father’s Day represents something very different than Mother’s Day because they are fundamentally different subject matters that never intersect but run directly parallel to each other for life. A father, to me, represents the courage and ego (not in the popular/negative sense of ego but rather the self-belief and unwavering confidence to consistently love) to protect and grow a family. Not based on what the family wants but based on what a family structure desperately needs. A male role model cannot be substituted by anything else but a male. This has been factually proven outside of race, gender, and social class despite uneducated and uninformed popular consensus. Any household without a male role model suffers beyond what meets the eye. The depth of a father fills an inner void we all have for a male energy’s perspective on the world and its current events. This energy that runs biologically parallel to a mother’s love cannot be replaced. It can only be overlooked in circumstances in which it is absent. A father being absent doesn’t necessarily always mean loss but rather a sense of incompleteness. While incomplete isn’t optimal, it is not required for success, optimal function, deep perspective, and self-awareness which is why there are notable things like mentors. Sometimes male mentors, or “father figures”, play a more efficient role in one’s life than a biological father which is why a male role model is not synonymous with a father.
In my specific case, I had the fortune of having my role model, protector, health consultant, physical trainer, sports psychologist, mentor, business consultant, leader, person to never placate me regardless of my personal feelings and convictions, hockey coach, BMX coach, biggest musical influence, car mechanic, skateboard instructor, music teacher, bandmate, therapist, and Formula 1 analyst be my dad. As well as many other things, he was also my sister’s hairdresser and my brother’s voice of reason.
My dad is too complex to fully explain and too simple to not just refer to him as “my dad.” He pulled me to school every morning (and I mean every single morning) in my red toboggan. On some mornings, we even stopped at the park so we could go down the hill really fast because we are both race car drivers at heart and especially in mind. He is equally the individual that ran holding me like a baby in his arms when I was 13 years old after I got burned so badly that I could see straight through my skin to my hip joint. He ran with me down the street to our close family doctors without a single word or hesitation. He ran with clarity, confidence, and self-belief that I’ve never seen even in the movies to this day. I wasn’t fully there in the moment, but I do remember seeing my mom completely pass out (because I was so badly burned) and my sister crying because she was so worried beyond what she could express. I wasn’t feeling much pain at that moment because of my shock and the environment my dad always made sure to control with precision and class. My dad gently held me and let me know he was right with me and that I was going to be OK as if nothing had happened. I remember being not only comforted but being calm because he was so calm.
On top of the list of tasks he was proficient at, he made it to every single sports game I’ve ever had with only two exceptions. Those two exceptions were only because he was on tour, which I didn’t understand until I realized at around 16 that he was famous. Despite all the awards and gold and platinum records in our house, I never read any of those plaques or anything pertaining to them because my dad never said a word about any of it at any time at all. Since I was on the road with him continuously and consistently from the time I was 3 years old, I never understood what fame was in any regard because it was all just normal. To be fair, I still don’t really understand what fame is to this day.
To all the male role models that have significantly impacted as well as currently impact a family structure: Happy Father’s Day.
