If you were to meet my father in person, you would not call him trendy, ahead of the times, or progressive. He would not stand out in any way other than a warm, welcoming smile that makes you wonder what’s behind it. His classic Dockers, or jeans and white sneakers with a polo shirt would quickly categorize him as the conservative businessman he is. He is polite and friendly, but not overly friendly.
He is considerate, but likes things run his way. He acknowledges himself as unique, but really, he just blends into a crowd. You wouldn’t meet my father and know he raised two kids primarily on his own. You wouldn’t know the mother of his children spent the majority of their marriage in and out of treatment for a mental illness that disabled her on many levels.
You wouldn’t know when he finally left the marriage it was because the roller coaster had no end in sight and there was nothing left that he hadn’t tried to make it work. You also wouldn’t know the intense pain and regret he felt when the woman he vowed to love forever, eventually took her own life. His face would not show you what it was like to be a single father at the height of his career as an executive. It would not disclose the insecurity of living as a single man with teenage children when he had no models to show him the way. There were no books or articles or websites or resources to support or teach him different perspectives. He just did it.
My father’s posture does not convey the struggle of what it meant to him to care for his children both physically and emotionally. It does not even hint at the worry that comes with the responsibility of being the protector, the educator, the support and the 24 hour bank that comes with the job of a single parent. He does not slouch with the weight of the world he put on his shoulders to always make everything okay. Even as he ages, ever so slightly, he stands tall, not questioning if he should crouch in small spaces, he knows he can fit in anywhere. 
When I became a single parent, I had resources everywhere. Friends telling me “well, first you will feel this and then that will go away and then this will hit you.” I had a map, a gauge, multiple voices, opinions and suggestions to help me out. But not one of those voices was my father. Not once did he tell me how I’d feel. Not once did he express how challenging it would be. No words of solace or concern or “let me know when you hit this point.” He let me discover the truth – the truth that one can tell you how you will feel, or what you should do or how you will be because the experience is solely your own.
Yes, the emotions are universal, but the way we experience our grief, the way we parent our children, the way we live our lives, is our own creation. And we can judge it, and ohhh do we judge it, but it doesn’t change the fact it is uniquely ours. Our children our unique, our upbringings are unique, our jobs are unique, our fluctuating feelings are also unique depending on any given circumstance. We are going to hit road blocks and we are going to be uncomfortable. But when we make decisions that don’t work for us, we always have the opportunity to change what we are doing. And at the end of the day, you either do it…or you don’t.
My father did not teach me how to be a single parent, but he has taught me how to evaluate what I want for my children and how to make it happen. He has taught me that saying you are going to do something is very different than doing it. And sometimes, if not all the time, the easiest way to learn, to make things happen, is to just do it, whatever it is. Although he does not stand out in a crowd as being the progressive and strong and loving and kind man that he is, my father makes his unique mark everywhere he goes.
But it’s the mark he’s left on my heart, my life, and the lives of my children which places him in the Fatherhood Hall of Fame forever.