To Whom It May Concern...

I don’t know you and it’s been that way all of my life. And, for me, it’s been a dark secret I have kept mostly to myself. The one common word in almost everyone’s vocabulary, to me, is nothing but a few letters organized in a manner to make a well known sound—“Dad”. It’s something I cannot relate to in my daily life. While I do have my own son whom I do my best to raise, I am guided, mostly, by my own perceptions of what a Father should be and not based on any real life experience. My Grandfather did his best and I used him as a guidepost. I, also, used two of my Uncle’s, whom I hold much respect. In a way, at a very early age, I sought out mentors who could replace your role in my life.

I didn’t have any pictures of you when I was growing up. Ok, that’s not completely true. There was one with you standing by my side while I was outside in a stroller, not even a year old. But, whoever took the picture didn’t include your face in it. All I could see was the penny loafers, jeans, and short-sleeved button-placket shirt you were wearing. It was a beautiful, sunny day. Yes, I remember all of those details after all of these years. I stared at that picture many times, but that picture is gone. It ceased to exist when my Grandparents home burned, literally, to the ground in a catastrophic fire that occurred when I was in high school. I had my own bedroom in that home and in the closet, there was a manila envelope with 8x10 black and white photos of you. I looked at those photographs once, but don’t remember much about them. They’re gone too and any fleeting vision of what you look like.

There was a day when I was about the age of my son and I received a phone call while visiting my Grandparents. The voice on the other end said, “this is your brother”. I responded that I didn’t have a brother. That was the first moment in my life when I realized I didn’t have a “Dad”. That concept was a foreign one to me. I was confused and I hurt. I cried while my Mother consoled me and said I could meet you if I wanted. But, as sad as it sounds now, I didn’t want to complicate my life by adding you to it. After all of these years, I realize it was a defense mechanism to shield me from the emotional pain I had buried at an early age. I remember quitting cub scouts out of embarrassment. I didn’t have a “Dad” to help me build my pinewood derby car. One of my Uncle’s had been gracious enough to help me the first year, but the thought of burdening him again was too great and I stopped attending the meetings to avoid the inevitable reminder that you weren’t there to help me build that car.

I know you’re aware of what I looked like growing up, since we lived in the same small town. There were pictures of me in the local newspaper on occasion. And, when I got heavily involved in music and golf, it was frequent when my picture was published. How is it possible I never saw you when, many times, I have bumped into people I haven’t seen in years at airports thousands of miles away or bumped into people that knew or recognized me in the most random places on trails at the top of mountain peaks? I wouldn’t have recognized you if you were standing directly in front of me in a small crowd. But, I have come to believe this is the way it was supposed to be.

I used to feel sorry for myself about all of this stuff, but I was able to overcome that emotion at an early age, possibly as a coping mechanism. I didn’t need you anymore. Yes, thoughts of you would occasionally occur. Actually, more often that I will openly admit. And, yes, having a Father around to talk to and guide me would have been ideal. But, one thing is certain. I am very thankful I have my own son now so I can be there for him and to be his Dad.

This life isn’t over yet. And, you never know when you just might get a letter from me, a phone call, or even a knock on your door. Because, regardless of the past, every son needs a Dad.