FATHERHOOD

RAW VERSION

I don’t think a social media post is long enough and since I am in between books / screenplays, I’ll write this. A short essay? Nah… the word essay has been ruined. It’s not an assignment, it’ s cathartic. Here we go.

My dad paid a cosmic debt for me. A debt I would take on for my child. Sounds like a zero-sum explanation of life or maybe I have a case of survivor’s guilt? Whatever it may be, it’ s my way of dealing with the loss of my father, the loss of who I was, and the fear I have now that I am a father.

There is a building that sits at the bottom of Zion Ave. My dad worked there for many years. To some people it’s a hospital but to my dad, it was where he plied his trade. He started on the first-floor but then moved to the basement.

He saw his first two grandsons born a few floors above.

Then he saw something every father fears in the Emergency Room below.

His story doesn’t end here and neither does mine. I came out of it. Sometimes I feel like a counterfeit version of myself but he never made me feel that way. As time went by, I had my own son. At that very building. And then my father’s first and only granddaughter was born.

My dad spent his last days on the second floor of that building on Zion. He died a few floors above where he worked for many years and a few floors below where his legacies were born.

I walked out of that second floor, not knowing what my future was. He knew that when the day came, a bill needed to be paid. It was my bill but he paid it for me, as I would do the same for my own son. God forbid that bill ever comes to me but I would pay it.

I don’t know how to be a father. My resources are gone. Both of them. Years later, we lost another library. Not an “in-law”, because that term was never fitting of him. Another true father and reference lost. I seek wisdom from other fathers, but I don’t want to imitate them. I adapt their insights to fit my own approach, though I’m still missing some key pieces. My version of fatherhood turned out to be more like an older brother or uncle. That’s my own feeling. Despite my own self-doubt, my children are turning out fine, better than fine… more than I could hope for.

A GUIDE

Embrace the Weight of Loss, but Don’t Let It Define You

When I lost my dad, it felt like the ground vanished beneath me. He was my reference point, the man who paid a "cosmic debt" to keep me standing. Losing him, and later another father figure, left me unmoored. If you’ve lost someone who shaped you, a parent, a mentor - know that the grief doesn’t vanish, but it can sharpen your purpose. I learned to carry the pain without letting it drown me. You can honor those you’ve lost by living forward, not by staying stuck in what was. Ask yourself: what would they want you to build with the time you have?

Fatherhood Doesn’t Come with a Manual and That’s Okay

I stepped into fatherhood feeling like a fraud, like I was play-acting at being my dad. I had no blueprint, no resources left to lean on. If you’re a parent, especially a new one, and you feel like you’re making it up as you go, you’re not alone. I looked to other fathers for wisdom, but I didn’t try to become them. Instead, I took what resonated and shaped it into something that felt like me. You don’t need to be perfect or traditional. Your version of parenting, whether it feels like a father, an older sibling, or something else, can be enough if it’s rooted in love and effort.

Find Meaning in the Places That Shape You

That hospital on Zion Avenue wasn’t just a building. It was where my dad worked, where my kids were born, where I faced my worst fears, and where I said goodbye to him. It became a symbol of life’s cycles, joy, pain, beginnings, and endings. Look at the places in your own life that hold weight. Maybe it’s a home, a park, a workplace. These spaces can ground you, remind you of where you’ve been, and show you where you’re going. Let them teach you resilience by holding all those moments together.

Accept That You’ll Feel Like a Counterfeit Sometimes

There are days I still feel like a shadow of who I was or who I’m supposed to be. That’s survivor’s guilt, maybe, or just the ache of change. If you ever feel like an imposter, in parenting, in work, in life, know that it’s part of being human. My dad never made me feel like a fake, and I try to give myself that same grace. You don’t have to be whole to be enough. Keep showing up, even when you doubt yourself. Your kids, your loved ones, they’ll see the real you, even when you can’t.

Build Your Own Legacy, Even If It’s Messy

My kids are turning out better than I could’ve hoped, despite my fears that I’m more uncle than father. I’m not my dad, and I’m not anyone else. I’m just me, piecing together a version of fatherhood from what I’ve learned and what I lack. If you’re trying to create something; a family, a career, a life, don’t wait for all the pieces to fall into place. Work with what you have. Your legacy doesn’t need to be polished; it just needs to be yours. Trust that the people you’re doing it for will feel the love behind the mess.

Pay the Debt Forward

My dad paid a price for me; one I’d pay for my own son without hesitation. That’s not about guilt; it’s about love’s math. Whatever sacrifices were made for you - by parents, friends, or strangers, find a way to pass that forward. It doesn’t have to be grand. It can be showing up for your kids, helping a neighbor, or teaching someone what you’ve learned. The debts we pay weave us into something bigger than ourselves.

Keep Searching for Wisdom

I’m still missing pieces, still learning from others while trying to stay true to myself. If you feel like you’re short on answers, don’t stop looking. Talk to people who’ve been where you are. Read. Reflect. But don’t just copy their answers; make them your own. Fatherhood, like life, is a process of building, breaking, and rebuilding. You’ll never have it all figured out, but you’ll get closer with every step.

This is my story, but it’s not just mine. If you’re grieving, parenting, or just trying to find your way, I hope you see that you don’t need to have it all together. Take what you’ve got, your pain, your love, your questions, and keep going. That’s what I’m doing, and it’s enough for now.