The Man I am Today

“Did he win?”

And

“I need you to look like I’m scolding you, ok? You have to look like I’m telling you off, but I want you to know that I’m very proud of you, understand? We’ll talk more when you get home.”

I don’t remember if this is exactly how that conversation went, goodness but I’m nearly twenty years removed from it. Though, this is certainly the gist of the talk I had with my dad over the phone one day in primary school.

Assuming that you haven’t read my piece on ‘Growing Up Big’ I’ll let you know that I am significantly taller than average and always have been.

The results of this, especially from my youth, are predominantly negative as a result of the unreasonable expectations put on me by the adults around me. In short, I wasn’t allowed to be a child because I was larger and stronger than my classmates.

The story I want to tell, the reflection that I want to engage in, focuses around the above conversation and what that meant for me and my development.

One day, when I was young – on consultation with my dad, I was close to ten – I was sitting down with a friend and talking. Our legs were splayed out before us and another boy in my class came over spoiling for some mischief. He started kicking my feet; not hard, not enough to cause damage, but hard enough to be uncomfortable and maybe even hurt.

When I told him to stop, he asked, as many children do at that age, “so, do you want to fight?” My asking him to stop hitting me, apparently being grounds for him to start a brawl.

Thinking about it for a moment, I said, “yes,” and stood up, ready for a scrap.

If you’ve read my other piece, then you won’t be surprised to hear that this is the moment a teacher decided to take action. Before my classmate and I could square up, before either could lay a finger on the other, I was sent to the office to be punished. Just me. Alone.

Naturally the administration called my parents, my dad in this instance, to inform him of the mortal sin I had committed by trying to stop someone from hitting me. When he answered the phone, having had to leave a meeting at work, and they told him of the horrible action I had taken, he asked, “did he win?”

A stereotypical question from a dad being called by the school. The one that every meme on the subject puts in the father’s mouth. But it is a serious question, and not an unhealthy one if you ask me, but that’s a topic for a different essay, I think. He asked them if I had won this fight they were calling him, interrupting his work for. And their answer was wonderfully absurd.

“Well… no. There wasn’t actually a fight.”

“Excuse me?”

“Another boy was kicking him, and Alex asked him to stop. When the boy asked him if he wanted to fight, Alex said yes.”

“So there was no fight?”

“Yes.”

“And the other boy is in the office too?”

“No.”

“You’re telling me that Alex was being assaulted and when he tried to defend himself he was punished but the attacker got off Scott free?”

“No, Alex said ‘yes’ when the other boy asked if he wanted to fight. He has to be punished.”

Truly this is a textbook example of how I’ve lived a huge portion of my life. Nothing happened, aside from a few kicks to me, and I was being punished for it. Stellar. Such a wonderful lesson to teach the bully and the victim. Hurt whomever you like, we’ll make sure to take over once your arm gets tired.

Please don’t forget that these conversations are not written out verbatim and are more intended to convey the feeling and theme of the events.

My dad was in my corner, though. He was livid, not only had his meeting been interrupted by this nonsense (and it was actually a very important meeting about some serious stuff) but also the fact that I was the one being punished for agreeing to defend myself. I stress again that no blows were exchanged except the ones targeting my feet.

He expressed his frustrations with the administrator but was calmly informed that it was all my fault and I needed to be punished. After all, what kind of monster responds to abuse by saying “ok sure. You’re not going to leave me alone and keep hurting me? I’ll fight you since that’s what you want.” So he ‘relented.’

“Does he have to leave school?”

“No, it wasn’t that serious. But he’ll be in detention.”

“Give the phone to him, I’ll talk to him and we’ll make sure to talk about this at home.”

Now smug, the administrator handed the phone the confused and worried child sitting across from her.

“Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to look like I’m scolding you, ok? You have to look like I’m telling you off, but I want you to know that I’m very proud of you, understand? We’ll talk more when you get home.”

And we did talk more when I got home. He reiterated again how proud he was of me for standing up for myself, and how no matter what, if I was defending myself, he would be in my corner. He would go to bat for me if I was attacked and I put up a defence. He did not care if I won – though he was certain I would given my size – only that I tried to hold my own and keep myself safe.

He did not tell me then, though he opened up about it later, that he wanted me to be able to do this because the school would never protect me. They would watch me get hurt, potentially hurt badly, and never step in or come to my aid. Maybe he was right, I certainly think so, having lived through enough similar incidents.

But the important thing is that he was there for me. Almost without condition, he was in my corner, proud of, loving, and supporting me. I’ve felt that every day since.

There were times when I was not appreciative, when we locked horns, or were seriously at odds. But one thing that never waivered was my absolute knowledge that he was on my side, now and forever, that there was nothing I would do to change that.

Importantly, I don’t say there was nothing I could do to change that. Once I was old enough to understand the nuance, he explained that if I was truly at fault – for example if I was the unwarranted aggressor or committing crimes – then I was on my own. “Make your bed, and you’ll have to lie in it.” Instead he told me that there was nothing I would do, because he believed in me.

So when Vocal asked me to reflect on the role that my father played in shaping my identity, I was wondering how exactly I should talk about it. How could I possibly explain the significance of his role in my life? Was it even possible to distill the complexity of our relationship, and the depth of his positive impact on who I am in an essay like this?

Then I remembered the question, “did he win?”

No I did not win, because there was no fight to speak of. But damnit, I won the lottery when it comes to who I have in my corner. I have someone who never questioned if I was in the right because he believed in me. I have someone who protected me as fiercely as any mother bear with her cubs from as many threats as he could; and taught me how to handle them myself when I was old enough and no longer needed him to fight my battles for me.

All of these things, and never once did he poison my thinking with regard to masculinity. Never once did he tell me to repress my feelings because they were shameful or wrong; in fact, the closest he ever came to something like that was telling me to hold onto them because “now is not the right time.” Which is a lesson that everyone needs to learn eventually, that there is a time and a place for everything.

He taught me not to hate the world despite what many might consider just reasons for doing so. (See ‘Growing up Big’ for just some of the examples.) He taught me that, although not all people deserve respect, every person deserves kindness and courtesy. He taught me not to hate people for who they are, to accept and treat with kindness those who are different to me. He pulled me back from darkness that threatened to take hold of my impressionable mind more times than I can remember. He pushed me to discover what I wanted to do and figure out a way to do it.

Some of you may know that I studied philosophy in university. A remarkably marketable skillset, isn’t it? There are just too many jobs out there for philosophers and too few of us to fill them right? But it was a field of study that I really connected with, and Dad pushed me to follow that passion. He gave me alternatives when I was younger, told me that university isn’t the only answer and showed me the different paths I could take. He prioritized my personal flourishing over any standard measures of success.

Maybe most importantly, he did not allow me my self-destructive spirals.

I am, as my family often jokes, an indoor toy: Use outside voids warranty. But as part of my disposition, my nature, I need to spend time outside. Too much time indoors, static and inactive, turns me into a horrible gremlin. This was understood from my youth by my parents, and I was pushed, or pulled kicking and screaming, into activities that I was well suited for. Even that I would like if I could get out of my own head.

Hiking, back-country camping, Canadian rules football, fencing, archery, swimming, biking, downhill skiing, international travel; incidentally these were mostly things that my dad also enjoyed, but then he tends to like everything active and that means he was able to do them with me. But things that I did not like, legitimately and after giving them the old college try, I was allowed to discontinue: Soccer, martial arts, dancing, among some others.

Dad taught me how to find things I enjoy and learn from the experience if I did not. He showed me the importance of physical activity in my life and taught me how to find ways to love it. He taught me that he would always be on my side, no matter what, and thus I would never be alone. I cannot stress how important it is for people, young men in particular, to hear that. To know that no matter how it feels, not matter how alone you might seem, that you can always look behind you and see your dad cheering you on.

This one’s for you, Dad. You’re one of the biggest reasons that I am the man I am today, and I hope I keep making you proud.

Happy Father’s Day.