When my daughter Lisha asked me to write about what it means to be a father, I thought about what I could say.  That process took me back to a very difficult 10-month period in my life some 30 years ago.  This was a time when fatherhood was a most meaningful aspect of my existence. 

Before I get to that story, I want to say that I have two wonderful stepdaughters, Kim and Lisa, who came into my life afterwards.  Both accepted me and have a special place in my heart.  It was an honor when they asked me to walk them down the aisle at their respective weddings.  This is what happened before they entered and enriched my life. 

“Daddy, I want to live with you”, were the words expressed by my teary-eyed, seven-year-old daughter Lisha – an unforgettable visual forever recorded in my mind.  Her mother and I had just informed her that I was moving out.  It was one of those dreaded moments in life that you hoped you would never have to go through.  When you get married you think it is for life, and you are blind to the mere possibility of a break-up.  My three-year-old son Dylan was oblivious to the enormity of this life changing event.  As a typical three-year-old boy, all he wanted to do was play with me, and with all of the thoughts racing in my head at this moment, the reality hit me that tomorrow, I was not going to spend the much cherished daily playtime with him when I walk in the door at the end of a work day.  It was all very confusing to me, and I know it was devastating for Lisha, and for her to emotionally convey her desire to live with me multiplied the already shattered pieces of my heart, especially knowing that would not and could not happen. 

Before I became a father, I knew that I did not want to be the kind of father that I had.  Through observance of friends’ families and relatives (including watching perfect TV fathers), ideas of what a father should and should not be were formulated in my mind as I prepared for this incredible responsibility.  I wanted to be there for my kids, teach them about morals, values, respect, support their interests, praise their achievements and most importantly tell them I love them every night as I put them to bed.  I would still do this, but now it would be every other weekend.  Two of the happiest days of my life were the days that Lisha and Dylan were born.  Not being a part of their daily life was incomprehensible.  “Pain is just a word, until it swallows you” (to quote myself), and I felt devoured and defeated.  The sight of them waving goodbye to me in my rear-view mirror as I drove away brought tears to my eyes. 

As time passed, it was obvious that despite my efforts, reconciliation was not even on the table.  I was at the lowest point in my life.  I had just had my left hand surgically repaired (I’m a lefty) and held together by several pins.  I had chosen not to return to my place of employment where my wife had contracted work.  I missed my kids dearly and was now facing the realization of moving on in life.  For that to happen I had to take action: I was going to file for divorce.  For some unknown reason, my parents stayed married and much of the time they lived separately and unlovingly.  As many unhappy couples who stay married “for the kids”, that was hardly the case in our family.  My parents had nine children and we all could have used some fatherly love and guidance. 

I could not afford an attorney, so I had to represent myself.  In these pre-Internet days, I went to the library, sought advice and filed all of the necessary documents.  I was determined. Sometimes we never know our own capabilities or the inner strength we have until we are tested.  I made a promise to myself, whether I was successful or not, for my love of my teary-eyed little girl and her request; I would give my best effort, despite the odds, to seek full custody of her and her little brother Dylan.  Lisha has always spoken her mind, and her words were my motivating factor.  I now had to establish some stability in my life as I found a job and moved into an apartment. 

If it wasn’t for heartbreak there would not be so many great songs written by songwriters who lived the experience.  All you have to do is turn on the radio and take your pick.  Music is a saving grace, and a salvation for the soul.  Some of my relatable loneliness, anger and heartache songs at this time were provided by Bob Dylan’s “Blood On The Tracks” his emotional lyrics and delivery of them, I was living. Tom Petty and Minnie Riperton (I was always impressed by her five and a half octave range) were also on the cassette play list.  Lisha and I would sing duets in the apartment and in the car.  I think she believed (probably not) my bragging of a seven octave range even though I never proved it, due to an excuse of one vocal ailment or another.

I had never been as nervous in my life as I was on the day of my appearance in the courtroom.  It is rare for custody rulings to be made in favor of the father, and I was prepared for the worst. As my case was called and the judge began reading the documents, he stopped for a moment and directed his eyes towards me for what seemed like minutes but in actuality was about 20 seconds.  Not only was I nervous but also uncomfortable.  I didn’t know how to react.  Should I smile?  I know I cleaned up pretty good for this important day.  He lowered his head again to finish his review.  He then proceeded to ask me his only question which was, “Is the respondent present?”  I answered, “No your honor, she is not.”  It might have been that as the petitioner who presented a case that the respondent did not contest, the Superior Court judge granted the divorce and also awarded me sole custody of my two minor children.  I was elated.  I would be lying if I said that everything was happily ever after.  Everyone who raises kids knows it is a challenge.  I don’t know how different their lives might be or what direction they would have taken had I not pursued custody.  I am proud that Lisha received a degree in Communications from California State University, Fullerton and a Masters degree in Fine Art from the prestigious Central Saint Martin’s College of Art and Design in London, UK, where she currently lives with her husband Keith and three-year-old son Enlai.  Dylan earned a full football scholarship to play quarterback at University of California, Los Angeles.  Unfortunately, he was forced to retire as a redshirt freshman due to injury.  Soon after 9/11, he enlisted in the Army and presently lives in Germany with his wife Erika and their three sons who are five, three and one.

Lisha loved and adored her little brother.  As a seven-year-old big sister she was mature for her age, even taking on a motherly role.  She has maintained these caring and giving attributes over into her adulthood. I know as far as parenting goes, Lisha and Dylan have improved upon the way they were raised.  We all want to be better parents than ours and in retrospect, I can see where I could have done better.  We live and we learn.  A father’s thought process and approach to issues may differ so much from a mother’s or daughter’s.  Sometimes we are in the dark with our failure to see the obvious because our minds are elsewhere.  Guys do things differently, sometimes without much thought.  For example, when a little boy has to relieve himself, a mother may suggest he hold it until he finds a toilet.  One day, we were on a blended family outing at the Los Angeles County Arboretum.  From his fidgety actions and grabbing of himself (parents of sons know what I mean), I knew Dylan needed to go.  To the dismay of his stepmother and sisters, I gave him permission to go in the bushes and off he ran.  I didn’t know he would urinate on a rare imported tree with a long, difficult to pronounce series of Latin names and in the presence of a small audience.  Needless to say, we rapidly moved along. 

Lisha and Dylan have inspired me since the day they were born, and it was at this difficult time in my life that my love for them as their father gave me the strength to step up for them, to be responsible, all along knowing that a child’s smile and laughter is so worth the effort it takes, including silly behavior.  It is so true that in every man there is a little boy, and it is rewarding to me when that little boy comes out and makes a child happy. 

Did you ever watch a TV show, play or a children’s DVD when all of a sudden they break out into a song?  Well here is the time in this story where I break out into a poem. 

 

To see her
on
her Daddy’s shoulders
sitting
on top of the world
like an angel in flight
gobs of security
miles and smiles
of fun
feeling tall
as a tree

To be carried
in
her Daddy’s arms,
thinking
there is no one stronger
and where she is
being held
so firmly
no one
will ever harm her
So happy
that he is there

To have
a loving Daddy
in the home
some
are not so lucky

It is sad
to hear
of absent fathers
who do not
give a damn
or kids
who never
had a man
they could call
their Daddy,
to share
a special moment
like cradling
at bedtime
a story voice
so soothing
tired eyelids
finally surrender
and dreams begin
and love
never ends
and responsibility
rides
on Daddy’s shoulders

Carrying a child on your shoulders is a love bond ride.  When you see kids carried in this manner they almost always have a smile on their face. While at Disneyland recently with Dylan, Erika and the boys, three-year-old Evan was tired, and his dad put him on his shoulders like I used to do with him.  All of a sudden we hear a loud bang and the sky was lit up with colorful fireworks.  As we stopped to watch the show, I glanced at Evan, and I was very sentimentally happy at this moment, to see the wide eyes and smile on his face, with an occasional “wow” and “cool” coming from his mouth.  He was on top of the world!  Watching this loved, innocent, three-year-old boy took me back 30 years where dreams began and love never ends.