My Two Dads

By Zombie.
Like so many Gen Xers, I grew up under the influence of two fathers. One was biological, the other was a replacement. It is only recently that I have reflected on how much each of an effect each man had on my growth and development as a man in my own right. Now that I am also a father, it is time to examine the source of this tear in my personality and pray that I do not transfer my own flawed identity to my child.
My real father is a rather quiet, reserved man who angers rarely but just as rarely shows genuine joy. He is a true team player who has loyally served his coworkers and the company he works for over his entire career. Niebuhr would recognize him as a true Child of Light, someone who recognizes the importance of something larger than himself and able to subordinate his own interest in favor of others. He values courtesy and manners very highly. These values, along with along with the importance of fair play and respecting others, he worked very hard to instill in my brother and I. This is not to say it was easy, or fun to be around him all the time but looking back I appreciate that he taught me the value of respecting others and generating self-respect through right actions.
My stepfather could not have been more different. He was originally from California and a serial marrying man with a huge ego. From the very first, I knew something was wrong. Initial kindness and sympathy faded to discipline and arbitrary mean-spiritedness. In short, he was a liar. But a charismatic one that had one face in public and another in private. To him, courtesy and manners were a means to an end and not a method to demonstrate right action. The problem was that he was so convincing and gregarious in public that no one suspected the contempt he had for others in private. He was, and most likely still is, a Child of Darkness. The definition of that term as Niebuhr meant it was someone who recognizes no law beyond their own interest.

Now, by no means am I putting my father up for canonization. He is easily frustrated and when I do something to upset him, which happens no doubt and is my fault, he expresses it not by yelling or threatening but through a quiet scolding and withholding of attention. And it is a long time before he lets it go. On the other hand, my stepfather did yell and threaten; his style was in-your-face and utterly arbitrary. The rules in my house changed on a whim, basically made up along the way. Punishment, while never corporal, was severe and came without warning. No allowance was made for ignorance. The fact that my stepfather would then let it go after I served whatever sentence he imposed came to seem, not that he could forgive, but that he really did not actually care.

I joined the Army right after high school to get the hell away from him. Then it was my brother who bore the brunt. After he finally finished school at the UW and transferred to another university, far away, it was my mom's turn. Only about a year passed before she divorced him. Go figure.