It ends here...

What makes a man? I remember, not too long ago, when I would look for approval from every man who I thought exemplified what made a man. I elevated these men to a status that they did not deserve. What I now know is that the sum of my life has been about impressing a man that I did not know, and another man who was gripped by fear. Both men have the same story:

Both men had a father who came from nothing, heirs of the great depression. Both men had a father who served this country honorably. Both of these men had a father who built for their sons and their families the American dream. Both of these men were gripped by the fact that they could never match the expectations of greatness that their fathers had of them. Both men lived under the constant fear of disappointment. Both men knew that no matter how good it was, it wasn’t good enough. They came from the stock of great men whose expectations left them as small boys. Their effort, no matter how valiant or diligent or perseverant it was, was not good enough. 

John Lennon, a sort of secular prophetic voice of his time knew this to be true (cover by Greenday):

When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

And so these men grow up and become husbands and fathers one day. Confirmed in their inadequacy, consumed by their fears, assured of their impending failure, they do what they must to survive. Their actions leave many causalities in their wake, and assure that within this small boy their legacy will continue.

My entire adult life, as brief as it has been, has been about proving that I am not the man that they said I was. My entire adult life has been about proving that I am smart enough and good enough. My entire adult life has been about proving that I am a better man than those who’ve gone before me. Yet the harder I work at it, the harder I strain toward being the better man the more I find reason to believe the message I received as a small boy. The harder I strive to prove that I am who I am in spite of them and not because of them, the more I realize that the apple does not fall far from the tree. 

My entire adult life has been about this, because I fear it to be true. I fear it to be true, the same way they feared it to be true when they were my age. I press on to prove them wrong… the same way they sought to prove their fathers wrong. In my determination, in my resilience to be better, I find within myself the capacity to become them. 

I do not hate them for this, it is not their fault. I do not hate their fathers for this, it is not their fault. The cycle will continue unless the debt of the previous generation is canceled. The cycle will continue unless the sin of our fathers is forgiven. 

I love these men… these fathers of mine. I love them because I now know what it was they felt when they were twenty-five. I love these men because I know that in their hearts they have felt forsaken, inadequate, afraid, hated, and abandoned. 

I will not strive to become better than them. I have learned that the sum of a man’s mistakes do not define him. I will love them, as I now know how much they love me. I will forgive, as I have been forgiven, and in so doing I hope that this curse will end with me.