Can a father be his son’s role model?

Recently, I had occasion to wear an old camelhair coat to a memorial service. The coat previously belonged to my father. It’s warm, still stylish, and fits me well. While putting it on, I reached into the inner pocket and felt a folded piece of paper. Turns out, the last time I wore the coat was at a previous memorial, the mother of a friend of mine who passed away last year. This small discovery of the remembrance card brought back some memories and recollections, not so much of the deceased, but of my father and the many times he wore the same coat to past services.

For the vast majority of his life, my father was a third-generation rancher in the Santa Clara Valley. He grew up in a world different than mine, and certainly much different than my own children and grandchildren. He worked hard to bring in a crop of prunes and walnuts, knowing that a good harvest would provide for his family in the coming year. He held the values of a small, independent business person—fortitude, honesty, reliability, and a willingness and inclination to take responsibility for one’s actions. I’d like to believe he instilled these traits in my brother, sister, and me.

In my first year at UCSC, I was enrolled in a large psychology class taught by a young professor. I remember attending one particular lecture with my girlfriend, who wasn’t enrolled in the class but was merely sitting in. I believe the subject matter had to do with personal growth and finding a self-actualizing pathway for life. As was his style, when the lecture ended, the professor would chat with some of the students. On this afternoon, he ignored some of the undergrads who were clamoring around him and made a straight approach to where I was seated. Honestly, I think he had his eye on my friend. Anyway, after he totally charmed my gal, he turned to me and asked who I looked up to as a role model in life.

My father…held the values of a small, independent business person—fortitude, honesty, reliability, and a willingness and inclination to take responsibility for one’s actions. I’d like to believe he instilled these traits in my brother, sister, and me.

When I answered my father, he seemed incredulous. Maybe he was suffering from the Oedipus complex, but he started to challenge me on my choice, declaring that one’s father couldn’t possibly be a role model for a son. That short conversation has stayed with me now for many decades, but I can say confidently that I answered truthfully. For sure, my father and I had our differences, but they were small in comparison to the positive relationship we had.

Jennie and I raised three sons, and I think we did an okay job. When they all moved out, I stepped away from my business to do some other things—construction estimating, teaching, writing, and volunteer work. One of my first decisions was to become a CASA (court-appointed special advocate) volunteer. Doing so put me in a position to become a male role model to a teenage boy who was growing up fatherless with a mom in jail, experiencing difficulties in school, and with very little family support. Shortly afterward, I joined the Smith Renaissance Society at UCSC where I became a mentor to a student who had grown up in foster care. These two choices resulted in my becoming a board member for the nonprofit MENtors, an organization run by my friend, Deutron Kebebew. MENtors supports fatherhood and boyhood in a multitude of ways.

The truth is boys that who grow up without a positive male role model suffer in school, are more likely to be homeless or incarcerated, and continue to perpetuate a course of negative social behavior. If I can help to break that cycle for a few young men then I feel that I have helped my community. By working upstream, we change the direction a river takes—hopefully one that flows with love, understanding, and a positive life force.

In many ways, I feel that I’m giving back some of the values that were instilled in me by my father. He was a good man. He lived his life in a friendly and humble manner, appreciative of all the simple and honest things that were bestowed upon him from previous generations. He was a man who could look himself in the mirror and be pleased with the image he saw smiling back.

I probably won’t don that camelhair coat for some time, but it will be in my closet until the day I die.

I hope it fits one of my sons, although all three are deserving of its legacy.

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