His Story (Part 2): Influences

To further expand on my childhood; my Dad was a football coach, and let’s just say sports were a big part of his life—like a really, really BIG part of his life. My mom, on the other hand, was an art major in college, and well, she acted the way you would expect an art major to act. She wanted to create art, appreciate art, and travel, and my Dad wanted to think about sports, watch sports, play sports, and only travel to see family.

I love both of them very much and appreciate what they instilled in me, but two people with completely different interests (and very little in common) probably never should have gotten married.

Nonetheless, I am glad they did.

When two people have little to nothing in common, it is easy for them to grow apart, and they did. My parents divorced when I was in 5th grade. For some reason, I remember it this way: I am a chubby 11 year old whose parents just got divorced and now I am getting glasses....SWEET!


My parents divorcing was a traumatic moment in my life and it had a profound impact on me. I never felt bad for myself, or that I was a victim. In fact, after they divorced, a lot of things were better. Also, it forced me to grow up quicker and start thinking more like an adult at a young age. I had to start looking out for others and make sure all of my family was going to be OK.

My Dad was hard on me. He coached me in everything I did and provided constant evaluation. At times, the lines got a little blurred whether he was more ​Dad or Coach. I was the oldest, as was he, and I am certain that my Grandpa (a former military man/school superintendent) was hard on him, too. As a boy, I didn't understand why he demanded so much from me and set the bar so high, but now as a 42-year-old man, I understand. “Dad love” is different from “Mom love.”

Dads set the tone for who the boy will become. A Dad loves hard; his love comes with an edge, and there are consequences for not adhering to the rules. With that said, there is never a moment that a child shouldn’t feel that their Dad loved them and, while my Dad was hard on me, and at times I didn’t understand it, I always knew he had my best interests in mind and loved me.

I was raised by my Dad to be strong, tough, resilient, hard-working, honest, physical, competitive, to stand up for what is right, to not back down from a fight (and be fully prepared to take an ass kicking if you weren't up for the challenge), to Win, to WIN, TO WIN, and lastly, to be STOIC. Over time, showing emotion (with the exception of anger, aggression, or any other acceptable masculine emotions) became a sign of weakness in my mind; a chink in the armor, if you will. Other experiences I had in my life seemed to validate my thoughts regarding perceived “weak” emotions.

Did I mention I had an art major for a Mom?

I was raised by my Mom to be sensitive, curious, and artistic, and to appreciate music, sing, pursue the arts, enjoy nature, love the water, express myself, and be ok with just being you. She taught me that It’s OK to march to the beat of your own drum, even if other people think your drumbeat is weird or off.

Two major influences in my life were both pulling me in two different directions, and they were pulling hard. I appreciate both of them for this. In addition to my mom instilling these things in me, I became fiercely protective of her and my little brother after the divorce. I would go as far as saying I would have done anything to protect them. You can fill in the blank with whatever you can think of that someone would do to protect their family, and rest assured I was willing to go there.

To be continued.