God knows, there are lots of movies and books that tackle father son relationships. Sometimes they’re about surrogate fathers. “Hearts in Atlantis” is one of those. I’ve had an entry buzzing around my head over that one for some time now so I won’t write too much about that movie right here. I’ll just say that it’s a film about a young boy growing up in a small town to a single mother. Then along comes a lodger in the same building who takes the boy under his wing. With this man’s support, encouragement, and subtle tutoring, the boy comes into his own. It’s a lovely little movie.

There have been a few surrogate fathers in my life. Some were relatives, others acquaintances and others were leaders in my career. I would have preferred any of them to my real father.

I never really liked my father. He was a selfish, petty creature who, very early on in my life, showed himself to be a man who liked to talk the talk but never walked the walk. I never trusted him. As a child, I saw my father as a loud-mouthed liar.

I can’t say I hated him. Although, God knows, he gave me reason to during my early teens. He used to drink a lot. He was, at first, mentally and verbally abusive and then he got nasty. He used to beat me as a young child – literally lift me off the ground. He used to lock me up on occasion ‘til I was, I don’t know…seven?

What was worse, he’d beat my mother. I remember seeing them in the laundry room. She’d be screaming her lungs out and he’d be slapping her onto the floor. Then when he realized I was standing in the doorway, he’d stop and sit on a chair looking sheepish, like he was embarrassed. I was so disgusted with that man.

And that shit never goes away. Those images, the beatings my mother would suffer on the houseboat on weekends while my sister and I would run away, the drunken slobbering state he’d get in, the verbal shit he’d spew at me. Yet, I never hated him. Odd that.

One of my fondest recollections of a pseudo father is of one of my bosses when I lived in Winnipeg. He was a supervisor for a time. He never seemed to ever be working. If he was, he made it look effortless. But he was my mentor. He fostered me along and taught me so much more than I realized at the time. He was supportive. He knew just how to motivate and encourage me. He always brought out the best in me. He showed me qualities that I didn’t even know I had. He carried me along until his retirement when I replaced him as the plant manager. I owe that man more than he or I will ever know. I really thought of him as a father figure, the kind of father I always wanted and never had.

My father changed his ways back in 1968. He quit drinking. Although he was still a prick to us all, he never laid a hand on us, ever again. Yet, I still resent him for who he was back then. And I still don’t like him.

So I watched “Road to Perdition” today and saw Tom Hanks transform from a distant patriarch to a true, loving, caring father. And I wished that were my story. But it isn’t, so I wept for it.

Arc