Rites of Passage — Column by Mark Martinez
My mom died yesterday.
I’m serious. She was 92 years old. The last 7 years she spent in a nursing home, unable to walk. It was difficult to witness her gradual deterioration over time. Loss of memory, cognitive function, speech, motor functions, and finally appetite. I’ve read that the median life span after entering a nursing home is 2.2 years. Yet, my mom made seven. What do I attribute this to? My dad.
My dad was there for her. Nearly every day. He would visit her during her lunch hour. He would feed her, tell her stories, reminisce about their life together. He would give her updates on the kids, grandkids, and great grandkids. He would brush her teeth for her when she finished lunch. He played her favorite music for her, would ensure the staff was taking proper care of her grooming, and would constantly kiss her and tell her how much he loved her. In times that he was unable to be there, he arranged for a family member to do the same for my mom. This is what I believe kept my mom going for so long.
The most important thing? We all saw it.
My sister, my brother, and me. Our spouses. All our kids. The grandkids. Friends of my parents. The nursing home staff. The doctors who overlooked the care for my mom. We all saw it.
We saw a man who truly loves his wife. A man who was only 6 weeks short of celebrating 70 years of marriage to my mom. We saw a man who committed to his vow of “for better or worse, in sickness and in health, until death do us part”. For the first time in my life, I saw my father break when my mom finally parted from him.
My dad is a man who committed his life to his wife and to his progeny. Not a perfect man, but a dedicated man. A man of his word. Not for show, but because that’s who he is. I did a quick online search regarding the state of fatherhood in America. Here is what was returned:
- 25% of children live without a father in the home
- 33% live without their biological father
- 80% of single parent homes are led by mothers
- 40% of all births are out-of-wedlock
- Father absence in households leads to increases in poverty, crime, lower educational achievement, higher infant mortality rates, higher rates of mental and behavioral problems, emotional instability, substance abuse, depression and suicide
- The United States leads the world in nearly every one of these categories
If you see your own life reflected in the statistics above, if you did not have the father that you needed in your life, there truly is hope. While nobody gets to pick their dad, we can all pick mentors to surround us with love, guidance, encouragement, security and support that a good dad provides. Please seek them out. In addition to the great dad that I have, I still surround myself with other male mentors in my life.
Here is the bottom line: Men, we need you. Wives need you. Children need you. Our culture needs you. You make a difference in the lives of the people you touch, whether good or bad. What you bring to your environment is what people will take away, and often what they themselves become.
This Father’s Day, would you offer a gift to yourself to be the best man that you can be? Be it husband, father, grandfather, employee, neighbor, or simply friend. Choose to make a positive impact on those around you. Understand that it is okay to get help for yourself, as needed.
Every great athlete is surrounded by great coaches. A coach can see the things that others cannot and it’s their desire to make their subject the best they can be. I believe counselors can be just like a good coach. You may not understand your own behaviors, which are usually shaped by our own upbringing, but a good counselor (coach) can.
Finally, to the young men reading this. The kind of husband and father that you would like to be does not begin when you get married and have children. It begins right now. It begins by deciding what kind of man you want to become. It begins by making the kind of daily choices which lead to you developing the kind of character that our society needs from men. Never forget that people notice the man that you become, just as everyone saw the man that my 92-year-old dad is.
