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By Sawyer Depp
My dad told me that he had to have sixteen conversations with me before I left for college. We only got to four. Within weeks of my leaving for college, my dad contracted COVID-19 and was placed in a hospital. After a difficult, hazy week of combatting the same disease that had ended the life of his mother months before, he woke up to the metallic hissing of a ventilator. After thirty-one days of wrestling with death itself, my dad left the hospital. I want to make one thing clear: he was not released, he left. I do not wish to make this blog about COVID-19; You, myself, my dad, my family, the city of Louisville, the world is tired of this disease. It is hard to find much good that has come out of it and even harder to do so for myself. There is, however, one thing: I was forced to reevaluate my relationship with my father. For thirty-one days, I did not know if my dad would ever come home; nothing makes you admire something on which you have relied on for much of your life more than its absence.
A father is often expected to function as an emotional anchor for the family, rarely outwardly expressing sadness or anger. He is expected to provide, with the help of the mother, for the family’s well being. He is expected to instill virtues in his children, while upholding his own. When the children inevitably fail to fulfill these virtues, he is often tasked with punishing them, establishing a role of authority; however, unlike a king, the father often does not reap the rewards from his kingdom. Rather, today, a father enters a sort of one-sided contract in which he provides extensively for his child but receives nothing. Now, I understand, fathers, that you may disagree, but I ask you to entertain my point. The father cooks, cleans, pays, works, thinks, and sometimes even prays (sorry, Dad) for his son. In return, the son may complete the daunting tasks of chores and, when they reach the age, work. Undoubtedly, many sons will eventually fail to complete both of these things, but the father cannot fail. Without cooking, the family will not eat. Without cleaning, the family will grow sick. Without paying, well, we can’t do anything today without paying. Without thinking, the family will have no direction in which to grow, and without praying, well, who knows what will happen. The father assumes fundamental duties in the household that are rarely acknowledged or appreciated by his son. Now, fathers, you understand what I mean by nothing. How often has your son told you that he appreciates everything that you have done and will do for him?
I do not argue that all sons are intentionally unappreciative—although some very well may be. Rather, a son fails to recognize the sacrifice and selflessness necessary to fatherhood until removed from under his oversight.
You may still disagree with me in my conclusion that you receive nothing for your troubles. I, myself, hope that fathers do receive something in return; otherwise, I have no idea what kind of madman would put themselves through the torture of a brutish, booger-picking 8-year-old boy or a selfish, snobby 13-year-old with food-covered braces that cost you an arm and a leg. No, no one in their right minds would put themselves through that without some reason. It seems that for much of their son’s upbringing, fathers do not receive anything tangible from him—beyond the Christmas ornament he brings home made of glitter, buttons, and his beautiful 3.5 X 5 cm school picture. Yes, we all know that that ornament will be stuffed in a box and never be seen again in a year, but maybe, that is just what a father receives from his son. No, not the ornament. The thought.
Yes, I understand that all families do not look like my own. Yes, I understand that this may be labeled as “toxic masculinity”, but I know this to be true: as you, Dad, were in the hospital, I had to be an anchor. I had to for mom, and I could only be so because of you. While reading Wendell Berry’s Hannah Coulter, I noticed that after the death of a loved one, characters in the book were described as “becoming adults”. This led me to ask in a discussion, “what is it about death that makes one grow into an adult?” I was given varied responses, some very logical and some very emotional. One, however, stuck with me in specific. A scholar responded, “It is your assumption of those roles that they had filled and jobs that they had done for you for years without your realizing.” While you were away and Mom was quarantined in her room, I cashed checks, cooked for two, picked up prescriptions, made the weekly Kroger run, and most importantly, assumed your role as anchor of the family. I had no idea if everything would be fine, but I had to act as if I did.
It was not until being thrust into this role, your role, that I realized how much you have done for me. Many college students may recognize this phenomenon when they move away and assume many responsibilities for themselves, but your role is more. You must not only cook for yourself; you must cook for your son, for me. You must not only hold yourself up to your standards, but you must—after establishing those standards for me—hold me up to them as well (a tall task for myself). You must care not only for yourself but for your son, for me. To be a father is to be selfless. To be a father is to give without expecting anything in return. To be a father is to love.
To be a son is to grow. I have failed; I will fail, but I know that when the day comes that I must give back—when I must assume your role for good—I will be ready. This is truly how the son gives back to the father. The father may see the man that he has cultivated; he supports him during his failures and applauds his successes. He is filled with pride when he pulls his first tooth; his voice pierces the crowd as he watches him play his first flag football game; a smile hides itself behind the lens as he takes the pictures at his first middle school dance; he shares in the frustration when his hard work fails to get him a starting position on the football team; he is inspired when he reinvigorates his once-enthusiastic reading habits; he is slightly disappointed when he chooses UofL over UK; he is reassured when he does wrong and learns to do right. The father grows his son in his own image. He shares in his son’s greatest and most difficult moments, and it is these moments in which the father receives his payment. He witnesses him grow into a strong, good man. He watches him become a great father himself. He sees the results of his own love.
Eventually, however, the son must pay his father back. Dad, when you do grow old—when you cannot perform the duties and fulfill the roles that you do for me now—I will assume them. I will take care of you as you have me. I will give my own son the love with which you have grown me.
But before then, I must do what I have failed to do, and I urge every son to do the same.
I appreciate everything that you have done and will do for me. I love you.
Sawyer Depp is a McConnell Scholar in the class of 2024. He is studying political science and creative writing at the University of Louisville.