It’s been nearly thirteen years since I’ve heard my father’s voice, but I still hear him whispering to me from time to time, especially when I need some reassurance or comfort. It’s been nearly thirteen years since I saw my father’s face, but he lives in my memories, those snippets of time frozen forever in a bygone century. It’s been nearly thirteen years since I felt the embrace of my father, but sometimes I can drop into my heart and feel the warmth of the love shared between a father and his son.
As a small child, usually after a long trip, I vividly recall pretending to be asleep in the backseat of the family car so that my father would have to carry me into the house and up to bed. I’d wrap my arms around his strong neck as all anxieties and fear dropped away. A boy at peace in the arms of his father. Though I have no way of knowing for sure, I think my dad always knew that I wasn’t really asleep in the backseat, but he never called me out on my game of possum. Maybe he needed it as much as I did.
Though I have no children, I like to believe that in some way I am able to guide my clients through recovery the way that a father might, helping them navigate a new world that is often confusing and dangerous. I frequently experience great joy in the accomplishments of the guys I work with. They are good men, committed to being better men, those who will be good husbands, sons, and fathers. I am proud to be a part of the Recovery Movement, which has been giving children their father’s back for over 80 years.
Happy Father’s Day.
Beginner's Mind, Writers Mind 