What kind of father do you have? Can you crack a joke with him? Smoke a spliff with him? Is he someone you could call in a crisis? Could you cry in his presence and feel safe? Does he value your accomplishments? Does he respect you? Was he interested in being a father as a service role? Or was it for his ego so he could be the father his father wasn’t?

 Instead of committing to the bit, my father did less as the years went on. Always in the house, never present. What he knew about me was what my mom told him when their time in bed overlapped: how I’m doing in school, what my labs were like at the doctor, when prom was taking place…

He reminded my brothers and I often, “My father never gave me a dollar when I was a little boy.” His solution to that was to give us exactly one dollar each. I say this metaphorically to communicate there was no excess. He did what I might label as scarcity parenting: just enough to say he was there… no skin in the game. 

When I was in high school, I was presenting a poster at a science research competition. It was my senior year and I walked to the 2 train at Winthrop St. to get home.

I swiped my student metrocard : green and white two-trip special pass. Right after I swiped, everyone was running towards the exit and out of the train.  Word spread from person to person that there was a “madman with a taser.”

I ran back up the steps to street level to see how the police had swarmed all entrances. Gridlocked streets, after dark and no buses were getting in or out anytime soon. I didn’t know how I was going to get home. 

I called my mom. I always called her first. I trusted her to pick up, even if she was at the hospital for a night shift. My mom told me to call my father because he was home. 

When I got through to him and explained the situation, he said “well if the buses can’t get through to you, what do you expect me to do?” 

I don’t remember how I got home that night. I don’t know how I paid because I was all out of swipes for the weekend. What I do remember is I walked directly to the master bedroom to announce my arrival. I returned safely from outside. I was relieved. 

I saw my father laying on his stomach, head propped up by a pillow and watching soccer on the TV my mom bought. He turned his head to me and said “Oh, you made it home.”