2008 Woodie Awards
Learning to let go
Nick Kepley
Issue date: 1/23/06 Section: Forum
I've had the image of Gregory Peck ingrained in my memory for some time. His portrayal of Atticus Finch in the film adaptation of Harper Lee's literary masterpiece, "To Kill a Mockingbird," is the stuff of legend. I grew up watching the film and studied the book in school. I even portrayed little Dill Harris in an eighth-grade stage production. Atticus is the perfect father. He treats his children with dignity and respect. With the kind of discipline that lets you know everything he does truly stems from love.
While the story and characters allowed me to escape for a few hours, I eventually could not deny the fact that my own family situation was not as ideal. I grew up with an alcoholic father who happened to be the continuation of a long line of alcoholics., who also never managed to master the art of parenting to Atticus' degree.
I can hardly remember a time in my childhood when I felt loved or accepted by my father. No, impossible. Though there were minimal occasions of borderline physical abuse, the mental abuse was devastating.
As with so many boys in my situation, my life became an endless cycle as I constantly searched for someone to fill the void left by my father. There was my middle school chorus teacher, my seventh-grade history teacher and a dance instructor who taught me for three years. They gave me the love and support I so desperately needed.
In each case, I would work harder than I had ever worked trying to please them, looking for the approval always missing in my own father's eyes. I wrote long messages in cards describing that I never really had a father and they had become that for me; each one exactly the same.
It's funny. As I look back on it, I must have scared them to death. Here's a kid bleeding his heart out, asking you to be his father, and you've only taught him 45 minutes a day for three months!
Needless to say I never found what I was looking for. And the repetition of rejection only made things harder.
While the story and characters allowed me to escape for a few hours, I eventually could not deny the fact that my own family situation was not as ideal. I grew up with an alcoholic father who happened to be the continuation of a long line of alcoholics., who also never managed to master the art of parenting to Atticus' degree.
I can hardly remember a time in my childhood when I felt loved or accepted by my father. No, impossible. Though there were minimal occasions of borderline physical abuse, the mental abuse was devastating.
As with so many boys in my situation, my life became an endless cycle as I constantly searched for someone to fill the void left by my father. There was my middle school chorus teacher, my seventh-grade history teacher and a dance instructor who taught me for three years. They gave me the love and support I so desperately needed.
In each case, I would work harder than I had ever worked trying to please them, looking for the approval always missing in my own father's eyes. I wrote long messages in cards describing that I never really had a father and they had become that for me; each one exactly the same.
It's funny. As I look back on it, I must have scared them to death. Here's a kid bleeding his heart out, asking you to be his father, and you've only taught him 45 minutes a day for three months!
Needless to say I never found what I was looking for. And the repetition of rejection only made things harder.
