By: Ashra Proctor, SFU Student
Content warnings: brief descriptions of parental emotional abuse.
Whether you’re grieving the death of a father, a grandfather, or an uncle (or grieving a healthy relationship with one), Father’s Day may have brought complicated feelings for many. My brother and I bond by exchanging relatable posts about neglectful dads. While ours was physically present up until adulthood, he was not present emotionally. He wielded rage and projection like weapons to combat feeling or displaying emotional vulnerability.
This time of year is also difficult because August 3 will mark my opa’s third birthday since he passed away. I never had trouble expressing affection for my opa (Dutch for grandpa), by writing him wordy cards, spending quality time together, and giving him physical affection like hugs. It was because he made me feel safe to be myself, showing me that he cared about my thoughts and feelings. This may not seem very revolutionary if you grew up in a supportive and safe household, but for me, it meant the world. My opa was a positive masculine role model, something that was important for my brother, in probably an even more crucial way — by offering some respite from the toxic version of masculinity my dad modelled.
My grandparents on my mom’s side settled here from the Netherlands, and my oma (Dutch for grandma) and opa got married in their early twenties. They had a traditional marriage, where my oma kept the house and raised their daughters while my opa worked. She didn’t receive a proper education due to the overwhelming sexism of the time, which had meant marrying her off was seen as far more important. She put everything into being a mother, keeping a house, and keeping company. Being connected especially within the tight-knit Dutch community they immigrated here with, and their large families, was very important. My opa never took her role for granted, and showed us what a loving and affectionate husband looks like.
My opa didn’t hold back showing his emotions. My family lived overseas for many years and would visit every summer. Oma and opa always drove me and my siblings to the airport. Every year, my opa would bring himself to tears by playing or even singing acapella to the words of “Leaving on a Jet Plane” by John Denver, and we would join in unison. Instead of avoiding the pain of having to say goodbye to his grandkids for another year, he’d let us know that he was sad, and showed us it was okay to cry and express grief. It was a safe space to feel emotion.
He had a saying: “Don’t sell yourself short!” This saying now lives on. My family will often say it to each other now in his absence, keeping his encouragement alive in our lives.
I’ve been reading the will to change: men, masculinity, and love by the late feminist author bell hooks, who uses lowercase in order to make her ideas the main focus of her work. In this book, hooks reframed the way some feminists have portrayed men as inherently power-hungry, and the idea that we should abandon them altogether rather than recognize their desire to change. More than 20 years after the book was published, it feels there is a similar feeling of hopelessness towards men. Online spaces can feel like cesspools that magnify a terrifying culture of misogyny. From the 4B movement which started in South Korea to the trend of decentring men, these are understandable responses to the way men continue to threaten women, and how patriarchy dictates our lives.
hooks explained that men who have internalized toxic masculinity are deeply hurt. The patriarchy teaches people that men are “more manly if they do not feel,” and the “only manly response” to hurt feelings is to push them away. hooks expressed that men who are controlled by toxic masculinity often turn to violence and rage because they are aware that they are “acting out a lie,” as worded by author Barbara Deming.
I can already hear my dad’s voice in my head scoffing at the term “toxic masculinity.” Even though a ridiculous deflection,
it shows how deep of an imprint a father can have on their kids’ brains — I sometimes find myself arguing with an internalized ghost of his perspective.
hooks wrote about how patriarchal culture teaches children to crave a father’s love and approval more than a mother’s. She cites author Jan Waldron: “The value goes up because of its scarcity.”
My brother recently reflected to me, “You figured dad out way before I did.” By the time I was 16, I mostly avoided him and learned to grey rock, a tactic that involves withdrawing energy from someone seeking to offend or hurt you. However, the need for his approval can linger in unexpected ways. I was never allowed to argue against his opinions, and if I did, I was met with hostility and ridicule. Even now, voicing my opinion when I disagree, especially when it’s with a man, sends me into fight-or-flight. Meanwhile, my brother would often laugh and join in on the jokes he made at the expense of minorities or other peoples’ insecurities, abandoning his sense of empathy for the rare chance of bonding with his dad. Only crying in front of me or my mom. Like any child, he just wanted to be seen and acknowledged by his father, something that might have been even more important for his identity as a boy — but unfortunately, for my dad, that meant stooping to his level and inflating his ego.
As the eldest daughter in my family (the front pea in a pod of two, my opa would always say), I often internalize and take responsibility for other peoples’ feelings, minimizing my own. It’s something I’ve been working on, also recognizing that a lot of the negative self-talk I project onto myself is actually his lingering judgmental voice in my head. The discomfort around emotions and intimacy peddled by the patriarchy doesn’t just affect men — I struggle opening up. Having been raised by my opa, it’s understandable that my mom has always been comfortable openly expressing her feelings. However, more often than not, I was made to feel ashamed of my feelings and self expression, something I’m working on overcoming. I imagine this would be even more difficult to overcome if I was socialized as a man and expected to be stoic all the time.
So while Father’s Day can often elicit complex feelings of grief, resentment, and longing, I am grateful that I have the opportunity to choose the men I accept in my life now. I’m grateful for emotionally vulnerable men like my brother, my partner, and my opa’s lasting legacy. His words of encouragement are preserved in his memory, the messages in the songs he would play, and the heartfelt letters he wrote to me every birthday.
To read the will to change: men, masculinity, and love by bell hooks, which provides an empathetic perspective for men to connect with their emotions and identity, purchase it from Iron Dog Books, or borrow it from the SFU Library or your local library.
