Reinventing Father’s Day

In a world where too many fathers and men are angry, hurt, and hurting others, maybe it’s time for a moratorium on conventional Father’s Day gift giving. Maybe some of the millions going to Hallmark and Wal-Mart could be better directed to a fund supporting women’s and children’s safety.

By Rob Okun

How can we comfortably celebrate Father’s Day in the middle of a domestic violence epidemic? Yes, suffering and celebrating are simultaneous truths in life. But there is an urgency —and opportunity— right now to transform this holiday. Fatherhood has perhaps never been more visible than today, in part because of the current occupant of the White House (and the vice-president, who for many years was a single dad). Let’s seize the moment to transform the day from one of consumerism to one of activism.

Even though it’s a minority of men who perpetrate violence against women, the results are devastating. Think what it could mean if Father’s Day became a time men stepped forward as peacemakers in our families. Grandfathers, sons, brothers, uncles, nephews, cousins, and neighbors could all be involved. There would be plenty of time for suppertime barbeques if we spent Father’s Day advocating on behalf of women’s and girls safety and, as a byproduct, for boys and men’s growth. If we can’t work to achieve peace in our homes how can we expect to end violence between nations?

Scan the headlines and there’s likely to be a story about a guy who’s beaten up his wife or girlfriend. Where I live in western Massachusetts, a man recently beat to death the daughter of friends’ of friends. It knocked the wind out of me. I never get used to it.

Over the years I’ve spoken at rallies in the aftermath of domestic violence murders and it never gets easier. A minority of men are perpetuating a cruel lie that says it’s okay for men to beat the woman they proclaim to love. Outrageous. It’s got to stop.

I know the vast majority of fathers —and men— aren’t violent. Yet there’s a small, vocal element out there promoting a dangerous, tough guy brand of masculinity. If the majority of nonviolent men stand mute, then manhood ends up being defined by screaming dads threatening coaches at Little League games, Rush Limbaugh and his ilk, and untold brooding brothers-in-law restricting contact with your sister. We can’t let that happen. The days of, “Hey, I’m a good guy, I don’t abuse my wife, assault women, or insist her 'no' really meant 'yes'" should long be over. To challenge a twisted definition of masculinity that condones men subjugating women requires leaving the sidelines of silence for the playing fields of action. It’s a cop out to claim this epidemic is a women’s issue. For decades women have been doing the heavy lifting to prevent domestic violence. More men need to join. Now.

To start, we need to take a hard look at the privilege and entitlement we’ve long assumed as our birthright. We have to be willing to ditch the old model of men as king of the castle. There are greater rewards across the moat in the vineyards of equality: an increase in emotional literacy. Closer connections with the women and other men in our lives. Deeper relationships with our children.

Much has been made of President Obama taking his wife on a couple of dates recently. Commentators have been a twitter with how unfair many men felt it was, claiming the president had raised the relationship bar too high. President Obama deserves no extra points for paying attention to his marriage or his children. Sure, he’s modeling how a man and father ought to act but he’d undoubtedly agree that he merits no special pat on the back for doing so.

The idea behind Father’s Day as a time to acknowledge what it takes to raise children —and the precious gift of being a parent— is a wonderful reason to celebrate. But in a world where too many fathers and men are angry, hurt, and hurting others, maybe it’s time for a moratorium on conventional Father’s Day gift giving. Maybe some of the millions going to Hallmark and Wal-Mart could be better directed to a fund supporting women’s and children’s safety, and boys’ and men’s education. Maybe the president and vice-president would be among the first to make
contributions. That would be a stimulus package I could really get behind.

~ Rob Okun is editor of VOICE MALE magazine and chair of the national advisory board of the Men’s Resource Center for Change. A psychotherapist and justice of the peace in Amherst, Massachusetts, he is a husband and father of four. He can be reached at rob(at)voicemalemagazine.org.

My Father Is Still with Me

by Rob Okun

Were he still alive, my father would have turned 101 on New Year’s Day. At least that’s when we would have celebrated his birthday. Accurate record-keeping was rare in the village he came from in Pinsk, Russia. Growing up, Dad said his birthday may have been in mid-November since he was named Joseph, after the biblical figure whose Torah portion is chanted in synagogues at that time of year.

You may recall from Sunday school — or the hit musical Joseph and His Technicolor Dreamcoat — that Joseph was sold to a neighboring tribe by his brothers, jealous that he was their father’s favorite. His brothers also didn’t like the dreams Joseph had suggesting, that he, their much younger brother, was destined to lead them. When he went to find his shepherd-brothers tending their flock, they stripped him of his rainbow-colored tunic, threw him in a pit and prepared to slaughter him. Persuaded by another brother not to kill him, they settled on selling him to the Ishmaelites for 20 pieces of silver. The betrayal Joseph experienced may have been more dramatic than many of us have experienced — or have heard of — but his story still serves as a cautionary tale. Indeed, during his lifetime, my father and his family were betrayed by one of his brothers.

Biblical Joseph, although he arrived in Egypt as a slave, landed on his feet, eventually becoming an indispensable advisor to the Pharoah, especially valued for his ability to interpret dreams. My father, who arrived in the U.S. as boy, had a similar gift, not so much for dream work but for what’s essential to that work — understanding people and human nature. He knew that peoples’ fears and uncertainties about the future sometimes clouded their best thinking. He understood that sometimes longtime friends and allies harbor secret agendas. Nevertheless, he always did his utmost to find the best in everyone, along the way reaching for his highest self and standing for that possibilty in others. That’s one of the lessons I’ve learned from his life.

My father was patient, rarely raised his voice, and spoke so lovingly and respectfully to and about his wife, my mother, that without expressly lecturing about it, he modeled for his children both how to act toward women and how to be a man. He was unusually gentle — quiet, steady, calm under pressure, an effective leader. He was a devoted father, operated a successful business, and was honorary life president of our temple. He paid tribute to the dead by overseeing burials and maintaining the cemetery grounds. Growing up I got used to hearing the funeral director’s voice on the other end of the phone asking, “Is your father there?” Today, a hundred years after his birth and 20 years after his death, he remains my role model. I feel his presence in my life, stronger than ever.

In my work with men over the years, both at the Men’s Resource Center for Change and in my private counseling practice, I’ve always carried his quiet, steady love. I’ve witnessed the tearful yearning adult sons have for the soothing love a healthy relationship with their fathers can bring. Our work, which encourages men to cultivate their softer, gentler sides — to push past their resistance to maintaining the tough guise of conventional masculinity — invites men to open to healing the wounds of the past. MRC tries to show men how to not let those wounds obscure their vision in the present. Yet for some, it remains and arduous, perilous journey. They may appear to authentically express a gentler, humanized masculinity but are too bound up in their old hurts and the old ways to fully get there. But since a key characteristic of men’s work is that it’s an ongoing, lifelong process, a journey worth continuing.

We don’t know what Joseph’s brothers talked about on their way home after selling him into slavery. While one of his brothers went back (too late) to free him, the rest were too blind to revisit what they had done. Undoubtedly they didn’t ask themselves: “How can we uncover a more collaborative brand of masculinity when the old ways of competitive, manipulative masculinity still holds sway over us?” Today, all these generations later, conventional manhood’s grip still seeks to control our lives.

In our efforts to recognize, to understand, and to cultivate humanized masculinity, it’s important to learn to discern when that part of us is authentic and when it is pretense. This is critically important to any men’s work, essential to the process. We all need role models, our Josephs, to offer us a handhold in life. For the Biblical Joseph and for my father, it didn’t matter how heavy or how many colors adorned their coats since nothing could obscure their understanding of an open heart. May that someday be true for the rest of us.