Entry #1 – Son of My Father

Diaries of a Father

How deeply do our actions as fathers influence our sons?

The way we show up, the way we carry ourselves as men – how much of that becomes the blueprint they inherit?

And how are those patterns, both good and bad, passed down for our sons to one day become fathers themselves?

Gratitude

I want to start with gratitude – for the life and upbringing I was lucky enough to have.

The psychological privilege of growing up with both of my parents under one roof is something I think about often, and something I’ll never take for granted. It set me on a positive course early in life, one not everyone is given.

In the Western world, one in four boys grow up without the influence of their biological fathers. Around forty to fifty percent of children experience parental separation or divorce before adulthood. That alone shapes how a child learns to navigate the world – how they approach love, conflict, and responsibility.

Still, there are times when staying together does more harm than good – when the home itself turns toxic. Both realities leave their mark. Understanding that has been a powerful, subconscious influence on how I’ve chosen to move through life and how I now think about fatherhood.

My Father

As a boy, I saw my father as a superhero – a jacked, hardworking, blue-collar man. He was the kind who’d be up at 4 a.m., out the door before sunrise, grinding for his family. In my eyes, he was a real-life 90s action hero like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Stallone – and I wanted to be just like him. Wearing tight black T-shirts like him, always flexing my biceps to show how I’m strong just like Dad.

Only later did I understand what I was really seeing: a man who took pride in himself. He trained every day, before or after work, not just for vanity but for discipline. The consistency, the self-respect – those were the real lessons.

He was also a quiet man. I’m sure he carried plenty of thoughts he never shared, internal dialogues he struggled to voice – something I understand now more than ever as a grown man with his own struggles. It was the 90s: before “toxic masculinity” became a label, before it was acceptable for men to speak openly about their feelings. Back then, being a good man meant being competent, composed, and never wearing your emotions on your sleeve.

And competent he was. I watched him fix everything around the house, spending time with him build furniture in the basement workshop, and working on our cars in the garage instead of taking them to a mechanic. It seemed like he could build or repair anything. Those traits – that quiet competence, that resourcefulness – became part of me.

Growing Up

Of course, it wasn’t all admiration and ease. Like every father and son, we had our moments – head-butting, misunderstanding each other. I think when a man can’t fully express what’s going on inside, it finds other outlets: anger, frustration, silence.

As a kid, I didn’t grasp that. Children rarely do. We see our parents as finished products, not people still figuring life out. But now, as an adult, I see it differently. When our parents were raising us, they were still growing up too. I’m not sure anyone ever reaches a point where they’ve got it all figured out.

A New World

Today, I’m grateful for the abundance of conversation around men’s mental health – the podcasts, books, and voices encouraging men to look inward. The idea that strength and vulnerability aren’t opposites but allies.

My father didn’t have that luxury. His generation’s silence built my generation’s awareness. Because of that, I can speak more freely, think more deeply, and hopefully lead more compassionately.

When I become a father, my goal is simple: to build on what my father gave me. To take what was great, learn from what could’ve been done differently, and carry it forward. I hope to embody the same competence and strength he did – but also to create an environment where my son feels safe to understand himself, to name what he feels, and to lead with benevolence, humility, and compassion for those who weren’t as privileged.

If I can do that – if I can be for my son what my father was for me, and then some – I’ll know I’ve done my job.

– Written by Michael Brion