Dad,
I was sitting in your home office over Thanksgiving break and sifting through your archives of one of the tougher times in my life. You and I were icy to one another while I was in town, a hangover from March 2021’s Spring Break visit that ended so poorly. But when I re-read 16 year old emails, letters, and documents sent or collected on my behalf, it shook me to my core.
When you’re young like I once was, you believe that great parenthood is a given, that adults have no emotion, and that they are there with no regard for their own pain. What I didn’t take into account is how conflicted and hurt you must have been while doing everything in your power to stand up for me before anyone even considered joining you.
I am sorry, dad. I am sorry for hurting our name and for re-writing what would have been a beautiful story of legacy and perseverance. Being an Academy graduate and my father, at once, must have been hell for you. Still, you found a way to be compassionate to me, even before you knew whether or not you had good reason to be.
In my 38 years, I never once gave you credit for your compassion and belief in me. You were hard on me, really hard on me. At times, I hated you for it (as I am sure Alexis hates me). But sometimes, you were like a savior. There were three distinct moments that I remember over the last sixteen years.
No. 1: It was December 7, 2005 when you showed up at your alma mater in New London, Connecticut. The gravity of the situation was palpable. At the time, I had no idea what was happening to me. Your presence was the one sure thing. You were there six months sooner than we both expected, I’d been counting down the days to the May afternoon that I’d earn my commission. But instead, you found me in a fetal position in December.
It was one simple act that stood out to me. It seemed like such a small gesture but you left the room, drove into town from campus, and brought me food from Panera Bread so that I wouldn’t have to face others on the Academy grounds to eat for the first time since I was removed from my room a few days earlier.
A parent wants their child to be strong, immovable, and invulnerable. You accepted that I was not and you realized it fast. To that point, I hadn’t eaten in 36 hours and you knew that I didn’t want to leave that room. The shame of the situation had gotten the best of me.
It was one of the many examples of how I left compounded pain unresolved and unaccounted for.
The way that you and I operated over the years, since, pushed me forward in ways. The less I needed you, the prouder of me you were. And the prouder of me that you were, the better I felt about myself, the better I felt about myself, the more beautifully we got along. Sons and fathers, sons and fathers.
You believed in me when few others did. And so, for years, I kept my numerous adversities and setbacks to myself. We stumbled on this email that you’d enjoy. While I was in solitary confinement, you had the wherewithal to reach out to the same institution that caused you so much hurt and ask for your son’s transcripts.
No. 2: So when you flew to Columbus, Ohio because of an internet troll harassing and threatening my family in December 2018, you knew that it had to be bad. The Academy experience didn’t mentally break me, not at all. I was ready for that pain but I wasn’t ready for everything afterwards. Eventually, the lack of therapy caught up to me. I had my first of three psychological breaks that would happen over the next three years (2018, December 2020, and March 2021). It was your deep compassion that I credited with helping me find a way forward in that moment. I was in a fetal position again; I was isolated again.
I was away from home for nearly three days when Lindsey called you to come counsel your son. And instead of being the hard ass that we all know and love, you hopped on a plane that same day (which wasn’t cheap) and you did just that. When she told me that you were waiting at our home for me, I had no choice but to finally buck up, face the music, and come home. Without you and your guidance, I am sure that our family would have broken in that moment. I wouldn’t have another psychological break as critical as that one for nearly three years.
No. 3: It was March 19, 2021 and I was at your house once again. Our entire family was together and all was well. That next day, March 20, 2021, I’d woken up to a frantic phone call that changed the trajectory of 2021. The call was from someone who seemed protective of me and one of the very few who I trusted with the vulnerability of my post-traumatic stress. When that person called from New York and told me about some media investigation into my life, I didn’t understand why. No matter how many times she added that “everything was going to be okay,” I couldn’t see how. You were alongside of me, almost fifteen years to the day when I experienced something similar.
I absolutely spiraled that day. At first, you couldn’t tell. I was on the phone with close friend after close friend. And then I worked out. And then I swam beyond the surf for a bit.
But by nightfall, I was in the garage and pacing back and forth. You begged me to come upstairs and be with my family but in a cloud of what felt like endless despair, I didn’t see that as an option. That night, I was on the phone with the person who alerted me as she tried desperately to talk me off of a cliff. The camera recording in the garage probably stored the following phrase dozens of times: “I can’t go through this again! I can’t go through this again!” It was the ambiguity of the idea of media interest that those closest to me would understand was a crippling trigger of mine. She was one of few.
And then, at around 11 pm, I placed the phone down on that bench next to your golf cart and I just wanted to end it. At that moment, the Navarre Beach Police Department showed up, alerted by a phone call. They were at your first floor door. Seven squad cars, nine police officers in tactical gear, and your doorbell. You calmly walked downstairs and in that moment, I wiped my face and tried to mitigate the situation out of fear of escalation beyond either of our control. You were angry, you had something in your hand, and all that I could think about was how any false move by either of us meant that you could have been hurt or killed.
Together, we found a way to convince them to leave without issue. You looked at me, shook your head and went back upstairs as if nothing happened. You were unaware of what caused the melee or my spiraling condition and you didn’t ask. But you did ask me to come up with you and I did.
That next day, you didn’t push me away like I expected you would. You pulled me close and you asked me to stay in Florida with a house full of family that would never turn their backs on me. After a psychological break, it would make absolute sense to stay at home around love and security. I didn’t listen, I was in Williamsburg, Brooklyn by that evening. Selfishly, I cut my time with family short to do what I felt was best for me.
It was one of the many examples of how I left compounded pain unresolved and unaccounted for. Over the next few days in Brooklyn and Manhattan: I worked, I studied art, I joyously walked the streets, I spent time with friends who loved me, and I mostly pretended that everything was okay. In New York, not a word was said about the events of the day before. The photos that I have of that few days in New York were joyous ones.
When the dust settled, you asked me about that night in the garage. And when I told you everything (and I mean everything), it was a response of acceptance and not shame. For that, I am grateful.
Had I focused on help then, who knows how much better my life would have been by now. I should have listened, stayed, and fixed what I’d broken within me and around me. I am deeply sorry for the stress and pain that I have caused you and my family over the years. Thank you for the grace, acceptance, and occasional compassion that you showed me in return.
Dad, you really are a hero of mine. You deserve to be written about, not just for what you accomplished - personally - but for what you enabled for your children.
Lesson: parenthood isn’t a given, good parenthood is even rarer. If you have it, don’t waste it on ego, selfishness, and the rest.
My very best,
Web
What a touching testimony! Opening up and dealing with the past is critical to moving forward with excellence. I appreciate your openness, humility and desire to move forward. Thank you for sharing your setbacks and acknowledging your downfall. We are all imperfect humans needing occasional compassion. You and your siblings make me want to be the best dad I can be. It’s a journey I try to achieve. I’m thankful to you for acknowledging what I meant to you during those difficult times. Telling me now while I able to hear, understand and comprehend means the world to me…… because I then know you understand FATHERLY LOVE.
Love you son. Now you be the best dad you can be to my granddaughters.
Your testimony is a powerful tool in sharing what God has done in your heart and is continuing to do in your life. It's important for us to realize the value of our testimony and the support system of parents, family and real friends. Not only do our testimonies represent us humbling ourselves to Christ it can also continue to bring others to Him when we share them. Jim H Smith (uncle)