When civilization did kick-in and become the dominant force in human existence (I know, debatable) many of archetypes of manliness were not relinquished easily. Being "strong and silent," stoical, aloof, often tyrannical, continued to be considered "manly" --- and thus descriptive of being fatherly --- until the waning years of the last century. In other words, atavism was the rule rather than the exception for most men, East and West.

I could make a strong argument for much of religious fundamentalism, whether from Islam, Christianity or Judaism, being a desperate effort on the part of the patriarchy to reassert the definitions of "manliness" posited above. And the problem --- yes, I *do* define it as a problem --- is not just occidental. Any number of Asian societies have a long, long way to go toward abandoning the delusions of patriarchical rule. But I think you get the point.

So let's move on from manhood, in general, to fatherhood, in particular.

I'm open to (what could be) deserved brickbats for approaching this subject; I'm not personally a father. I only feel qualified to address the topic because, like everyone else on the planet, I did have a father and I know lots of fathers. My not joining their ranks was a combination of choice and happenstance.

But one has to look no further than to phenomena like the Promise-Keepers, here in the United States, international organizations like Bastard Nation and the poignant testimonies from its adoptee membership, or the lobbying going on against "honor deaths" in countries like Jordan to understand that men have not yet fully reconciled themselves to the duties and responsibilities of fatherhood.

We are all some man's children. Whether he chose to abandon us at birth, doted over us to the point of our being called "spoiled," played the stoic or tyrannical hard taskmaster, was supportive and caring and nurturing, our lives are shaped by that man's influence.

I've found it interesting over the years to find myself envying friends their fathers, only to hear from these friends --- now adults --- how much they feared or resented these same men. I also know men and women, now adults, who absolutely revere their fathers.... but somehow they seem in a minority.

Among my male contemporaries, even those I personally value as friends, I never give assessments of my view of their capabilities as fathers. First, because I don't think I have a right to do that, but secondly because of the score of fathers I know less than a handful seem --- in my view --- do be doing a good job.

• Some are too self-absorbed (again, this is only my opinion;)
• some are more involved in the dynamics of their careers or their marriages than they are with their children --- the children seem like scenery in their lives;
• some should never have become parents because they lack the emotional maturity to handle Life itself.

Certain women I have known have told me that I would be a wonderful father. I love children, after all, and I have a good deal of patience. The only time I readily agreed was when I was in what I considered my "spawning" stage. (Yes, men have "biological clocks," too.) Before and after, I knew that being a father was not for me.

There is a reason for that conclusion: my most vivid memory of my own father is from the last day I spent in my family's home. He beat me down a hallway, angrily questioned me while I was lying on my back on the floor and, dissatisfied with my response, went to load his gun proclaiming that he would kill me.

My mother and aunt attempting to wrestle the weapon from his hands is the last image I have of my life at home. I was sixteen. I packed up my portable typewriter, my adolescent scribblings, and went off to live in the forest until the family of a friend took me in. I never lived at "home" again.

That is probably the reason I've never written about fathers....