An absent father doesn’t have to define you. Sometimes it makes you better.
Right around the time I was sitting with the reality of Xavy growing up without his dad around, I came across this piece written by Jeff Zelaya. It’s written from a son’s perspective — a boy who grew up without a father, carried the weight of that absence into his early adulthood, and eventually made a decision to become something different.
I shared it then because it gave me something I needed: proof that the absence of a father doesn’t have to become the story. It can become the reason for a better one.
The following is based on a personal essay by Jeff Zelaya, originally published on jeffzelaya.com.
He never met his father. The man left days after he was born, and as he got older, the resentment slowly built into something that could have pulled him under — except his mother wouldn’t let it. She did everything alone, filling every gap she could, and she did it without making him feel like a burden for the hole that remained.
He still remembers the Boy Scouts camping trip he turned down because all the other boys were bringing their dads. He never asked his mom to take him to a basketball game, even though he knew she would have gone without hesitation. The absence shaped small decisions quietly, over years.
Transitioning from a boy to a man was hard without a male role model to look toward. He gave his mother a difficult time — erratic, irresponsible, not quite knowing how to grow up without a guide. Research backs up what he lived: fatherless children are statistically more likely to struggle in school, develop behavioral problems, and carry that deficit into adulthood.
But in his early twenties, something shifted. A few life-altering moments brought him to a decision point.
He chose not to become a statistic.
He chose to become a real man — one who would never abandon his children, who would take full ownership of his responsibilities, who would treat others the way he wanted to be treated, who would lead by example rather than just intention.
When he made that decision, things started falling into place. Not perfectly, not all at once — but the direction became clear. And part of that becoming was learning to forgive. He never got the chance to say it to his father’s face, but he forgave him in his heart. He didn’t forget. But he forgave.
Then his son Elijah was born, and when he held him for the first time, something unexpected happened. Instead of anger at his father, he felt something close to gratitude.
Thank you, Dad, for not being there.
Because of what you did, I know how important a father is. Because of what you did, I’m going to make sure I’m always there. Because of what you did, I’m going to be better.
That’s what I hope for Xavy too. Not that his father’s absence won’t leave a mark — I know it probably will. But that one day, whatever that mark is, it becomes the very thing that makes him choose differently.
Related