When I was growing up, people always used to treat being raised by a single mom as a tragedy. “Do you ever wish your dad was around?” I was always perplexed by the interest in my absent father. To me, I never knew what I was missing. I never wished I had a dad to play or watch sports with (I hate sports anyway); to share a beer with; to introduce my non-existent boyfriend to.
I’d rather have never known him than had him there for a part of my childhood only to disappear, like the friends of divorced parents I witnessed growing up. Or worse, have him there every day physically but absent emotionally. The reality is, fathers who are really present—physically and emotionally—are a rarity.
What breaks my heart more, is the absence of the person who fathered me the most—my mother. Sometimes I think it was taking on the roles of both mother and father that killed her. But watching her struggle taught me so much, it prepared me for the professional gl…