But there’s other stuff that I carry in my head and sometimes I trip over that too.
Like when I was small my father used to shout at me when I did silly things or stumbled over my words at the dinner table.
He wasn’t a particularly mean or bad man, and he didn’t drink much. He was just a creature of his time when fathers were expected to be lawmakers and the head of the household. Even if at the core of their being they were mild-mannered introverts, fathers were required to take charge and stamp their authority.
For men like my dad, a scientist and academic who would have preferred to be left alone with his thoughts and books, this meant reluctantly joining in the daily chaos of family life and assuming a mantle of sovereignty.
He is long gone now, but his emotional distance and unpredictable outbursts have left footprints in a dark forest I still sometimes wander through trying to find the sunlight. I don’t believe I am alone on this path — many men struggle with their relationships to their fathers.
All this has been triggered after watching the film Deliver Me From Nowhere, which centres on the making of Bruce Springsteen’s haunting stripped-back acoustic album Nebraska in 1982.
The film shows the American-born global rock star at a low point in his career as he struggles with fame, depression and creative direction. At the film’s core is Springsteen’s tortured relationship with his father, a remote and abusive alcoholic who we see in flashbacks at the kitchen table drinking alone every night offering nothing but criticism for his young romantic dreamer of a son.
The movie’s darkest moment comes when a young Springsteen approaches his father from behind with a baseball bat during one of the many explosive fights between his parents.
The scene returned me to times when my own father would tear Jimi Hendrix posters off my bedroom wall, drag me up the street for a haircut, or slap me around the head until eventually, as an older teenager, I stood up to him and said: “leave me alone”.
For the next 15 years he did exactly that — I don’t remember ever having an easy conversation with him until a couple of years before he died when he mellowed enough for us to have a chat about a shared interest like music.
Being a father is a difficult thing. The balance of leadership, example, kindness and gentle strength is a difficult one to maintain for years on end. Occasionally we fall off the pedestal and our fragility is exposed. Giant books have been written about this.
When my son was born, I was determined never to be a distant or a judgmental father. I tried my best to be a present and supportive dad. Whether I’ve been successful or not, only my son can really tell. But he is now raising his own three sons in a deeply involved and positive way, which to me says the sad, remote father-son cycle can be broken.
A lot of men have difficult relationships with their fathers, but not many can turn their conflicts into a rich seam of music and poetry to touch the hearts and minds of millions like Springsteen. Most men bury their failures and just get on with things. But they always surface somewhere like choking weeds with sprawling roots. Art can help tap into these roots and shine a healing light on them. Now, where’s my guitar? I’ve got these words, all I need are the chords and a roof-lifting voice.
