Reflections on Fatherhood: Memories of Love and Loss from Childhood

My father left when I was just six, the same age my son is now. While I don't have a vivid memory of his departure—it was crafted through a series of events rather than a single day—what remains clear is the emotional void that followed. I can’t recall the moment he walked out, but the absence lingered vividly for years.

The ache of his absence was profound, a vast yearning that sometimes led me to believe I might simply fade away. Memories of his presence, as well as the emptiness left behind, shaped my childhood. I recall a distant phone call from overseas one Christmas where the familiar voice felt oddly hollow, an encounter that heightened my sense of loss.

When children lose something or someone significant, it imprints on their memories, marking a desperate attempt to cling to the essence of what once was. It becomes imperative to replace that void with something warm and genuine, or else the shadows of loss will linger far too long.

Before he departed, my father had a nightly ritual—he watched television alone after my mother, worn out from caring for her four children, had gone to bed. I shared a bedroom with my brother, who was a sound sleeper. I was the listener, lying quietly while the house settled into stillness. I remember hearing the blender whirring in the kitchen as he made milkshakes, a small sign that he was still awake and waiting.

Ever so softly, I would tiptoe to the door, careful not to disturb my brother and peek out into the hallway. There he was—a silhouette against the warm glow of the lamp, inviting me to join him on the couch. The intimacy of those moments remains in my heart. Sitting next to him with my own milkshake in hand felt precious, offering a fleeting sense of warmth amid the impending distance.

Growing up in Houston in 1966, I watched a local program known as The Late Show. It wasn't a nation-wide phenomenon but rather a cozy community fixture showcasing old black-and-white films with a jingle that resolutely rings in my ears:

Despite the turbulence that marred my father's life and the love that seemed unable to help hold our family together, he instilled in me a sense of being cherished. Those late-night couch sessions were a sanctuary. Even now, as I sit with my own son after a divorce that has drastically changed our lives, I reflect on the lessons my father unknowingly imparted. His love offered a healing balm for loss, even when he himself was the cause of that absence.

I strive to embody the father my son needs—one who won’t leave, who will always be there to reciprocate that depth of love. I aim to be the figure he looks for, the dependable presence in his life. Recalling my father, young and faltering through his own challenges, I see the moments he created for me amidst his struggles.

As we sat together watching The Late Show, illuminated by the backdrop of a cartoon city and a glowing moon, I can still visualize the magic of that experience. The sweet vanilla milkshake, perfectly blended with chunks of ice, is etched into my memory—a symbol of comfort during a time of uncertainty. What I can't seem to recall, however, is the moment he disappeared from my life.

About the author

Mark Greene, an Emmy-winning animator and author, explores the complexities of masculinity through writing and coaching. Formerly a senior editor for The Good Men Project, he shares insights on navigating relationships amid societal challenges. Follow him on BlueSky at @remakingmanhood.bsky.social. A variant of this reflection was first published on the NYC Dads Group blog in 2014.

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Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash.

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