“ Nancy moved out,” I dutifully wrote in my DAY-AT-A-GLANCE® book.

It was April 25, 1987. I was imagining Stephany, my two-year-old, growing up wounded, feeling as I had when my father left me. In 1968, just nineteen years before, following the break-up of his marriage, my father chose to end his life. He left me emotionally scarred and burdened with grief. And now, after five years together, Nancy, my partner, left with our daughter. Shocked, I had no plans for the future; not for Stephany — who I loved most in this world — and not for myself. So it was in that terrible year I too contemplated suicide. Fortunately for Stephany and myself, I did not follow my father to the grave. And, although I shared only fourteen years of his life, I still think of my dad in a positive way.

Our time together showed me how important a father is to his child. Even though our home was at times a wild and tragic place, I still experienced some degree of love, security, and bonding. Though he took his own life, Dad remained my hero; no one could take his place. He was the man, after all, who taught me to walk quietly in the woods and to look people straight in the eyes when I talked. By his example, he demonstrated that it was good to work hard and to take pride in oneself. These simple lessons produced fond memories, yet the primal connection — the need to have a father — was deeper still.

Years after his death, I imagined I saw my father in a crowd of people, or driving past in a car, or standing in line at the grocery store. I wanted my mentor, my companion, my best friend — my dad. Even though he was not successful in the usual sense of the word — wealth and power — he did pass on one of life’s basic truths: children need fathers who will maintain a continuing presence in their lives.

What caused my father’s downfall was his inability to reach out for help. Instead, he isolated himself and failed to recognize situations where he needed support, such as with his drinking and his crumbling marriage. It would have been far nobler of him to have asked for assistance. However, in spite of his limitations, my experiences with him serve and empower my life today.

Over the past nine years, I have spoken with hundreds of men, many with dads who for one reason or another ceased to be in their lives. Every man admitted he wanted to be loved and needed by his father. North American society has yet to realize how essential fathers are to their children’s well-being, and many of us don’t recognize that until they are gone.

“I meant to shock your father into getting some help,” my mother says today, explaining the circumstances of their break-up. “I was at my wits’ end. You see, in the early years, our marriage was a good one. Ed was handsome and witty and lots of fun to be with. As an electrician, he could get a job anywhere... so we traveled. In the 1950s, people who lived as we did were known as ‘boomers.’ I remember once we even chipped in and bought an abandoned airfield in New Mexico and converted it into a drag strip so Ed could race cars for money. We used to spend our weekends at the airfield fooling around and hanging out with friends. Your dad would race his souped-up Willys coupe against other men’s Cadillacs. He won a car or two racing for pink slips. In some ways, your father was like that Willys coupe of his — small and full of surprises. He would be crossing the finish line before those Cadillacs got up to speed.”

My mother always smiles when she talks about dad and his fast cars. He enjoyed his freedom and, at the same time, worked to support the family by moving from one construction project to another. In the late 1950s, our family arrived in Santa Cruz. Dad went to work for a local electrical contractor who was responsible for installing the electrical system that still powers the University of California at Santa Cruz.

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