I Need My Dad

“He remembered they were only men, a breath that passes never to return.” Psalm 78:39

On May 8, as I was cutting a client’s hair, my phone started blowing up. I took a quick moment to check what was happening and saw the words HABEMUS PAPAM! I felt my emotions well up, which surprised me as I’d been paying little attention to the conclave to avoid getting wrapped up in the drama the media, Catholic and secular, creates around it. During my lunch break and prayer time I really began to cry, aware that I had a father again.

On February 16, 2025 my dad died after a long, slow decline. Two months and a few days later Pope Francis died also after a long, slow decline. In both cases, I had a much stronger reaction to their deaths than I expected. As I drove to my mom’s house on the Tuesday after Easter, I recognized another similarity between these two dads. I had rejected both of them because of the intense pain their imperfections caused me. 

Between the ages of 10 and 12 my relationship with my dad began to fall apart. Underlying mental health issues along with difficult family relationships challenged him in ways he didn’t know how to handle. He began exhibiting behavior that made me anxious. I didn’t know how to cope with him being so different from what I was accustomed to, so I rejected him. As I got into my teens, my self-protective rejection of him turned prideful. This man was not going to get away with hurting me, so I stripped him of his authority and became my own father. This went on until my mid 30s when we slowly began to reconcile, a process that played out until his death.

When Pope Francis was elected, I had just come back into the Catholic Church. Initially I was inspired by him, but the inspiration didn’t last long. He said upsetting things publicly and put distressing priests into positions of authority. As with my biological dad, I initially tried to accept him, despite what I saw as imperfections and, in some cases, betrayals, but at a certain point, I reached my limit. While on the phone one day with Mom, I declared that I was done listening to him. The pain he caused me and my self-imposed self-governance would no longer tolerate his broken humanity. This too veered from legitimate sadness into pride.

One afternoon over lunch I was speaking to a priest friend about some of the problems I had with not only Pope Francis but also with another group of priests I was involved with. After I finished ranting, he calmly encouraged me to address the issues in a respectful, productive way. He ended by warning me to be careful that I didn’t project the wounds from my father onto the priests in my life. BOOM! Wake up call!

Biological fathers and popes have huge burdens to carry. Not only their legitimate responsibilities and duties to be the best leaders they can be and to love sacrificially, but also the burdens of the sometimes unrealistic expectations of their biological and spiritual children. Our misunderstandings, our pride, and the wounds we carry can lead us to cruelly slam the door in the faces of the men who are loving and leading us in the only way they know how. How hurt must my dad have been to be told over and over again through my words and actions, “you aren’t good enough.” Biological fathers and popes have huge burdens to carry, including the burdens of the sometimes unrealistic expectations of their biological and spiritual children.Tweet This

In “My Song” Elton John says, “I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do. My gift is my song.” He also speaks of what he would do if he had a large house or if he was a sculptor or magician. He wishes he had more to offer, but he doesn’t so he gives what he can. 

My dad was raised by parents who neglected and mistreated him in many ways. They did what they could, but it was lacking. This was the environment he was formed in. Pope Francis was formed by his environment, which impacted the kind of spiritual father he was. My expectation of perfection in others (and myself) has kept me from pursuing being a biological and spiritual father, and I suspect it does the same in many other men. Because I knew I couldn’t do it perfectly, I figured why do it at all. This, I’m sure, has played a part in the decline of civility and the rise in lawlessness in society as well as the shortage of priests and religious men. This expectation has to change or the Church, society, and individuals will continue to suffer unnecessarily. 

The book Light of the World: Meditations on The Traditional Mass by Dom Benedict Bauer includes a meditation on the Octave of Saint Joseph, Patron of the Universal Church. The reading, from Luke 2:51, ends with “and he [Jesus] went down with them…and was subject to them.” Dom Bauer then says “The Son of the omnipotent God obeys, as His legitimate father on earth, Saint Joseph, who is a mere creature.” My dad was a creature, as was our deceased holy father Francis as well as our current holy father. Flawed and imperfect men should not be completely dismissed for the “fault” of being mere creatures. They are to be loved, and when appropriate, obeyed—even though we may sometimes legitimately differ with them and suffer because of them.

I’m sorry that I’m learning to love this way late but I’m grateful I am learning. I’m sorry Dad and Pope Francis that I dismissed and disrespected you because you are mere creatures like I am. Please pray that I and others will learn to love the fathers we’ve been given while they are here with us to love.