Earlier this week I called my Dad to wish him "Happy Father's Day!" He is 82 years old and lives with his dog Rocky in Big Timber, Montana, a small ranching community couched between the Crazy and Absaroka-Beartooth Mountains, where my great grandfather homesteaded at the turn of the 20th Century and I was born. In winter, Dad traps furs, carves wildlife scenes and fishes. In the summer, he chops wood, tends his garden and fishes. Recently, he started attending an exercise class to help him stay in shape.
My Mom died in 1997. She and my Dad married when they were still in High School, had 3 kids of their own, adopted two more and raised 13 foster children. After the kids were all gone, they turned their house into an assisted living facility for older adults and while Dad worked in the woods, Mom attended to the 3 older ladies who bordered with them.
When I was younger, I remember Dad and Mom would argue sometimes. My Mom had a viscous temper which could erupt seemingly without provocation. But never once did my Dad raise a hand to her and most every time it was he who apologized. Here was a man who climbed mountains for 12 to 14 hours a day, packing a 25 pound chainsaw along with his other sawyer gear, cutting down 80 to 100 foot pine and spruce and larch. He could press 220 pounds with ease, and defined himself in his ability to work hard and care for his family. But on those few occasions when he argued with Mom he taught me that the real strength of a man was not the size of his arms but the size of his heart and his ability to set aside his ego, own his part in the disagreement and say, "I'm sorry!"
I often think of my Dad when another rape survivor arrives at the entrance to Sexual Assault Services or a child with a bruised face and tangled hair walks into the Corbett Trauma Center for her counseling session. I wonder what happened to other men, who unlike my Dad, think so poorly of themselves that they need to prove their manhood by committing acts of indescribable violence towards a woman or child. It truly makes me sad and, at times, even causes me to despair. And then I wonder what would happen to these women and children if the Crisis Center weren't there 24 hours a day, 365 days a year with its doors wide open, ready to offer sanctuary and healing.
A few years ago, my coworkers and I started a men's group called Men Stopping Violence against Women and Children. We met, we learned, we gathered food for the Crisis Center, Spring and Family Justice Center, we formed a safety committee to support Voices of Strength and Take Back the Night and we tried to raise awareness. After three years, the group lost steam and no longer meets. Fortunately, thanks to a grant from Verizon, that's about to change. Starting soon, we will re-establish ourselves with the help of Ben Atherton-Zeman, spokesperson for the National Organization for Men Against Sexism (www.nomas.org), and our allies from the Sexual Violence Task Force of Tampa Bay and the Crisis Center. Ben has devoted his life to ending sexual violence and to redefining the role of men in our society. We are more than fortunate to have his counsel and guidance.
This week, as you reflect upon and celebrate the man who you call Dad, I hope you will also think about joining our renewed effort to end violence. Our dream of creating a community of true equality and respect will always remain just beyond our reach if the people who serve as the guiding light and conscience of the Crisis Center are not there leading the way. Please stay tuned for upcoming trainings and events and, even more importantly, take time from your busy lives to join us and give your support to this important cause. We need you.
