6 Emerging Adults 167Eventually she met a man, married him, and he became my stepfather.
He tried with both of us, but by junior high, they were going through divorce
proceedings. As their relationship fell apart, so did ours. I have not talked with
him in nearly 20 years. However, he played a significant role in my under-
standing of who I was as a young man and how I would develop my own
manhood in the absence of my biological father. I can see some of his man-
nerisms in me, which continue to surprise me, and I can appreciate how he
supported a host of endeavors in my young life—from sports to flea market
haggling. However, I do not recall ever speaking with him about my father or
his death. It seemed like a “no-go” topic in the house and his name, life, and
death rarely came up amongst the three of us. Discussions about my biological
father were confined to private drives with my mom over the years.
I began to create a patchwork of male behaviors and characteristics that
I appreciated and wanted to emulate from the men in my life—both those who
I knew and those who I idolized from afar. I came to realize that I had been
doing this all my life, but it became more intentional during my young ado-
lescence. For example, I admired how my coach spoke supportively to us and
was always there, on time and with a loving smile; Magic Johnson’s sports-
manship and ability to pass with style; how a friend’s father would kiss his
wife and tell her she looked pretty before dinner; how a teacher could be both
brilliant and funny while talking passionately about physics; and how movie
actors could be sexy, tender, and tough at the same time.
My adolescence was a time of searching for similarity and affirmation.
I—my mind, body, and actions—were “manly” and the kind of “manly” that
I wanted to emulate. In the absence of having a father, I learned early on that
no man would embody all of the characteristics that I thought comprised the
ideal man, but together—these hundreds of small and large behaviors and
approaches to life would create the quilt of manhood that I could strive for.
I still do this today, but my stitching together of the man I wanted to be was
most active when I was going through puberty and was trying to navigate the
chemical cocktails that were adjusting my body, mind, and synapses.
Not having your biological father to serve as a loose mirror when your
body changes so rapidly was a tough, memorable period for me. I wondered
about everything from when I would grow facial hair (and how I would shave
it) to if I would have hair on my hands like other men and what would my
penis look like. The manhood patchwork worked well to help me develop my
approach to life, but it did nothing to help me understand my body or how to
grow into it.
As my body and mind changed so fast, new questions emerged and they
were ones that I did not want to ask my mom or other trusted people in my life
about. They were ones I felt were for my father and because I did not have one,
I kept them internal. At this point in my life, I knew very little about my father,
and what I had learned was through family and friends. They tended to paint
a rosy picture, I assume because they did not want to hurt me or speak ill of the
dead. The common themes I knew of my father was that he had a razor-sharp
intellect, was a great athlete, and was good looking.
To help fill in the gaps, I began reaching out to other family members and
people who knew my father growing up and in college. When I met them, they