“No Duele”. - A Mexican Father after whooping his son.
There’s a boy out there growing up under a terrible father. He’s not a boomer-era stereotype, but an emotionally immature man who thinks he’s building a son but is breaking him instead. This father yells and curses, believing it toughens the boy. He sneers at the colors purple, pink in his son’s drawings, calling it “fucking gay,” as if self-expression is a weakness (not knowing purple was once the color of royalty). He exposes the boy to violence, drunkenness, and uncertainty, claiming it builds character. He insists his way of living, full of flawed, chaotic, drunk, and toxic behavior is the only path worth following.
This boy is left confused, scared, and angry. He might lash out one day, raising a fist to his father in public, getting himself arrested for an assault or attempted murder charge. Or he’ll work tirelessly to escape, cutting ties with everything that man represents. Either way, the relationship is trashed. It maybe not shattered, but far from healthy. Worse, the cycle can continue.
That boy, if he doesn’t find a way out, might grow into a terrible father himself, passing on the same bullshit pain and suffering to another innocent soul.
Que lastima.
This father isn’t just strict; he’s abusive, cloaking his failures in the guise of discipline. He creates an imaginary enemy for his son: the world itself. He tells the boy he’s the only sound person in his life, a lie that isolates and manipulates. The boy believes every good person is out to hurt him.
This father might have been a victim once, carrying his own unhealed wounds, but he never learned to overcome his fears. Instead, he projects them onto his son, mistaking control for care. We’re all smart enough to know the difference between discipline and abuse. This father doesn’t know how to love.
“I would like for you to find me so I can hit you for every year you weren’t there”. — Journal Entry from 2022
Miguel Torres/Suarez or whatever fucking last name he uses, could have been a terrible father. I barely knew him growing up, and I’m grateful for it. The little I saw was enough: a man who thought living like a chingon gangster was cool and threw around the N-word (he’s Mexican) without a damn care in the world. He was emotionally immature, volatile, and utterly incapable of being the father I needed.
The only story I heard about is when he and my uncle had a .44 Magnum pulled on them by my very pissed off abuelo.
I’ve asked my mom once what the hell she was thinking when she hooked with him, but then again, she was a chamaca (17-18 years old) when she had his child. She didn’t even know what she was doing!
I can’t even describe what Miguel looks like and I’m glad I can’t.
As a few years, I tracked him down once, piecing together his number through a stranger and a long-lost uncle. There was no real reason or urge to look for him. It felt like a side quest encouraged by my grandparents. I didn’t want to reconnect. I went through more trouble than I should have to find the guy after 15 plus years of nothing.
We spoke briefly, and his voice didn’t excite me. It sounded like a stranger on the other line. I didn’t feel like a kid talking to his dad.
He suggested we hang out so I could meet my “siblings” but wouldn’t even give me his address. Last I heard, he was in the desert.
That same year, I got to meet that same uncle who had the gun pulled on him around the holidays. I even got a chance to meet a tia from Mexico who always wondered about me. I heard Miguel had swung by my uncle’s home to see his sister but bounced after 10 minutes. My uncle said he does that often.
A few months went by and set a random day to meet. We met in a McDonald’s parking lot at night. I was craving some large fries with no salt, but I would have thrown it up. I was anxious to meet a father I barely knew. An incredibly tiny part of me wanted to hug him and tell him how much I missed him (I lied to myself).
He pulled up in a raised Ford pickup truck, seat leaned back, and a ridiculously large chain around his neck.
His other son, my “brother” sat in the back, looking thugged out just like him. I can’t remember if he was younger or older than me.
They never stepped out to greet me. I got a handshake. I leaned against the truck door, trading five minutes of bullshit about life and spare time. He mentioned he had some important shit to take care and meeting up with me was on the way. Then we went our separate ways. I sat in my car for a few minutes thinking what a shitty experience that was.
No mames.
That meeting could’ve broken me. I chuckled because those 5 minutes were gone forever. I should have stayed home and watched a movie. I could’ve hated him and dragged him out of the truck to beat his ass in front of his boy. But I chose differently. I didn’t strike or criticize him (then), though the anger was there. I didn’t want to go to jail for beating down a pendejo. He didn’t deserve it.
He's probably a broken kid trying to be better for his family.
I didn’t waste any more mental energy searching for him or those siblings. That energy is too precious, and I’ve got none to spare. I hope they’re doing well.
Instead, I leaned on my pastor and a therapist who shared their experiences with me about what it means to be a good man, more than Miguel ever could be for me. I’m blessed I didn’t turn out like him. But breaking that cycle wasn’t easy, and it’s still a fight. It would be easier to be like him. What kid doesn’t want a badass truck, and an iced-out chain gained through possibly questionable circumstances?
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If you’re reading this or if you’re afraid of becoming a terrible father know this: you can break the cycle. It’s hard, messy, and takes everything you’ve got, but it’s worth it. Here’s how I’ve done it, and how you can start:
1. Feel the Pain, Then Let It Go: Acknowledge the anger and hurt your father caused. I spent years wrestling with rage over mine, but holding onto it only gave him power. Therapy helped me name the pain (ese guey or this freaking guy) and release it. Find someone who can listen. Even yelling into a pillow or talking crap to the heavy bag as you hit it helps.
2. Seek Better Examples: I didn’t have a father to show me how to be a man, so I found others. My Abuelo, pastors, therapists, even friends’ dads showed me patience, accountability, and strength. Look for men who embody what you want to be: kind but firm, vulnerable but grounded. Watch how they handle conflict, love their families, or face failure. You don’t need a father; you need models.
3. Redefine Strength: My father thought strength was yelling and acting tough. I learned it’s showing up consistently, admitting when you’re wrong, and being vulnerable when it matters. Let yourself cry or laugh. Strength isn’t a mask; it’s authenticity. Practice it daily, even when it feels foreign. You’ll get better at it.
4. Protect Your Peace: Meeting my father as an adult showed me he wasn’t for me. I could’ve kept chasing him, but I chose to walk away. If your father’s toxicity still seeps into your life, set boundaries. Limit contact or cut it entirely if you must. You’re not betraying family. You’re saving yourself and your real family.
5. Be the Man You Needed: I’m not a father yet, but when I am, I want to be the man I needed as a boy: patient, present, and unafraid to show love (the tough and caring types). Start now by being that for others. Mentor a kid, coach a team, or just listen to a friend’s son. Show them the world isn’t cruel, that they don’t have to fight to be enough.
Gentlemen, these boys need us. You don’t have to be perfect. Perfect fathers aren’t real and anyone who says they exist is full of it. Just better than the fathers who failed them. Be the uncle, friend, or coach who shows them they can be nerds, jocks, or anything in between. Teach them to walk with their head high and shoulders back, not out of bravado, but confidence. Let them color their paper pink, purple, or other whacky ass colors, ask big questions, and explore life’s wonders. Show them the world doesn’t have to be despised.
If the father gets offended by your influence, you’ve got a choice: persist or walk away. There’s no shame in keeping yourself safe. But if you can, keep showing up for that muchacho. You’re not raising someone else’s child. You’re proving the world can be kind.
I wrote this because I want to be a good man. Learning to be a man without a father was hard, and it still is. But I’m fighting to be a non-terrible example, for myself and the boy/girl I’ll raise one day.
Brother, be a good man. Show these boys how to do the same. Together, we can break the cycle. Do it not just for them, but for us.
P.S. Miguel, if ever stumble upon this post, te perdono por no ser mi padre. I forgive you for not being my father. Maybe, we’ll be good in a few years or in the next life.
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