The Wounds a Father Inflicts

The momentous decision I shared in the last post continues to echo in my life to this day. I love my father (as promised, more about how that happened later) and don’t particularly care for my stepfather. Yet I carry my stepfather’s name and my father’s name was buried with him. I’ve often wrestled with whether or not to change my name. Most recently I was reading “Wild at Heart” by John Eldredge who very eloquently exposes the truth about the wounds fathers give their children. He writes,

“Every man carries a wound. I have never met a man without one. No matter how good your life may have seemed to you, you live in a broken world full of broken people. Your mother and father, no matter how wonderful, couldn’t have been perfect. She is a daughter of Eve, and he a son of Adam. So there is no crossing through this country without taking a wound. And every wound, whether assaultive or passive, delivers with it a message. The message feels final and true, absolutely true, because it is delivered with such force. Our reaction to it shapes our personality in very significant ways. From that flows the false self. Most of the men you meet are living out a false self, a pose, which is directly related to this wound.”

It was no secret to me that I was wounded, but up until that moment I’d never really taken the time to identify any single wound as more hurtful than another. At some point I guess there were so many wounds I just learned to duck and cover no matter what. As I read Eldredge it suddenly occurred to me that the deepest wound, perhaps the original wound, was the changing of my name. Stealing the identity of a child and pretending it never existed was the first act of deception in a life that came to be built on lies and illusion. And it wasn’t just the wound itself, but the fact that all the adults played along. When I think of it I’m astounded that this wound that was inflicted by my father, mother and stepdad was flawlessly supported by both my grandmothers, my mom’s eight brothers and sisters, my father’s sister and all their friends. The deceit hidden was an undercurrent to my whole life wasn’t revealed for fifteen years! And it all had to do with my name.