Life Lessons From an Absentee Father

To the best of my knowledge, this Plaque and old hat, are the only things left of Walter Williams II. These are the sole earthly possessions I retain as keepsakes to remember my father.

Walter Williams II was the type of guy who became popular wherever he went. He was funny, gregarious, easy going, quick to laugh, took little seriously, and had the ability to find humor in the worse of situations. He loved the Rolling Stones, Steven King’s novels, horror films, and Mad Magazine. He had this ability to do seemingly anything he set his mind to.

Despite all this, he was not a good father. If I were to be honest, were it a contest, he would not have even won a bronze medal.

My father was not cruel or abusive. On the contrary, he loved children and staunchly believed it was wrong to ever physically discipline them. When he was around, we had some of the most amazing times together. The problem is those times were rare. Walter Williams II was an absentee father.

Some of my earliest memories of him involves receiving short letters he wrote from prison or hoping he would call us. On several occasions, we visited him in facilities or halfway homes. At other times I eagerly anticipated a rare visit. Contact with him was sporadic at best. There were many nights I would lie awake wondering where he was or hoping he was safe.

The last day, I saw my father, was when he came by for a visit. Though, he did not stay as long as promised, he still gave me $5 so I could have fun with my friends at a local arcade. He promised he would see me again later.

Later never happened.

Barely two months after his visit he was gone. Murdered in some petty dispute with an equally petty man. I was 12 when the funeral director handed me the memorial plaque on that rainy afternoon next to his open casket. The funeral home was all but empty. Those rare and few individuals my father genuinely called friends were dead long before him.

I do not write this to slander him all these years later. While I do not condone his behavior, or poor choices, I do feel genuine sympathy and love for my father. I can see him more clearly then I did as a child. I understand his inability to be a good father stemmed from a lifetime of…