Two Dads, One Wound—Two Very Different Endings
The phrase Sins of the Father has lived itself out before my eyes in the stories of two men I deeply love. There is a strange richness in having two fathers who experienced similar childhood wounds, yet emerged with entirely different beliefs about what was possible.
My biological father, Jay, and my stepfather, Dennis, both grew up in homes marked by physical and emotional abuse. Both knew the sting of a hand and the cruelty of a tongue. Both were shamed, belittled, and wounded by their fathers.
Fortunately, neither carried that violence forward. Yet their own wounds took them in very different directions. One found a way to release the sins of the father. One remained trapped by them.
The Wounds We Carry
Dennis was in my life for twenty-five years. He was skilled with electronics, blessed with a rich radio voice, and gifted with a boyish sense of wonder.
His stepfather, Lee, had been a loving force—a man who adopted Dennis as his own and offered him the support every child deserves. Lee later became a gentle grandfather to me.
But Dennis never stopped hearing his biological father’s voice. Despite being loved by us, despite his gifts, despite the joy he brought into a room, he could not receive it. The belief that he was unworthy had been tattooed on his soul in the ink of childhood trauma.
Over time, his wine habit became a crutch, then a chain. He spiraled into addiction not because he lacked strength, but because he carried pain that had been beaten into him and found no other release.
I’m sure he believed he was only hurting himself. Yet when we harm ourselves and refuse to heal, those who love us carry the ache too.
The bloodline gives us history—not destiny.
Releasing the Sins of the Father
My father, Jay, lived through similar torment. His childhood was also steeped in criticism and violence. Yet today, he is one of the most joyful, positive people I know.
Recently, I asked him how he broke free.
He told me that he never liked, admired, or respected his father’s negativity. Instead of becoming him, he chose to study the men he wished to emulate.
He recalled a pivotal moment when he caught himself repeating his father’s favorite phrase: “With my luck…”
He stopped mid-sentence and thought, “Wait a minute. I’m the luckiest guy in the world!”
In that instant, he recognized the inheritance he no longer wanted to carry.
He often speaks lovingly of his mentors: Pop Pop—my mother’s father—who was firm, fair, successful, driven, and exceptional in every way, and his Uncle Kenneth, another steady source of kindness, wisdom, and love.
Later, a personal development course taught him to question every belief he had accepted as truth.
He told me that new worlds open when we realize we are responsible for our lives. Not our past. Not our fathers. Ourselves. When we stop blaming and start claiming our power, life changes.
He didn’t deny his pain. He simply refused to build his life there.
When we heal our wounds, we heal a part of the world.
What We Carry—and What We Choose to Release
There is a name for what we inherit that is not ours to keep. It is called legacy. But legacy can be chosen. It can be rewritten. It does not have to be a chain—it can become a key.
We do not get to choose the stories we are born into, but we do get to choose which ones we continue telling.
Some of us grow up believing the lie that we are not enough. That we are destined to repeat the damage we have known. But healing begins when we stop calling pain fate and start naming it history.
The past only holds the pen if we continue to hand it over.
Your life is not a sentence.
It is a story.
You hold the pen.
You are the author now.
~ ✦ ~
To the extraordinary men I have been blessed to love and be loved by throughout my life—my two fathers, my grandfathers Pop Pop and Lee, my great-grandfather, my husband, and my son: thank you.
Blood may begin a story, but love is what writes it.
Your love has made all the difference.
Happy Father’s Day.