Posted on September 8th, 2026

Some estimates suggest that the majority of incarcerated male felons  grow up without a father or  male mentor, though the exact figure is difficult to verify.

That raises personal questions: how much did the absence of a father shape my behavior, where does responsibility begin, and how can communities better support children who grow up without steady guidance?

Pop died when I was four months short of my twelfth birthday.

EXCERPT FROM CHASING THE MONGOOSE:

Familiarity evolves into trust. As I reach out and reveal the sterility of my home life, the instructors become mentors. Under their tutelage, I spend after-school hours in the studio classroom.

I’m comfortable around artistic peers, but connecting doesn’t come easily. Ron, the sculpture instructor, is outgoing and receptive when classmates discuss social issues that feel relevant and disturbing. His approach helps foster camaraderie among us, and I slowly develop a bond with the group. Bill Cook, my American literature teacher, is a backwoodsman, banjo and ukulele player, grade advisor, and confidante. He performs Woody Guthrie songs often in the classroom and offers alternative views. When I turn to him during anguished moments, sharing inner struggles and looking for support, one visit leads us to discuss teenage sex and tongue kissing. He suggests,

“Fornication and tongue kissing aren’t any different. Think about it,” leaving me to ponder the point.

These nonjudgmental interactions are a breath of fresh air when the disconnect at home is unsettling. Obsessed with escaping the pain, suicide is thought to be an option . Their open hearts and appealing brownstone homes make visits frequent, though the chest discomfort remains. Even when the pain does not disappear, their presence gives me a way to endure it. They make me feel that I belong.

I take frequent long walks along the ocean’s edge, enveloped in isolation. Even on the coldest days, I ignore the frigid offshore winds. Anxiety and chest constriction constantly fuel thoughts of deliverance, without relief. Interacting with classmates is strained because the malaise does not ease. Bridging the disconnect seems unfathomable. My social skills are lacking, and I see peers absorbed in exaggerated self-display. They appear as phony.

The teachers’ refuge becomes a haven of understanding, free of lectures or critiques about sorrowful self-indulgence. Talking with these mentors does not dissolve the emotions, but it creates connection with another human being. Their assurances help, and their mentorship is irreplaceable.

One late afternoon, Ron asks the studio attendees who have remained after hours whether we would like to join him for a meal in Chinatown. Anticipation wells up because this is a first for me. His favorite restaurant, Lins Garden, has little décor, but the fragrance of cooked food captivates the senses. My palate explodes with the first bite of the shared dishes. Pleasure intensifies when the bill arrives and I discover how affordable such satisfying food can be.

The excursion opens my eyes to a reality I had not known. Possibilities stand before me, waiting to be explored. That simple afternoon widens a world my depressive state has kept at a distance. I have been withdrawn deep into thoughts, seeking relief I could not find. The weight of depression suppresses whatever energy I might use to venture beyond my narrow habitat.

As the years go by, this restaurant becomes my watering hole. In the wee hours of the morning, after a late night of painting, I sometimes hop on the subway to treat myself to my favorite dish at Lins Garden. Whenever I am there, warm images of Ron emerge, softening a heart that otherwise feels cold.

In time, Lins Garden became more than a place to eat. It became a reminder that someone had once taken the time to show me another doorway out of my comfort zone and into a larger world.

The positive effects of mentorship are everlasting. Ron and Bill did more than offer advice; they gave me refuge where pain could speak without being judged, and where curiosity could survive alongside despair. Long after those afternoons in the studio and those meals in Chinatown, their presence remains proof that guidance, when given with patience and generosity, can widen one’s vista.

Looking back, I can see that the absence of a father shaped my fear, silence, and longing for guidance, but it did not remove my need to keep reaching out, seeking comfort. It caused me to be talkative, seeking relief by sharing my struggling state whenever the settings seemed receptive. Communities can help children in that position by surrounding them with steady adults—teachers, clergy, mentors, neighbors, and coaches—who listen without judgment, notice distress before it takes hold, and open doorways into a wider, positive world.