I couldn’t stand it any longer.

Today, while taking a walk/jog/sprint loop around the subdivision, I decided to have an imaginary conversation with my father.

We didn’t use words. We let our actions speak our thoughts.

Dad showed me which parts of his personality are a part of me.

He demonstrated the sacrifices he made to get me to the point where I was padding down the sidewalk in the hot morning sun of a late August Sunday.

He opened my thoughts to the strength of testosterone, how a man can use the anger generated inside him to accomplish great tasks without mistreating others.

A man, too, can step on other people’s toes, even a gentleman, when the situation calls for a bull in a porcelain dinnerware shop, letting other people take care of their own delicate personalities.

He held a mirror up to me, asking if I was satisfied that the reflection, which looks nearly identical to him, was okay.

Because, if so, then I needed to make important decisions, putting away the last of my childish, immature thought patterns and be the man that he and his ancestors had brought into this world, nourished by their wives, mothers and daughters who supported a system where men are men.

Be assertive, not overly aggressive.

Use my “observe and report” sensitivities to strengthen my relationships with other men because, believe it or not, we all have our soft sides but don’t dwell on them as weaknesses.

My father showed how he didn’t have a lot of material goods given to him as a child so he learned to go out there and grab the brass ring for himself, hoping that his son would do the same.

I sit here, putting plans into actions, thanks to my father’s eternal advice.