Recently, I became a dad for the first time (that is, if you don’t count my miniature schnauzer, Banjo). Ever since my daughter was born, I’ve had a single thought going through my head: How do I ensure I don’t screw up my child?
Musical instruments, maths homework, body image, screen time, bullying, future boyfriends: all these and more are fertile ground for success—and failure—in fatherhood. If you’re a seasoned parent, you probably read that with a mixture of amusement and PTSD. As a friend of mine told me and my wife when we announced our pregnancy, “You worry about them when they’re in the womb, then you worry about them when they’ve been born, then you worry about them when they start school. The worry never ends!” Kids are remarkably resilient, but that doesn’t stop us parents from agonising over how our actions today will affect our child’s tomorrow.
You worry about them when they’re in the womb, then you worry about them when they’ve been born, then you worry about them when they start school. The worry never ends!
While there is no “right way” to be father, there seems to be a thousand wrong ways. The presence—or absence—of a father figure in a child’s life makes a massive difference in the early years, as well into adulthood. Girls look to their dad for their sense of self-esteem, whereas boys look to him as their first role model. Research also suggests that boys who spend large quantities of time with their father during adolescence are less likely to become substance abuserslater in life. In general, children who have an engaged, loving father have better self-worth, resilience, emotional capacity, physical health and social maturity. Suffice it to say, there’s a lot on the line when it comes to being a dad.
None of this should be surprising if you have even the most cursory understanding of fatherhood. What may surprise you is how deeply fatherhood has influenced our modern society—in particular, some of the most powerful men in recent history. The politics of the United States of America has, even for those of us living thousands of kilometres away, significantly shaped the world we live in today—for better or worse. When I think of “the most powerful man in the world”, I think of the man in the White House—as do many of us. Whether you agree with his politics or not, current (at the time of writing) US president Joe Biden is unique compared to his predecessors. He loved his dad, and his dad loved him.
Presidents and their dads
To understand just how unique Joe Biden is, we need to understand the presidents that came before him. Some of the most well-known men in the Oval Office also had incredible trauma from their fathers.
Ronald Reagan’s father was a chronic alcoholic, for instance. The young Reagan had to, at age 11, drag his comatose father into the house to prevent him from freezing to death, so intoxicated was he.
Bill Clinton’s dad died in a car crash and his stepfather beat his mother, only relenting when the young Clinton stood up to him.
George W. Bush lived his entire presidency in the shadow of his father, George H. W. Bush, a former president himself. George W. Bush spent much of his time in the Oval Office on the one hand trying to live up to his dad’s legacy and on the other, repudiating it altogether.
These are far from the outliers. We could mention Gerald Ford’s father’s own alcoholism and cruelty, John F. Kennedy’s overbearing dad or Barack Obama’s father who abandoned his family when the young Barack was only two. That’s not even mentioning the multitude of American presidents like George Washington, John Adams, John Tyler, Andrew Jackson, Thomas Jefferson, Franklin Roosevelt, Theodore Roosevelt, Grover Cleveland, Rutherford B Hayes, John Quincy Adams (not to be confused with John Adams), James Garfield, Harry Truman and others, all of whom had complicated relationships with their own fathers, as well as with their children.
You’re either going to be president or you’re going to be a failure!
(JOHN ADAMS, TO HIS SON JOHN QUINCY ADAMS)
Journalist Joshua Kendall, who wrote First Dads: Parenting and Politics from George Washington to Barack Obama shed a fascinating light on the parentage and parenting of former American presidents. Speaking to C-Span, he referred to many of these men as having “character disorders that had difficulty relating to other people but were amazing movers and shakers”. Thomas Jefferson, though he was an “articulate enemy of tyranny”, was a control freak with his own daughters. Franklin Roosevelt was thought of almost as a “father for the nation”, having steered the United States through the Great Depression and World War II—but had a distant relationship with his children. John Adams, second president of the United States and father of John Quincy Adams, the sixth president, was an authoritarian father who told his son, “you’re either going to be president or you’re going to be a failure”. Thank goodness John Quincy became the latter.
You’d be forgiven for thinking the take-home message here is that in order to be a successful politician, you need a dysfunctional upbringing—or at the very least, a dysfunctional dad. Writing for Slate, journalist Barron Youngsmith muses that perhaps one reason this phenomenon exists is because the coping mechanisms kids put in place to deal with deadbeat dads also just happen to serve them well in politics. Whether it’s becoming overly perceptive of social cues (and be able to manipulate people because of it), taking charge when faced with a leadership vacuum—or becoming an overachiever in school, business or socially, all these behaviours—while not inherently evil—stem from a place of trauma. A person’s unmet need to be loved can turn into them surrounding themselves with people who constantly reassure them of their value. A down-and-outer dad can produce an academically driven teenager. A father who never stepped up for his children can produce someone who feels inexorably drawn to leadership. Again, many of these behaviours are not inherently bad—but those who fall into them may find that in searching for the father they never had, they end up looking for him in all the wrong places.
Joe Biden Sr
Joe Biden’s father was a different kind of man. Joseph Biden Sr was apparently wealthy early in his life, though following World War II, found it difficult to find work. Due to this, the young family experienced financial instability for several decades. Eventually, Biden Sr became a successful used-car salesman. Integrity seemed an important value to the elder Biden, who got out of the industry altogether when his son got into politics because “he didn’t want a United States senator to have a used-car salesman for a dad”. Ironically, he got into real estate, which at the time apparently had a better social reputation than his previous career. He wasn’t perfect, though. Biden Sr had issues with alcohol, as have the president’s brother Frank and son Hunter. President Biden pointed to this as the reason he doesn’t drink to this day. “There are enough alcoholics in my family”, he said in 2008. However, this article isn’t a biography of the Biden family. As professor of journalism Chris Lamb points out, “Biden’s relationship with his father contrasts with perhaps every president in the last four decades, who had either absent or distant fathers or abusive or alcoholic fathers or stepfathers”. While Jimmy Carter, Richard Nixon and Lyndon B Johnson by all accounts had decent father figures, these seem to be exceptions to the rule, not the rule itself.
From Friedrich to Fred to Donald
In his book Think Big: Make It Happen in Business and Life, Trump admitted why (in his words) he’s so “screwed up”: “I had a father that pushed me pretty hard.”[1] Donald’s father Fred Sr was born in New York City in 1905 to Friedrich and Elisabeth Drumpf. Friedrich was in the construction and real estate business so by the time Fred was born, his family was already wealthy. During WWI, to conceal their German ancestry, the Drumpfs changed their family name to Trump, going so far as to claim they were Swedish, not German—a falsehood both Fred Sr and Donald repeated for decades. Fred Sr went into business with his mother following the death of Friedrich, quickly becoming one of New York’s wealthiest property moguls, with The Brooklyn Daily Eagle called him the “Henry Ford of the home building industry”. Over the years Fred Sr was investigated by different state and federal bodies for a variety of offences—such as overstating construction costs to receive larger federal grants, bribing officials to give him favourable treatment or for refusing to lease apartments to Black tenants.
The Brooklyn Daily Eagle called [Fred Trump Sr] the “Henry Ford of the home building industry”.
This is to say nothing of Fred Sr’s parenting style, which from all accounts appears to have been decidedly “hands-off” in nature. Michael D’Antonio, in writing a biography on Donald Trump, relates that Fred Sr taught his children to be “killers” in business and life—but that they were expected to learn such lessons “by osmosis”. As was typical for fathers of the day, Fred Sr saw his role as making money for the family and his wife’s as raising the children. Any lessons the young Donald learned early in life was by pure accident. But that doesn’t mean Fred Sr had no plans for his children. He was an empire builder, and he had very specific ideas about how he was going to pass his empire on.
Donald wasn’t initially “first in-line for the throne”—his eldest brother, Fred Jr, was initially his father’s pick. However, Fred Jr’s disposition was ill-suited to the cutthroat world of his father. Friends and family often said of Fred Jr that he was everything Donald wasn’t—softly spoken, playful and often jovial. Though his father saw him as heir apparent, Fred Jr wanted nothing to do with the business—he wanted to be a pilot. Though, after years of bullying from both Fred Sr and Donald, Fred Jr eventually gave up on his dream and went into business with the Trump Organization. The constant pressure and family tension took its toll, however and Fred Jr developed an alcohol addiction to cope. Eventually his wife divorced him and he spent the better part of a decade in-and-out of hospitals, rehab clinics and psychiatrists’ offices. In 1981, he had a heart attack and died in hospital, a tragedy his family members blamed on his alcoholism. However, that wasn’t the full story. As Donald later said, “Freddy just wasn’t a killer”, later telling CNN his brother was “a much nicer guy than me”. In her book Too Much and Never Enough: How My Family Created the World’s Most Dangerous Man, Donald Trump’s niece Mary Trump describes Fred Sr as a “high-functioning sociopath” and gives numerous examples of his bullying, racism and sexism. Mary claims Donald’s character was in large part shaped by witnessing the abuse inflicted on his brother at the hands of Fred Sr. “Freddy simply wasn’t who [Fred Sr] wanted him to be . . . Fred [Sr] dismantled his oldest son by devaluing and degrading every aspect of his personality and his natural abilities until all that was left was self-recrimination and a desperate need to please a man who had no use for him.”
What then can we conclude from all of this? While I’m no political analyst, what should be obvious to all of us is that growing up in such a hostile, high-pressure environment isn’t conducive to healthy child development (perhaps the understatement of the century). As The Washington Post reported, the “real villain” of Mary’s book isn’t Donald—it’s his father.
Biblical dads
Sadly, history is strewn with abusive dads, absentee dads and manipulative dads—and so is the Bible. Noah saves his family from the cataclysmic flood, but then later becomes an alcoholic and pronounces a curse on his grandson as a result (Genesis 9:18–27). Jacob’s relationship with his own father Isaac created a devastating family conflict in his early years (Genesis 27)—and his favouritism toward Joseph caused jealousy between Joseph and his brothers, resulting in them almost murdering Joseph then selling him into slavery (Genesis 37). David was called “a man after God’s own heart” (1 Samuel 13:14) and became Israel’s greatest king. However, a series of bad decisions that led to infidelity and murder caused Israel turmoil, and his inability to effectively parent his sons led to more conflict and the eventual division of his kingdom.
History is strewn with abusive dads, absentee dads and manipulative dads—and so is the Bible.
Of course, I’m cherry-picking moments from the stories of these men, all of whom God used despite their weakness to accomplish great things. Noah saved humanity despite his drunkenness. Jacob is the sire of the entire Jewish people, having wrestled with God and taking responsibility for his mistakes. David unified a fragmented Israel from the years of turmoil under his predecessor Saul, marking a golden age for the kingdom that would be fondly remembered for generations to come.
As I reflect on the past, one thing is certain: for those of us who are dads, our legacy is far more significant than we realise—for better or worse. Not all of us will live “great” lives in the eyes of the world. However, many of us will father “great” young men and women. Whether your kid grows up to be a teacher, garbage collector or the leader of a nation, your responsibility and mine remains the same. We each have an opportunity to instil in our kids the tools they’ll need to become great people in their own right. This is perhaps even more important when we consider true greatness.
“You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave—just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Matthew 20:25–28
Fred Trump Sr’s version of greatness perhaps could be described in terms of material wealth or political power—take your pick, however you want to describe it. I’m reminded of Jesus’ words of rebuke to His disciples where he redefines greatness. “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave—just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Matthew 20:25–28).
Perhaps your child will grow up to be a world leader. Even if they don’t, they will still have an opportunity for greatness—in their home, their workplace, their community. What they do in life is their choice. How they turn out while they’re doing that, in large part, depends on the example you set for them.
You and me
What’s frightening, though, is that the reverse is also true. It doesn’t matter what you think of Donald Trump or Joe Biden politically—each serves as a contrast for what fatherhood can do. Biden has often been accused of being too “weak”, having struggled with a stutter his whole life. Conversely, Trump has ever projected the image of a “strong man”, often being accused of inciting violence against those he opposes, either politically or ideologically. Both are the result of the example set for them by their dads. If Fred Sr had known the ramifications of Donald’s political career—not to mention the tragic death of Fred Jr—would he have done things differently? We’ll never know, and for my part, I don’t want to know.
All we can do is be the best we can for our kids right now, hoping that what we pour into them today will serve them well into tomorrow. You never know: perhaps the stories your nation’s leader will tell in 40 years’ time will be about you. If they do, what kinds of stories would you want them to tell?
