Eric looked like all the other wrestlers standing around the large practice mats. He had on the same wrestling sweats. He was lean and wiry as if he went through all the roadwork and training sessions of the other boys his age. But when the coach blew his whistle and had everyone else hit the mats for push-ups, sit-outs, and sit-ups, Eric stood aside.

You see, Eric had a problem. A tiny, almost microscopic hole kept him from the sport he wanted more than anything else to take part in. That hole was in his heart, and it kept him a spectator frozen on the sidelines. He could pack up everyone else's towel, but he could never really be a part of the team.

Unfortunately, when it comes to building meaningful relationships, too many men are frozen on the sidelines, just like Eric. They, too, often long to get into the battle and use their swords to carve out a great relationship, but they have holes in their hearts that hold them back—an inner void put there by a painful past that keeps them from being all they can be in the present.

If a man's past includes being rejected by the primary male figure in his life—his father—he can't run away from it. Just as these friends can't …

"My father died when I was four," Jerry said, "and my mother remarried—a man with one son, a year older than me. I loved my stepfather and wanted so much for him to love and accept me.

"My brother, Chris, was an excellent soccer player. He played on 'select' teams and got many awards at different tournaments. I was a band kid, and while I did equally well on band days, I could always see a difference.

"Whenever Chris had a success, the recognition doubled at home: celebration dinners, special-order cakes for the 'winning soccer player,' special privileges for winning a tournament. But on the day I was voted to all-state for my band instrument, all I got from my father was a weak 'Good job.'

"I can remember sitting at the dinner table that night, watching my stepfather laugh and joke about soccer with Chris … and knowing I would never be a real part of his life."

This is just one of hundreds of stories like it that we've heard over the years. They all echo the same message of lasting pain and rejection. And for all those men, emotional trauma as a child dramatically affected their ability to build deep, intimate relationships as adults.

But every memory of a father doesn't have to be negative. Some people have experienced just the opposite, a level of acceptance that hasn't hindered their adult relationships or left them without the emotional strength the persevere during rough times.

Jim told us, "My father died on August 22, 1989. He was the best example of a father I know. He would tell us he loved us any time, any place, in front of anyone.

"One Saturday evening, I had a friend come over to my house to spend the night. As we were walking down the stairs, my dad was just coming home from work, obviously exhausted. Still, when he passed me, he stopped and gave me a hug and said, 'Jim, I love you,' and then walked on upstairs to bed.

"I didn't think anything of it. That was just typical Dad. But my friend was absolutely shocked. His father had never once said that to him.

"At my father's funeral, nearly ten years after my friend witnessed that stairway scene, he told me how much that hug in the hallway had affected his life. And then he told me that I was the luckiest guy in the world to have had a father who loved me so much. He was right!"

A hug in the hallway. Words of encouragement. The courage to admit we've lied in front of our children. These are examples of a father's power. And I hope this story is the one you can most relate to. But we can only visit Disneyland; we can't live there. For some of us, the first story of rejection would just be a warm up to what we've suffered.

If rejection was a consistent part of our past, isn't it enough to just forget it? To push those memories aside every time they come up? To just bury the hatchet? Why dwell on the past? It isn't healthy to spend all our time dwelling on it. And it's fine to bury the hatchet.

But most of us remember exactly where we buried it. And even if we've overcome the inner anger of being rejected or abandoned by our fathers, we're still at risk. That's because distance in a primary relationship, like between father and child, does not teach closeness in our future relationships with our spouses and children. If we've grown up with our fathers' acceptance at arm's length, we can easily shove our own families away as well.

If we've come from a hurtful past, we must be willing to face that fact honestly. I (along with Dr. John Trent) have written three books that go into great detail on dealing with past hurts (The Blessing, The Gift of Honor, and Joy That Lasts).

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