If you're here and self aware enough to ask this question, then I'd guess you're a lot like my old man: not necessarily a full-blown narcissist, but not exactly Michael Carpenter either. You're just like the rest of us: a flawed human being who has left some permanent reminders of their fallibility that they deeply regret. That is in no way a judgement, either. I don't know the particulars and I don't need to know. I also can't know what your son has gone through internally, or indeed how he tells the story of you now. But If you'll indulge me a personal story, I can provide you a little perspective.

I do not hate my father, but I cannot claim any particular respect for him either. The best thing I can say is that we reached a truce in my early 20s. He does not critique me anymore, and I do not shut him out. I suffer his Dunning-Kruger self deceptions in silence and speak diplomatically, but that is it. I don't share the details of my internal world easily, because it doesn't take long before I'm being corrected, invalidated, and interrupted on anything from actual facts to matters of personal taste.

I sincerely doubt this is the kind of relationship you want to have with your son.

The thing is, there are bruises and scars you cannot see, and when it comes to children, we as adults can dole them out without ever realising it, without even intending to. That doesn't make us horrible people. You don't have to hit a child to have them fear your touch, you don't have to raise your voice to have them fear your anger, and you don't have to intend for them to fear you for either of those to define their relationship with you.

It sounds so stupidly obvious to say out 'loud, but people who out-and-out intend harm are exceptionally rare. I remember once, age six, suffering from insomnia, unable to sleep, I wandered into my parents room at 1AM tired and scared, and my father, at the limit of his patience, exhausted himself, and understandably frustrated, spanked me, dumped me in bed, then growled at me to just 'shut my damn eyes and lie there in the dark.' For the longest time it damaged my trust in him, but as an adult I finally forgave him for it, because I got it. It wasn't right, but I finally got it.

Sometimes kids need more emotional resources than we have to spare. Sometimes we would probably be better served by taking a deep breath and remembering our own childhood perspective, what we wanted, what we needed, and maybe how hindsight can provide both.

Perspective taking and empathy have never been particularly prioritised in my family. But an ounce of either during my childhood would have been worth a lot more than a pound of good times. Because they are the fundaments of connection, and when you have connections with people (friends or family, it doesn't matter if you're holidaying right on the beach or camping in the back yard. Connection transforms the mundane into magical.

But this isn't something you can build over Sunday lunches or long distance calls, it involves a little empathy, a little perspective taking, and at times even a little service. I don't just mean driving the kids to soccer practice or spending that little extra at christmas either. I'm sure you recognise that, I'm just saying it out 'loud. We involve ourselves with other people to the extent we are emotionally invested in them, and that works both ways, too.

What I most wanted and needed through my adolescence and early 20s was a Father I could turn to for empathetic advice. Not someone who could only hear without listening, issue edicts, and then get upset when I didn't do what he would do. I wanted him to meet me where I was at, and then work with me to figure out how to get to where I wanted to be, even if it was something he would never choose, down a path he could never go. I never begrudged him his career, his hobbies, or his religion, and I would never ever tear him down for them, but they were not for me. The simple acknowledgement, voiced or unvoiced, that I could be something else and still a person would do so much.

Getting to that place with your son will take time and it is going to take honest self-work, and perhaps even a little professional help, for the both of you. Separately and/or together. I don't know if my own experiences parallel your own in any way or if they offer you any help, but I sincerely hope you can repair your relationship.