Faith: Alone and Unafraid

Standing The Bridge As a Father

Jun 15, 2025

Outlaws and Fellow Fiction Fiends!

Happy Father’s Day! A day for cold beers and hot grills, and hopefully getting in some rest. I’m working, and then spending what time I can with my own little dude.

Ronan is only nine, so I don’t expect much. Father’s Day just doesn’t have the pageantry as other holidays in my opinion. It’s basically a mini Independence Day where everyone still has to take care of business. So you spend time with Dad and maybe grill a steak or two.

On the writing front I’m back to a lot of writing and editing. Things are in a preparation period again. Space Truckin’ is still in the works but seems to have hit a production stall. It happens. The publisher is a small operation and everyone involved is juggling multiple responsibilities. I’m trying hard not to be the Nagging Nancy about us getting it out to the world.

Liberty Con looms large. It’s not a massive Con in size, with only about 1000 people in attendance, but its a huge networking event. I have awesome people like

Michael LaVoice

David Badurina

, and all of the

Raconteur Press

crew to hang out with and I only generally see them at this one event. The Alpha Mercs are going to be out in force, with more of them than I can tag. It’s a party, but its also where the next big idea spawns. Chattanooga was a staple of my youth and I love going back to the old train town.

I will inevitably come back with new story ideas, new connections, and maybe even a few new contracts or projects. Bucky and Pam Jo got thier first big push at Liberty, and the upcoming Holy Diver and The Midnight Sea was first discussed there. I’m also an attending pro this time, with the opportunity to really kick it with some of the bigger names in fiction.

My LibertyCon 37 Schedule

That’s the Author side, Now for some of Outlaw side. This is going to be heavy, so this is your trigger warning and chance to bail. It’s also hopefully going to give you a little Faith, and a call keep going.

When we last left off with Faith, we were looking at holding the metaphorical bridge, and the struggles of writing. At the Faith given to you by others, and the Faith given in return.

We went over how vital that Faith could be, and now it’s time for the other side of the coin. The Faith to stand alone.

It being Father’s Day, we are going to talk about my Dad, and we are going to talk about my journey as a Dad. Hopefully this gives some insights, earns some nods from the old timers, and provides some entertainment while the grill is heating up. Before we do all that, lets go back to a real bridge, but this time, there’s nobody to stand at either hand.

In 1066 A “Viking” Army met its end in England. The Battle of Stamford Bridge marks the literal end of King Harald Hardrada. I don’t really give much of a damn about that for today, what I want to talk with you about is a single man in Harald’s army. See my Scandanavian ancestors notoriously didn’t write a bloody thing down, so what we know about them is really mostly from English sources. Documenting what happened, the English noted one warrior’s last stand.

Before the Battle, a single man held Stamford Bridge, the Norwegian Army caught off guard by the English and pretty much screwed.

His name was never noted, but the English would never forget him.

Amon Amarth immortalized the moment in lyrics I think perfectly capture the power of this Legend.

“On the bridge we met his axe
While he stood, none could pass
His axe cut deep, through flesh and bone
He held the bridge all on his own

Forty men, died by his steel
The only way we could make him kneel
Was to send four men out on the stream
And sting the bastard from beneath”

Much like the legends of Ragnarok, Harold’s Army saw it’s doom coming. This lone man, The Berserker, held the bridge while his people retreated. He stood fiercely, and I can only imagine the Faith it took.

An absolute monster of a man walked out when everyone else fled, and killed so many of his foes that they had to write it down even when his own people didn’t. He knew death was coming, he knew he was alone, and the opposition was overwhelming.

putting that trust in himself and in everyone else to carry on could only be an act of Faith.

The truth of life is a day always comes when you have to stand the bridge alone.

Often times you know you can’t win. Often times you know that when the metaphorical bridge is taken, life will never be the same. Every one of us eventually has something we have to do by ourselves, and it’s only by having Faith that we can rise to the moment, and even if we cannot win, we can give others hope.

Every Father (and every Mother too, though it is not the same Bridge.) stands a bridge alone. Nobody else can be a Dad for you. It’s your job to hold the bridge. You fight the bills, you fight your own fatigue, and you fight everything that life hurls at you while also looking to teach your children all that you know. You want them to do better than you. You want them to make a better life and learn from all the mistakes you made. All the scars you earned on your bridge.

Because like the Berserker, you can see the End coming.

you are training them to be without you. Your replacement on this earth, because one day you will be gone, and they will no longer have anyone else to guide them. It is the fate of a Son or Daughter to bury their Father. Every Watch comes to an end. While raising children brings great joy. It teaches all of us just how quickly time can change the world. It can be shocking how fast the years fly by. My Grandfather was born before the end of World War Two, old enough to remember the wars end. He watched the last days of horse riders move into the automobile, the space age, and beyond. All of that change was only a single lifetime ago.

My Dad struggled with holding his Bridge, and to be fair, it was a Motherfucker.

Mark Stephen Fain, my Dad, One of the last photos we have of him before he became too Ill.

My Father suffered from Primary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis. The illness started to really affect his life before I was even a teen. The symptoms unknowingly began as early eighteen or nineteen years old for him, before my birth. It lead to a slow degradation of his physical ability.

First just stiffness, then weakness. Eventually, be it a ankle, or a calf, or an entire leg, it ate away at his ability to move. MS attacks the spinal cord and brain, somehow tricking the body into thinking its own nervous system is an enemy. Sometimes it relapses, and you heal. For Primary Progressive, you don’t. It just gets worse. Not day over day, but one day your leg is stiff, and six months later you can’t stand on it, or it locks out and never bends again. Pain becomes a constant.

Being honest, Dad wasn’t good at being a Dad.

It took until I was an adult for us to really have a good relationship. He had no idea how to talk to children, his temper could rival the worlds most notorious volcanoes, and that was before he got sick. Spending his life in constant pain only made the fuse shorter. He never taught me how to fix things or work on a car. He taught me to pay attention by cussing me out every time I accidentally bumped into anything. I can still hear “Pay the fuck attention.” In his voice, and while its now more training than scar, I still say it to myself if I bump something. I spent my teenage years mostly avoiding him. Though he did push me to try MMA; one of the greatest loves of my youth, and what lets me write action now. There were worse dads, but there were a lot better ones.

At the same time, Dad was hilarious.

Outlaw Rants are absolutely from my father’s humor and thinking. He could rant, roast, and boast with the best of them. He saved my life at least twice. Dad would draw a pistol at the drop of a hat, and in my childhood had no fear breaking 120 mph on the highway in an emergency. He never failed to let me know he loved me. He never failed to cheer me on. Never failed to celebrate and reward my accomplishments, even when he couldn’t be there. He was a Rogue, of classic D&D archtype, and what he lacked in Constitution he made up for in Dexterity and Charisma.

He made mistakes, failed in tons of get rich quick schemes, and actually made good money with gag gifts and online commerce. Even after his disability made it where family had to help, Dad was always working. He worked until the last month of his days.

He was the most prideful man I ever knew. Both of himself, and of all I did while he was on this Earth. For good and bad, he was my Dad.

When I told my Father he was going to be a Grandfather, it was one of only about three times I had ever seen him cry in my life. his first words to the news were.

“Don’t be like me…”

And I cannot tell you how much those words meant. In sickness and age, in all his mistakes, my father had found wisdom. He knew all the years of temper tantrums and harsh words were mistakes. He knew that life could have been different, and that was enough. That was one of the biggest gifts my son ever unknowingly gave. His existence gave me a chance to be a Father, and my Father a second chance at his legacy.

Those last five years were my Father’s Stamford Bridge. His Last Stand not at being a warrior, but at being a Dad.

They weren’t perfect, but he held strong. Those were his 40 foes. He was supportive, generous, and wise. He gave advice and was always a call or a message away. What he could not do, he made up for by what he could.

He suffered from a broken body and a broken heart. His bitterness had long ago driven my mother away. He broke mentally several times, but, overall, Dad gave his damnedest until it all became too much. The English were still coming. Ragnarok still awaited. This was a war he could not win, a battle he could never claim victory over. This story, like all our stories, can only have a happy end with the Faith to face death.

Dad was down to one limb when he finally had enough. The pain was now constant, forcing him into bed for sometimes 12 or 14 hours a day. We were in the hospital for most of a month. I had a few 26 hour days. Calling my friends to stay awake on the drive home from the hospital. When we got him home life was just too much. Everything was the English. Carried to the bathroom, spoon fed half his meals, and down to one well functioning limb, Dad finally reached the 40th man and had his feet taken out from under him.

Dad gave up in November of 2021. Just a bang from the other room, and he was gone. Unable to control his Life, to handle any more pain, he took control with his Death. The End had come. I scattered his ashes on the mountain he camped on as a child.

It is the nature of things for a Son to bury his Father. I was 31 years old, and I should have been ready. I wasn’t.

I wasn’t ready to fix a car without a mechanic. I wasn’t ready to have nobody to call when I needed advice on what to do as a Dad. Even though he had been bad at it, screwing it up told him what not to do, and I could use that. I wasn’t ready to not have anyone to tell Happy Father’s Day. Left without my Dad, I had only one thing to do. To figure it out, and the Faith that I could do it.

Because through it all: the unchecked anger, the fuck ups, the sickness, and his nightmarish end, Dad had given me that Faih. He always had Faith it me. Dad loved me. I’d literally carried him, I could carry myself now. I could carry Ronan, so much lighter a burden.

The truth is kids don’t need much. Food, water, shelter, Love and Faith. Faith that this world is for them. Faith that you are simply teaching them to be the captains of thier own little souls. That they will be ready to ride thier own hard trails.

I’m not a perfect father. Little dude doesn’t get near enough time with me. There are days I fell burnt or sad. Days like today that my scars are heavy and my battle at the bridge seems to weigh more. I’m going to make mistakes. New ones, even if all of Dad’s hard scarred wisdom takes hold. There is always something new. But I am a loving and Faithful Father. Faithful that he is capable enough to carve his place in this world. I am not like my Father, I am the man he wanted me to be, not the man that he was. I pray to The Great Creator, Christ, and the Aesir that Ronan is the same. Not the man I am, but the man I know he could be.

“OK Jess, what the hell does that have to do with us? you’re killing the Father’s Day Vibe!” I can hear you say.

Through all of this, the battle cry is, more than anything as a Father, you have one job. To prepare your children for life on this earth. A life on their own, with their own struggles. The struggles are utterly unpredictable. My Dad never knew MS was coming. My Grandfather could not train him for a life shattering autoimmune disorder. Even if he taught me all the things I needed to know now: years down the road after I scattered his ashes at the camp ground we both loved as children, years into the raising of his grandson, years into making choices without his advice, I still would have to learn and adapt. To be bold in the face of adversity.

This is my life, and my responsibility. I have to make it work. I have to move past what was, and embarce what is:

past every time he cussed me out over trivial bullshit, past all the spankings I recieved but didn’t earn, past all the sickness, all the struggle, and past his suicide; I still love and miss my Father. Even the mistakes taught me lessons that without them I might already have failed or be dead. Love, Pride, and Faith have long outlasted the sins of his life.

So take it from the Son of a Bad Dad, if you are breathing, you have a chance to get it right today.

I hope today is either another day you walk a path you are proud of, or the first day of your redemption. I hope that you are a better Father than your Father, and that your son or daughter is a better parent than you. Don’t wait until you have a grandson on the way, or the English are charging on the other side of your metaphorical bridge. Start being a better Father today. Do it for yourself, for your children, and for your own Father. No mistake you have made so far can stop you from building Faith and Love today. The rest will work itself out. That’s what Faith is for.