A Hard Truth About Fathers, Forgiveness, and Finding Myself

By Nate, Boston Made

There’s something I’ve never talked about publicly—not really. I’ve hinted at the struggle, made peace with some of it in private, but now I feel it’s time to say it out loud: I’ve carried an enormous amount of anger and resentment toward my father for years.

This isn’t the kind of father-son distance that fades with time or grows out of different life paths. This is about betrayal. About feeling like I was criminalized, not for doing wrong, but for being misunderstood.

Let me be clear: everything I did was online. It was in the cloud. I wasn’t hurting anyone. I wasn’t stealing, lying, or lashing out. I was building. Dreaming. Trying. But instead of seeing that—my father repeatedly chose to involve law enforcement. He threw me in jail. Over and over again. Not because I was dangerous, but because I think he didn’t understand me. Or maybe he just couldn’t control me. Either way, it broke something in me.

Imagine being dragged through the criminal justice system not for violence, theft, or destruction, but for activity that took place entirely in a digital space—a space most people his age don’t even begin to understand. Instead of reaching out, asking questions, or seeking to understand, he treated me like a threat. Like an embarrassment. Like a problem to be silenced or locked away.

And the hardest part of all of this? It’s incredibly difficult to respect a man who doesn’t respect you. Who can’t seem to acknowledge your humanity. Who sees rebellion where there was curiosity. Who sees defiance where there was simply difference.

I spent so much of my life trying to earn his approval, trying to explain myself, trying to justify that I’m not bad—I’m just wired differently. And no matter how hard I tried, the outcome never changed. Jail. Silence. More distance. And the overwhelming feeling that I was never truly seen by the one man who was supposed to protect me the most.

I’m not writing this for pity. I’m writing it because it’s real. Because someone reading this might be carrying similar weight from a parent who chose punishment over patience. And if that’s you—I see you. I know how hard it is to walk through the world with those invisible scars.

There’s a part of me that still wants reconciliation. I don’t know if it’s possible. But I do know this: I’ve made something of my life. I’ve created something beautiful with Boston Made and everything it represents. I’ve turned pain into purpose. I’ve used every bruise, every betrayal, every night in a cell to build a future that I can be proud of.

To those who’ve felt misunderstood or misjudged by the people who should have loved them better—you are not alone. And your future doesn’t have to look like your past.

I’m still healing. I may always be. But I’m moving forward, and that matters.

Thanks for keeping up with me.

— Nate