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Father of mine
Tell me where have you been
You know I just closed my eyes
My whole world disappeared
Father of mine
Take me back to the day
Yeah when I was still your golden boy
Back before you went away
—“Father of Mine”, Everclear


Having daddy issues is a tale at least as old as Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex. Sigmund Freud, of course, used that story as a metaphor for describing psychological development and the way that individuals challenge authority and take on responsibility themselves as they transition from adolescence to adulthood. Beyond this metaphor for the development of the psyche personally, Jung and others like him would see the social significance of such stories within the greater culture. Struggle with the previous generation for authority is often understood metaphorically through such tales of sons struggling with or coming to terms with the father. Of course in that sense, the story of grappling with the father, while fairly ubiquitous in Western culture (Zeus and Cronus, Isaac and his two sons, David and Absalom, etc.) changes a bit depending on the time and place that it comes from.


Late 20th century American culture has been dominated by the voice of the Baby Boomer generation, and that generation’s tales of father-son and also father-daughter conflict often reflect attitudes associated with the group that would come of age during the ‘60s and that would largely begin taking its place as the dominant voice in media and entertainment by the ‘70s. The original Star Wars trilogy, for instance, has at its center a story very much about coping with daddy issues, a story very reflective of shifting attitudes about authority and how that generation understood its “daddy”.


Born in 1944 (about two years before the year many see as being the beginning of the boom), George Lucas grew up alongside Boomers and witnessed profound changes in the fabric of American culture, as well. Lucas originally may have conceived of Luke Skywalker as a son learning about his father’s past as a war hero via the abbreviated description of Anakin Skywalker by Obi Wan Kenobi in Star Wars (1977), a kind enough description of the “Greatest Generation” of heroes preceding Luke. As a product of post-Vietnam, post-Watergate America, the trilogy took a darker turn as Darth Vader was revealed as Luke’s war hero father turned corrupt authoritarian. Consider also Don Henley’s critique of government through a similar metaphor of fatherhood and its corruption of innocence when he discusses Ronald Reagan in his song, “End of the Innocence”: “Armchair warriors often fail / And we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales / Lawyers clean up all details / Since daddy had to lie”. The trilogy represents a denial of father and a denial of authority as corruptible and corrupting, although it also suggests that the next generation has the hope of, perhaps, fixing daddy, eventually making him “right” again.


Similarly, Cameron Crowe (a late Boomer, born in 1957 on the cusp of the advent of Generation X) tells the story of a daughter confronted with the corruptible quality of fathers in Say Anything… (1989).  Diane Court, and her slacker boyfriend Lloyd Dobler, may resemble Generation X in a movie written seemingly for that generation, however, the message of getting back on your feet and moving away from the legacy of such a father is still a conclusion seemingly much more Boomer than X.  Indeed, few of the X generation would be much older than about 19 in 1989 (depending on whose definition of the generation you are using). The transition to their voices dominating media like television and film would have to wait until the late ‘90s and the first decade of the milleninum as they reached their late 20s, 30s, and even 40s.


Unsurprisingly, perhaps, representations of fathers in the last ten years are those of somewhat invisible figures that are still haunting presences in many of X’s stories. Spiking divorce rates in the years of X’s childhood lead one to shows like Lost, a series full to brimming with characters with daddy issues. Jack Shepherd and John Locke, as just two examples, both struggle with absent fathers that they do not easily deny or embrace.


It’s interesting, then, that video games, a medium initially pioneered by the Boomers but generally limited to simplistic stories of frogs crossing busy streets to find their way home and plumbers saving damsels in distress, have come of age alongside Generation X and are now telling their stories through different eyes. Gone is the cartoonishly evil figure of authoritarianism from the story of more contemporary parent-child relations, replaced with a concern about the distance that exists between fathers and their children and a concern about how such parents influence their children. Two releases this year arrive with coincidentally similar focuses on the relationship between children and their fathers, Bioshock 2 and Red Dead Redmption.


While the first Bioshock concerned a father-son relationship, that relationship took a back seat to themes concerning free will and control, the libertine and the slave. Certainly, the relationship between Andrew Ryan and Jack Ryan is distant (since the player inhabiting the role of Jack is unaware Anrew Ryan is his father at all at the beginning of the game), any potential struggle between the two’s philosophies is determined by an outsider who forces Jack to kill Ryan. Largely, the interest of the game seems to be in exploring the illusion of free will (in video games specifically and by extension more broadly in real life) and less interested in familial concerns.


Perhaps more interesting to examining issues related to family is the game’s more simple assumption about relations between fathers and little girls. The dynamic that exists between Little Sisters and Big Daddies is a compelling one and seems to underscore the idea that a little girl needs a daddy to protect her. In some sense, it’s unsurprising that the game’s sequel would take this concern for potentially lost and unprotected children (specifically masculine protection of the feminine child) and make it its most central focus as it examines the relationship between a daughter and her long distant father.


Long distant is, of course, an understatement, considering that Eleanor Lamb’s Big Daddy has been quite literally dead and gone for most of her childhood. The opening scene of the game explains the circumstance of the severing of the relationship (again, a very literal psychic linkage) between herself and her father. If children who “lose” a parent to divorce often attempt to figure out who is to blame, there is no doubt here. Eleanor’s mother, Sofia Lamb, is the one who is less literally, but also who is still very directly responsible for the gun to daddy’s head. The idea that mommy is keeping the children distant from the man who fathered her children is very much present here and simplified to an almost childlike understanding through the overt display of brutality between the parents.

G. Christopher Williams is a Professor of English at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point. He posts his weekly contribution to the Moving Pixels blog at PopMatters every Wednesday. Besides also serving as Multimedia Editor at PopMatters and writing at his own blog, 8-bit confessional, he has also published essays in journals like Film Criticism, PostScript, and the Popular Culture Review. You won't find him on Twitter, but you can drop him a line with that old fashioned thing called e-mail at williams@popmatters.com.


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