It was Father’s Day recently and I, like many, have mixed feelings about the day.
The artificiality of it, the commercialisation, the happiness for many but then the sadness the day brings to many who are either estranged from their children or whose fathers are dead. And, of course, underlying all of this is a question of definition.
When I was young, a special day delegated to Father’s Day barely existed, or at least I have no memory of it.
My own father died relatively young, in his late 50s, a victim of lung cancer brought about through smoking as a soldier in WWII.
He had fought in Papua New Guinea and was on the Kokoda Trail, but rarely mentioned it, an experience buried deep in his psyche, never to be accessed. No doubt he was like countless millions of men, battling PTSD.
After the war is over
But was he a good father? Probably not, too absorbed in his own addictions and sadness. He was, however, representative of that generation who were sent to war and came back damaged.
The post-war society wanted to forget their trauma and cast these broken young men back into the mould of breadwinner and upright citizens. They bumbled through their roles, some more successful than others.
Fortunately, the last few generations have not had to succumb to war and deprivation, at least here in Australia. There are a multitude of self-help parenting books, classes to go to and role models to emulate to help young people navigate the parent role.
What does it mean to be a good father? Certainly, many men are grappling with what it means to be masculine, a father and a partner in today’s more than gender fluid and role fluid environment. Many of the past role models are outdated or outright condemned by the present generation. It can be all rather vexing.
And a good parent? We have all grappled with this idea and probably some of us have felt that at times we did a poor job of it, and then at other times we felt that we had managed well. Even though it is probably the most important role that we will ever do in our life, we are often unprepared for the challenges that it throws our way. There is no absolute rule book. I felt that I only really grew up when I had children, when I had to put someone’s welfare and needs ahead of my own.
The next generation
For nearly 20 years, the focus is on the child, the protection, the nurturing, the going out of our way to help them grow and mature. Then they leave the nest and fly away, as they should. Some of us feel that empty nest syndrome, others perhaps rub their hands with glee at the return of space and time for themselves.
Then grandparenting duties can arise and again some parents greet this with delight and others set very strict boundaries, unprepared to be the unpaid help and raise the next generation. All of us manoeuvre this journey in our own way. But then quietly over time the roles are reversed. We begin to need our children more than they need us. They are absorbed in their lives and work demands and children.
There is now the problem that we are living too long, perhaps becoming a burden on our children. I just hope my children choose a nice nursing home for me.
What sort of relationship did you have with your dad? Why not share your experience in the comments section below?
Also read: The case for cussing
I’m an American ex-pat, been here 15 years. I had an amazing father, though Mom used to call us a pair of Missouri mules, because we butted heads so much 🙂
I remember when I was small, he taught me to step back so he could open doors. And he taught my brother to hold doors for ladies, including his sisters. I was and still am a Daddy’s girl. He taught me so much, not that I knew it at the time, but as I got older, I appreciated him more and more, as I did my mom.
The greatest gift they gave me ever was letting me go, letting me follow my heart to Australia, even knowing that it was possible we’d never see each other in person again. They’d talked to Jason on the phone and video calls before and they both loved him. One of our last video calls, Mom thanked him for taking such good care of her girl… yes, tears were shed.
It was horrible not to be there when they passed.. we’d talked on video call at least once a week. After Daddy passed, that was where my father-in-law stepped up. First thing he said to me when Jason, Mum and I got home from Perth (they’d picked me up at the airport) was “Welcome home, love!”
And the last was “Love you too!” when we were on a video call with him over two weeks ago, he was in Perth for a medical appointment. A couple of days later, he fell down the escalator at the Perth Underground and never woke from his coma 🙁
I was lucky enough to have two fathers and I loved both of them so much.. and still do
I think I had a good father. He was killed in an accident when I was 8 and the only memories I have are all positive – the time he bought me a fretsaw kit and showed me how to make models, the times I flew with him (he was an agricultural pilot), the picnics we had. There have been many times I have wished he could have shared – my successes at school and work, me playing the guitar like he did, and one that really affected me was when I was sitting in a bar with a group of friends with the visiting father of one of them, realising that that was something I could never do. He was my hero. He was strong. A “real” man and I was determined to be like him, so I suppressed my tears, vowing that nobody would see me weep as I had seen my mother and sisters do. Bad move! That became so ingrained in my mind that I couldn’t become emotional, even at the death of my mother and two sisters, and remained remote until my wife commented on my attitude following the death of my daughter. The moral of the story? It’s fine for a Dad to be a hero, but it’s also important to show your human side, tears and all.
My father was tragically killed in an accident 6 weeks after my birth, and only 11 months after marrying my mother.
But I was lucky. I had a dozen “fathers”. Five very loving and caring uncles, four devoted neighbors and a couple of very diligent legatees worked very hard to fill any gaps in my care. They were all amazing. Then, when I was 11, my mother went overseas and remarried. I was separated from my surrogate fathers. My stepfather was not a good man and certainly not a good father, but I loved him for a while nonetheless. My mother divorced when I was 15 and remarried again when I was 18. My second stepfather was very good to me and my family for a time, until he left my mother and never made contact again.
Happily, my children have had what I never did – a wonderful, devoted father who has always been there for them.