I set out to raise future adults. I didn’t notice they were quietly raising me.
I didn’t realise it was Father’s Day until Shaakya turned up with a box full of little gifts.
She’d curated it with her brother. Each gift signified something they thought mattered to me — but also, tucked inside each one, a hint of how they wanted me to ‘be’ as I grow older.
There were ‘colourful socks’, with the wish that I’d stay youthful even as I get older. That had to be my cheeky son, slipping something irreverent in amongst the otherwise soulful stuff. I have my suspicions about the culprit. They are rarely wrong.
And somewhere between unwrapping and laughing, it landed on me: being a parent was never a one-way street.
As much as we teach, we learn. As much as we discipline, we learn discipline. As much as we love, we are loved. And as much as they grow — so do we.
Being a ‘dad’ defined me in a way I didn’t see coming. For most of my life I was sure I’d skip the whole thing. The prospect of being fully responsible for another human being scared the hell out of me. If I’m honest, that fear never quite left. I’ve just got better at handling it.
The hardest part was this: I could never really match up to my own father, or to Roons’ father. Both set the bar absurdly high. For years that felt like a debt I couldn’t repay.
What I eventually learnt was simpler, and harder. You don’t get to be them. You only get to be you — doing the best you can, letting life unfold one day at a time. It is not an easy ride. But it will mould you like nothing else can, provided you allow yourself to be a father first, and everything else second.
When Roons and I wrote Raising Future Adults, the whole premise was that the job isn’t to keep children small and close — it’s to grow them into capable adults who, one day, won’t need us. What nobody warns you about is the quiet trade going the other way. While you are busy raising future adults, they are busy finishing off the grown-up in you.
That box of little gifts was proof. Somewhere along the line, my children became people who could see me clearly — well enough to know what I’d treasure, and kind enough to wish me a softer, sillier, more youthful version of myself for the years ahead.
I don’t celebrate ‘days’. But since it is the one set aside for fathers, I’ll say only this: celebrate yours – as often as you can. They tend to carry a great deal — quietly, without fuss, and usually without being asked.
Everything teaches. Even a pair of colourful socks.
Leave a comment