The Pain of Father’s Day
It was yet another Father’s Day yesterday. Although in our household, we don’t go all out celebrating father’s, mother’s or valentine’s day, the kids do usually gift us a card or craft they made at school which I really appreciate because let’s face it, hand-made cards written with misspelled words are the best and anything hand-made makes me all mushy inside.
On social media, I saw a flurry of messages, videos, and pictures celebrating fathers who are supportive, loving, great spouses, cuddlers, teachers, and so on. It was heart-warming to see the tributes and smiles captured forever in photos of these men, some new to the whole fatherhood brigade and others greyer veterans. I am a strong advocate of celebrating people you love in your life, especially those that are under-appreciated (parents definitely make that list!). While I am a private person myself, I have taken out the time to understand why some people like to make their love known publicly. Love is sometimes overwhelming and there is much truth in the desire of some who want to shout it out from the rooftops. In the social media world of today, Instagram might be their rooftop and the emotion is just as real.
I am not writing this to shame people who shared something lovely on Father’s Day or any other day for their treasured ones. This short essay is dedicated to those who were reminded of a place of emptiness inside on such days, whether that was triggered by social media or not. Those that found themselves in a place of regret, anger or sadness. Those who had to squarely face the fact that their relationship with their dad is/was estranged, and they felt emotionally inept while scrolling through posts they are afraid their fathers might be reading too. If you didn’t feel comfortable wishing your dad a “Happy Father’s Day” even while knowing that a random stranger might have forwarded a generic, sugary message in one of his WhatsApp groups, I am talking to you.
Relationships are messy as we all know too well. As we grow older, we might discover that we can, almost paradoxically, hate those we love just as intensely. Hate is a strong emotion. But so is love. And at times, in our messiest of relationships, where there is historical baggage, the two emotions mix up like salt in water. There are tears, hot words and colossal miscommunication that disarms and perplexes both parties. The desire to express love wrestles strongly against the desire to distance yourself from the mess.
Then there are those of us who quickly flip through childhood albums when we see pictures of our fathers cuddling us because we have no real memory of reconciling with that image. Not having shared a hug for years or any touch save for a “strong” handshake, such images invoke a strangeness within us. A chasm that speaks of both irreconcilable distance and deep longing (often left unrecognized).
What we might remember, even as adults, is the fear that our fathers invoked in us. Fear that was often couched in his “discipline” and “paternal rule of law” that was explained to be necessary for raising children who understood boundaries and limits put in place for their own good. As little children, when mistakes and meltdowns were not permissible in our fathers’ presence, when we were quickly whisked away by mothers or nannies at the slightest whimper, we learnt that our fathers were both flawless and required us to be the same.
But many of us grew up to be recalcitrant teenagers, nonchalant of our Abbu’s curfews and boundaries, boldly testing their temperature and standing unashamedly in their ire. The 20s brought on the realization that in fact our Dad was not without fault, that he wasn’t the man he was built up to be. That he was irrelevant to the course of our lives. That we could charter our own territory without his infringement and without his approval that we so desperately sought before. Some of us chose to grow the distance between us. Phone calls were made to our mother’s cellphones, knowing all too well that our fathers hovered in the background, his muffled grunts satisfying our need to know that he is okay.
Not all of us, though, have estranged relationships with our fathers.
Some of us might have recovered from a bad patch giving us the rare opportunity to learn that relationships are malleable, fixable. That they are hard work that often pays off. Those of us who don’t come armed with happily faded pictures of our young absentee dads, might now be clicking selfies with them because as adults we have rekindled our relationships through common interests and sometimes through shared love of children/grandchildren or shared loss or caring for their ailing health.
And then there are those, who have suffered the loss of their fathers. If they had a healthy relationship with them, they miss them dearly. And if they didn’t, they still do the same. It might come as a surprise but having spoken to many whose fathers have passed away, I have realized that it’s a heavyweight moment for all. At times the realization hits home immediately, the loss feels so intensely palpable that life seems meaningless. For others, the sense of loss is delayed. It comes in waves. There is a long period of denial because why would the passing of a father you loathed and who was irrelevant to you when alive, have any significance now? But years on, friends who have grown older and wiser, start reminiscing about their lost fathers, often even reimagining their relationship if they had the chance to grow older and wiser together.
Some come to realize that their Abbu’s machismo and hence, often frigid understanding of fatherhood, is a consequence of larger social structures and influences. And they feel freer to find forgiveness in their hearts. A friend of mine, a father of a teenage girl, said he finally understands his own father now that he has put on similar shoes. Unlike his father though, he is a better communicator thanks to new age parenting styles.
It is also important to realize that some of us will continue to live on with strained relationships with our Baba. Awkward moments will remain awkward unless we try to change them somehow. That there will be ups and downs, just like in any other relationship. What is unique about blood relations is that we don’t choose them. We can only choose how we show up when our aging father reaches out or we recognize the need in us to rescue some semblance of this very unique relationship.
There is then the pain of those men who wish to become fathers but aren’t able to. They might be struggling with fertility issues or miscarriages that are still taboo and the lack of emotional support for these men makes matters more difficult for them. The loss of an unborn child is an invisible burden that a would-be-father has to bear while going through everyday life like nothing has happened.
It might feel like we are alone as we struggle through our pain, especially on a day in June, but we should find comfort in knowing that indeed we are not alone at all.
If you are happy with what you read above, you might like this gratitude piece I wrote, Thanks for the Bread or visit my profile here. Thanks for reading.
