The morning sun spills soft and gold, as if it knows a story told that this day holds a secret right, a whisper wrapped in amber light. But though it glows with promise near, the feeling hasn’t settled here. Not yet.
I get up early anyway — not for a card or a breakfast in bed, but out of habit. The kind of habit built over years of rising before everyone else to get things done. The bills, the car, the groceries, the leaky tap, the forgotten science project due tomorrow — all fall quietly under my radar. I don’t complain. I just do. Because that’s what men like me do. Providers. Fixers. Protectors.
I pour my coffee in silence, glancing at my phone. No texts yet. I tell myself , “ it’s early. You don’t need anything grand. But a part of you — the part no one sees — hopes someone notices”. I think about the sacrifices I have made that no one ever asked me to make, but I made them anyway. The dreams set aside, the days powered through on empty, the emotions swallowed. I remember dad saying that they were taught that strength looks like silence, like showing up no matter what. But what he never said was how heavy that silence can get.
Later in the day, my daughter gives me a card. It’s hand-drawn, messy, full of love.Her mum was wise and made her do this, they loved scribbling the word dad in a funny way. She hugs me tight and says, “You’re the best, Dad.” My chest aches in the best way. She doesn’t know the weight I carry — and am glad. That’s how it should be, for now. My other son, the one whom am co- co-parenting with another man, you know how this works … He joins me with his Genz sense of humor and mumbles, “Happy Father’s Day,” and offers a fist bump. I nod. It’s small, but it counts.
My partner then comes in from the kitchen, touches my arm and when no one’s looking. “Thank you,” she says. “For everything.” And suddenly, the long days, the invisible work — they don’t feel quite so invisible. Then I realize something: being a father isn’t just about being strong, is isnt about perfection, It’s about being seen, its about kneeling to tie tiny shoes, its abouteing there when it matters most. Not just as the one who provides, but as the man who feels, who hopes. And maybe today, I get a little of that. Not in fireworks or speeches, but in a look, a hug, a few quiet words that say: We see you. You matter. And that’s enough. That’s everything. Happy Father’s Our Backbone
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