The crucial role of a father
THIS weekend, as we commemorate Father’s Day, we reflect on the Father of our Nation, Nelson Mandela. It was in June 1964 that he was sentenced to life imprisonment on Robben Island. The 27 years he spent incarcerated kept him away from his own children. In his case, it was not out of choice.
However, there are far too many dads who don’t play a meaningful role in their children’s lives. Others have abandoned their children.
If you are such a dad, perhaps this is the weekend to reach out and start making memories. It’s also important that those who can help to make the connection do so.
The following is an extract from Long Walk to Freedom, the autobiography of Nelson Mandela and published with thanks to the Nelson Mandela Foundation.
I had not seen Zindzi since she was two years old. She was a daughter who knew her father from old photographs rather than memory. I put on a fresh shirt that morning, and took more trouble than usual with my appearance: it is my own vanity, but I did not want to look like an old man for my youngest daughter.
I had not seen Winnie for over a year, and I was gratified to find that she looked well. But I was delighted to behold what a beautiful woman my youngest daughter had become and how closely she resembled her equally beautiful mother.
Zindzi was shy and hesitant at first. I am sure it was not easy for her finally to see a father she had never really known, a father who could love her only from a distance, who seemed to belong not to her but to the people. Somewhere deep inside her she must have harboured resentment and anger for a father who was absent during her childhood and adolescence. I could see right away that she was a strong and fiery young woman like her own mother had been when she was Zindzi’s age.
I knew she would be feeling uncomfortable, and I did my best to lighten the atmosphere. When she arrived I said to her, “Have you met my guard of honour?”, gesturing to the warders who followed me everywhere. I asked her questions about her life, her schooling, and her friends, and then tried to take her back to the old days that she barely remembered. I told her how I often recalled Sunday mornings at home when I dandled her on my knee while Mum was in the kitchen making a roast. I recollected small incidents and adventures in Orlando when she was a baby, and how she had rarely cried even when she was small.
Through the glass, I could see her holding back her tears as I talked.