‘Father’s Day means thinking about what on earth I’m doing here’
My family has never really observed Father’s Day. Mother’s Day sometimes gets a look-in, but the dad version has a whiff of “us-too” over-protestation, like International Men’s Day or World Cocktail Day. Sure, fathers are in the top two types of parent, but haven’t most days been father’s days? The history of nations is one rolling celebration of paternity, and look where that’s got us.
Father’s Day also struck me as being inconsistent with the Way of the Dad, which, as I understood it, consisted of quietly getting on with things and, occasionally, doing exactly what you wanted, regardless of the consequences and without much in the way of official recognition.
This was why fathers were hard to buy gifts for at birthdays and Christmas. The whole point of being a dad was that, if you wanted something, you went out and got it.
This year I feel differently. Our daughter, Lily, was born in March, as most of the world’s population was being locked down. She quickly met her grandparents, uncles and aunts, before the fences went up and the gates closed. Since then, we have watched the misery and chaos unfolding around the world from the sleep-deprived-but-happy new-parent cocoon. A friend suggested that, between Amazon deliveries, Netflix and the lack of Fomo, it might be the best time ever to have a newborn. I am inclined to agree, which gives me the shifty feeling of a profiteer.
Normally I’d have left the house to work. Instead, I have been at home, taking calls and transcribing in rooms according to where the girls need to be, helping where I can.
It’s a blessing; few fathers get to spend three months with their newborn, even in an age that vaunts equality and co-parenting. But it has also laid bare how little there is for a father to do with a small baby.
At times, I feel a kind of double uselessness. I can’t feed her – even a pumped bottle must come from her mum first – but neither am I out bringing home the proverbial mammoths. I am sitting around in the cave, catching the odd dormouse and trying not to leave the loo seat up. I realise this is a reductive and old-fashioned line of thinking, but one of the things having a child does is bring everything back to inescapable biological basics.
One of my jobs has been to take Lily for walks, to give her mother time to wash her hair and check her emails. When you find yourself at the wrong end of Finsbury Park at 6.30am, with a blameless little face staring up at you, your thoughts will wander. The face seems to say, “Now what, old man?” I worry that she is too cold or too hot, or that every second she sees me on my phone makes it less likely she will ever read a book for fun.
Inevitably I think about my own father, too. In my earliest memories of him, he was the age I am now, 33. He and my mother provided an idyllic childhood for their four children, with good schools and comfortable houses and trainers. Barring some miracle, my daughter will have a worse childhood, materially speaking, than I did, thanks, in part, to her father’s decision to work as a freelance lifestyle writer rather than at a real job with a salary and a pension. Following my own choices made sense in my 20s, and when I only had myself to worry about. In a good month, I’d eat out more often, in leaner times, I’d stay at home. My choices look selfish now there’s another stomach to fill. I value the freedom and variety of my work, but who’s to say I wouldn’t enjoy a more reliable trade, too? I hope this doesn’t sound like excessive self-pity, but now that I’m a father, Father’s Day inevitably means thinking about what on earth I’m doing here.
Two weeks ago, we introduced Lily to my grandmother. She’s 91, so if Lily lives to be her age, it will be the year 2111. It seems unthinkably far in the future, but if she’s going to live in a world that’s less of a shambles than this one, fathers are going to have to up their game. Perhaps I was wrong. Father’s Day is worth celebrating, but not for the usual reasons. Other days are a way to honour unsung heroes. Perhaps Father’s Day could be a day for dads to remember that they have been, if anything, oversung, and need to buck their ideas up. Starting with this father.
Lockdown is a blessing. Few fathers get to spend three months with their newborn in this age