Happy Father’s Day, But Only If…

I’ve walked down three halls in three houses carrying 15 breakfast trays to my father.

Trays filled with bacon and eggs burnt slightly by three sets of tiny hands mimicking their mother’s. Orange juice the yellow of sunny days in which we’d yell ‘ice cream, ice cream!’ anticipating big, dripping scoops and maniacal rides down empty avenues. Toast the hue of the dining room table. A place of family meetings, Christmas lunches, lessons in planning and queries as to the whereabouts of the mayonnaise lid.

All for Father’s Day.

A day which at the end of I would lie in bed wondering about my friends with the careless comparison of a child. Wondering if they had a father like mine, bacon and orange juice and meetings about mayonnaise lids before wishing every father everywhere a Happy Father’s Day.

As the night grew dark, sleep overtook and I began to dream in a nice house with a warm bed bought by a present father.

As an adult, I still lie in bed wishing.

But I no longer wish a Happy Father’s Day to everyone.

I don’t wish it to the men who left, to the fathers who pretend they aren’t or to the boys who have boys but never realise it’s time to be a man.

Instead I lie there thinking ‘Happy Father’s Day’ but only if you’ve claimed your children.

If there’s no little girl wondering who or where you are, looking for faces like hers in the street and telling her friends you work in America.

Happy Father’s Day, but only if there isn’t someone somewhere cursing your name and wearing the shame of your abandonment like a terrible tattoo while parenting for two. If you’re the kind of man who may no longer love the mother of your child but you don’t punctuate each visit, each request for support with yells of ‘b*tch’, ‘no’ or ‘are you sure this is my child?’.

Happy Father’s Day, but only if you realise fathering is often more about quality time than it is about money. And yet it is also about money. Funds which can pay for books, bus tickets and bright white school shirts just as easily as they pay for beers.

Happy Father’s Day if you’ve never torn the mother of your children out of sleep and out of bed to lament the food in the microwave, the quality of the cooking or the state of her appearance under an unpainted roof, under the broken kitchen lights, under the humble doek on her head.

Happy Father’s Day if you don’t send your children fleeing into the streets as you bang on doors, insult their mother and promise death to the woman who bore them. And if you haven’t shunned your boy who likes other boys, has trouble learning or was born with skin as pale as moonlight and struggles to sit directly in the sun.

Joy and riches to you if you’ve taught your boy child about consent.

If you’ve taken the time to teach your sons about their penis, the monstrosity of rape and if you’re doing your bit to raise a generation of boys who will have zero tolerance for gender-based violence.

Happy Father’s Day if your son knows that the world is full of beautiful women but sometimes appreciation of the female form is calm, respectful and silent.

Happy Father’s Day if you’ve told your son that it’s OK to feel. If you’ve shown him that you can pour your pain into paintings, songs, writing, tears and friends but not bottles. Not the ones that you drink nor the ones that you fill up inside until they’re fit to burst… all over people and children and things.

Happiness to you if you’re actively creating a legacy of love. If your children will inherit good hearts and sweet souls rather than a deluge of your demons.

Happy Father’s Day if you know that history hardly ever needs repeating and so you’re a better father than your father.

All the more so if you teach your daughters to be self-sufficient. If you help them realise that they can be anything they want to be, that they can stand on their own two feet and you show them how to be loved by loving, cherishing and respecting your partner.

Happy Father’s Day if you love without fists, without fury or random accusations.

The world and a biscuit to you if you tell your children stories. If you tell them where they came from and show them all the places they could go. If you open your heart, unfurl your mind and define your role in their lives as raising, not babysitting.

Happy Father’s Day if maybe you’re the kind of father who barely knows their kids because you leave before dawn and come home after dark until your children know more, see more and grow a little fat from food cooked in your midnight oil.

Happy Father’s Day if your children aren’t feasting on pap and pure oxygen while yet another girl in another bar downs what’s left of your paycheck.

Happy Father’s Day if, like anyone doing anything, you’re not perfect, not always present, pleasant or proud… but you’re trying.

I’ve walked down three halls in three houses carrying 15 breakfast trays to my father.

Trays filled with bacon and eggs burnt slightly by three sets of tiny hands mimicking their mother’s. Orange juice the yellow of sunny days in which we’d yell ‘ice cream, ice cream!’ anticipating big, dripping scoops and maniacal rides down empty avenues. Toast the hue of the dining room table. A place of family meetings, Christmas lunches, lessons in planning and queries as to the whereabouts of the mayonnaise lid.

All for Father’s Day.

A day which at the end of I would lie in bed wondering about my friends with the careless comparison of a child. Wondering if they had a father like mine, bacon and orange juice and meetings about mayonnaise lids before wishing every father everywhere a Happy Father’s Day.

As the night grew dark, sleep overtook and I began to dream in a nice house with a warm bed bought by a present father.

As an adult, I still lie in bed wishing.

But I no longer wish a Happy Father’s Day to everyone.

I don’t wish it to the men who left, to the fathers who pretend they aren’t or to the boys who have boys but never realise it’s time to be a man.

Instead I lie there thinking ‘Happy Father’s Day’ but only if you’ve claimed your children.

If there’s no little girl wondering who or where you are, looking for faces like hers in the street and telling her friends you work in America.

Happy Father’s Day, but only if there isn’t someone somewhere cursing your name and wearing the shame of your abandonment like a terrible tattoo while parenting for two. If you’re the kind of man who may no longer love the mother of your child but you don’t punctuate each visit, each request for support with yells of ‘b*tch’, ‘no’ or ‘are you sure this is my child?’.

Happy Father’s Day, but only if you realise fathering is often more about quality time than it is about money. And yet it is also about money. Funds which can pay for books, bus tickets and bright white school shirts just as easily as they pay for beers.

Happy Father’s Day if you’ve never torn the mother of your children out of sleep and out of bed to lament the food in the microwave, the quality of the cooking or the state of her appearance under an unpainted roof, under the broken kitchen lights, under the humble doek on her head.

Happy Father’s Day if you don’t send your children fleeing into the streets as you bang on doors, insult their mother and promise death to the woman who bore them. And if you haven’t shunned your boy who likes other boys, has trouble learning or was born with skin as pale as moonlight and struggles to sit directly in the sun.

Joy and riches to you if you’ve taught your boy child about consent.

If you’ve taken the time to teach your sons about their penis, the monstrosity of rape and if you’re doing your bit to raise a generation of boys who will have zero tolerance for gender-based violence.

Happy Father’s Day if your son knows that the world is full of beautiful women but sometimes appreciation of the female form is calm, respectful and silent.

Happy Father’s Day if you’ve told your son that it’s OK to feel. If you’ve shown him that you can pour your pain into paintings, songs, writing, tears and friends but not bottles. Not the ones that you drink nor the ones that you fill up inside until they’re fit to burst… all over people and children and things.

Happiness to you if you’re actively creating a legacy of love. If your children will inherit good hearts and sweet souls rather than a deluge of your demons.

Happy Father’s Day if you know that history hardly ever needs repeating and so you’re a better father than your father.

All the more so if you teach your daughters to be self-sufficient. If you help them realise that they can be anything they want to be, that they can stand on their own two feet and you show them how to be loved by loving, cherishing and respecting your partner.

Happy Father’s Day if you love without fists, without fury or random accusations.

The world and a biscuit to you if you tell your children stories. If you tell them where they came from and show them all the places they could go. If you open your heart, unfurl your mind and define your role in their lives as raising, not babysitting.

Happy Father’s Day if maybe you’re the kind of father who barely knows their kids because you leave before dawn and come home after dark until your children know more, see more and grow a little fat from food cooked in your midnight oil.

Happy Father’s Day if your children aren’t feasting on pap and pure oxygen while yet another girl in another bar downs what’s left of your paycheck.

Happy Father’s Day if, like anyone doing anything, you’re not perfect, not always present, pleasant or proud… but you’re trying.

In an age of information overload, Sunrise is The Namibian’s morning briefing, delivered at 6h00 from Monday to Friday. It offers a curated rundown of the most important stories from the past 24 hours – occasionally with a light, witty touch. It’s an essential way to stay informed. Subscribe and join our newsletter community.