Have you told your father lately what you appreciate about him and the impact he’s had on your life?
This Sunday is Father’s Day. I don’t know about you, but I never know what to get my dad for Father’s Day. Another book of puzzles? Another book of witty golf quotes to read in the bathroom? Another fancy ice cube maker for his Scotch? One of the reasons we give gifts is as a way of showing our love of and appreciation for another person. But no gift has ever seemed meaningful enough to express my love and appreciation for my father, so instead, for this year at least, I’m dedicating this week’s Friday Pause to him. Sorry if you were expecting some new golf balls, Dad! (And yes, he subscribes to this.)
I know that not everyone has an easy (or even any) relationship with their father. Or perhaps your father has passed away. I’m so sorry if that is the case. It has taken me a long time to realize (as we all come to realize) that our parents are human too, doing the best they can with what they have. They are influenced by, and sometimes caught in the grip of, their own past and their own demons. Relationships are tricky.
My parents were young by today’s standards when they had me – 24! Can you imagine?! My father must not have known what to do with me – a curious, chatty, always-on-the-move toddler who questioned EVERYTHING. I definitely gave him a run for his money with my first boyfriend (and it just occurred to me that he was MY AGE when I had my first boyfriend. Amazing.) He wanted my sisters and me to make thoughtful, well-informed decisions in life, so we had to create presentations (sketched out on A4 paper) whenever we wanted something. You want a dog? Survey how many people have a dog in your class, find the breeds that are hypo-allergenic, create a dog-walking schedule. Want your own TV? Research the best brands in Consumer Reports, give me the plan for how you’re going to pay for it, and tell me how you will mitigate the risks of becoming disconnected from your family. Put it in the presentation. In retrospect, it’s no wonder I ended up at McKinsey.
He also raised us to be strong, independent, successful women. We would often butt heads (gently) whenever I wanted to veer off the ‘success path’ – transferring out of business school in university to study abroad (way too many PPT presentations in business school), deciding to work after university rather than going straight to law school (I wanted to see the world), deciding not to practice law (not enough creativity for me), deciding to leave the consulting path (major risk of burnout, plus my Excel models were distinctively unreliable). He would say “Are you sure that’s the best decision for your future?” and I would say “Give me a chance.” But I never felt constrained by these conversations – I knew he had my best interests at heart, and it always made me pause and carefully consider the consequences of my decisions, rather than acting impulsively.
From my dad, I learned the value of working hard and saving money (that second one came a bit later to me after my Dubai days!). I also learned to enjoy life. My dad takes great pleasure in good food, delicious wine, and people to share it with. Now that he’s retired, I’ve never seen anyone relax as well as he relaxes. He and my mom go travelling together and send us pictures of the cocktails they drink in the late afternoons. I’m sure it’s not all rainbows and unicorns – living overseas, I don’t see the day-to-day – but I definitely aspire to live a life like his, characterized by doing work you are proud of and then enjoying the benefits. At least, that’s how I see it. Together, he and my mom helped me stand on my own two feet while following my own heart (that second half was more the influence of my mom, I think). I feel so lucky to have this amazing combination of parents.
This week’s poem is by Rupi Kaur. When I read it, it was like she was writing about my own family. If you can, this weekend, why not tell your father the impact he’s had on your life, and what you appreciate about him? Sometimes I think we don’t tell them enough. I love you, Dad.
