letters and lattes

I am incredibly grateful to be surrounded by wise, empathetic men who prioritise loving their daughters well. They haven’t always gotten it right, does anyone ever? But they have a heart to learn, grow and adapt. I am blessed by my relationship with my father, my step-father, my father-in-law and even more so as I have seen the next generation, my husband included, invested in loving their daughters well. 

We’re not all fortunate to have a dad or father figure who loves us well. And for many, they have had to say goodbye before they are ready. But we haven’t lost our places as daughters. And those of us with daughters and nieces have a role to play in supporting fathers to love the women in their world well. 

I sat down to write a card to my dad and for some reason it felt so much easier to do it in third person. Is that because reflecting on memories and telling someone how much you care in first person is too vulnerable? Probably. It’s a journey, ok. As I wrote it, I also felt perhaps there were some general lessons or reflections that might be meaningful for more than just my dad and I. So, dear reader, here is a letter for my dad and those of you who get to partner in or observe the dynamic of fathers and daughters. 

A few years ago I called my dad out on his card etiquette. He would simply write “dear Steph” and “love Dad,” in every birthday and Christmas card. The end. As a person whose love language is words of affirmation, this was deeply unsatisfying for me. I made a sarcastic quip, cos that’s what you do, suggesting “what’s the point? Why bother with the card if it isn’t going to say anything?” I was sure my frugal father would appreciate saving between $2-8 by skipping the card on each occasion. However, he surprised me. The next card I opened was specifically chosen for the message and in addition he had taken the time to carefully craft a meaningful message of love and appreciation for me. This is my most treasured gift, the ultimate card I have received. Not just because the message was kind and thoughtful. But my very grown up father listened to the curt quip of his adult daughter and instead of dismissing it, he listened. He listened, reflected and actioned something he knew was meaningful to me – even though it was of little importance to him. This is my dad. 

Of all the things I appreciate about my dad, the most significant has always been this – He actually listened. 

He listened to my boring stories, my woes with friends and trouble in math. He listened as I lamented big issues and small ones. He listened when I was angry and irrational. He was patient and asked good questions and never tried to solve my problems for me.

Some other qualities I’ve appreciated include; 

He was predictable (read: consistent). 

He gave advice, but let me choose for myself (read: made the hard choice to at times watch me make mistakes and did not try to control me).

He took the time to care about what I cared about.

He practiced what he preached (read: dependable).

He was willing to be wrong (or proven wrong).

I am certainly not all of these things, but they have helped shape who I am, how I parent and how I can support my husband to be a father to our daughter. 

I have inherited many qualities from my dad and we have benefited from being alike in a way which actually meshes well. There is another kind of being alike, IYKYK. We are big thinkers, overthinkers who mull over any unintentional offence or moment of embarrassment, we are proud and critical (mostly of ourselves) and put on a smile for the benefit of making someone else’s day more pleasant. It’s because of my dad I have a great love of film, especially James Bond and anything by Christopher Nolan. Dad would always hit pause in the mystery or whodunnit and glance over to us, “have you guessed it yet?” And then a knowing, “hmmm… well,” pressing play and on we would go. It then became a race to figure it out before he pressed pause and this became our interval to debate theories. My husband absolutely HATES this. Whenever I do this for him he rolls his eyes and tells me “just watch it with your dad!” Or “I don’t care! Just watch the movie!”

We are strange, goofy, highly observant, analytical beings, my dad and I. There are many ways we are not alike, but I am proud of our similarities. I have benefited from his financial wisdom, his high standards and his willingness to always be silly, to be light and bring joy to others. This has shaped much of who I am and how I parent, particularly with my daughter. She reminds me a lot of my dad and also her delight in me is reminiscent of my delight in my dad. She takes joy in what I take joy in and it has led to a place of shared delight. She sits at the table and says Bonjour! Comment Allez-vous! To which I respond, Tres bien, et vous? And she laughs, telling everyone I can speak French. When aside from maybe a few more words, that is literally the extent of my French. It took me a minute to realise, I know this much French from my dad because it’s what he always said to me. WAIT does he actually know French? Or is this it and he’s fooled me my whole life??! As I have fooled my daughter?! I haven’t dared ask him. I don’t actually want to know.

For her and I, it has mostly been an easy road of building our relationship and trusting one another. It has been trickier for her with her dad, who is a thousand brilliant things but none as binding as our natural simbiosis. 

And so even though my daughter is not me and my husband not my dad, the things we value shape us moving forward. They reflect who we try to be as a parent and who we don’t want to be. 

Dear reader, whatever today looks like for you, I hope you’ve caught a moment to appreciate the joys where you find them. Whether in your dad who loves you well, your spouse or brother who is a caring father or father figure and mostly know you are a beloved daughter (or son) regardless of your earthly parentage. 

Go well

Steph