A city bus broke down one day and my daughter had to detour and then eventually walked the rest of the way to school. I knew about it because she called me on the phone. At the end of the school day, we talked about how comfortable she was knowing how to get around the city. She further realized how important it was to listen to the commotion and announcement directed by the driver as other passengers were deaf to everything else but their blaring headphones. Then she asked, “Do kids go missing in the city?” Not wanting to scare her, I said that anyone can go missing. We paused and then I lighten the mood by asking her Why would anyone want to kidnap a kid? They eat all your food, take up all your free time and mess up your house. “Ha ha!” she retorted.

My journey into fatherhood took me on a detour as well. I had never imagined that I would eventually single-parent on my own. I never imagined that I’d be having most of these conversations on my own. I had never imagined that being a parent was the toughest thing I had ever attempted. Sometimes I have no idea how I keep it all together. And I definitely have no idea where this will go and how it will end. But there are two reasons that keep me on this path.

Firstly, I do it for my daughter because as a child, every adult decision between her mom and me affects her. Because she is a child, she must live with all of the effects and almost powerless to do anything about it until she gets older. And because she is a child of divorce, I owe it to my daughter to give her the best experience I am capable of. But even my influence as her central male figure will eventually wane as she grows to an adult, becoming increasingly independent from her mom and me.

 

I grew up in the undergrowth of six older siblings; a household with an absent father; a marriage to a life-partner who couldn’t see eye-to-eye on some of the most fundamental aspects of life. How can I acquiesce at a time when I need to be steadfast embarking on the most difficult role I have ever undertaken?

 

Secondly, I do this for myself. I claim every triumph and take responsibility for every failure. It’s the latter that defines who I am, how I heal and who I become that is worth writing about. In every role I have been bestowed: son, brother, friend, boyfriend, lover, husband, father and others to come, my personality has been indelibly shaped by the sometimes frictionous aspects in these relationships. While I may wish I could undo some of these conversations and redo some of those situations, I would never in actuality wish them away because of who I have become. Friction only happens when both sides are inflexible or unyielding and eventually one or both will give…or break. While sometimes, it’s not worth the spark, in other times, it is necessary. Although I would never purposely seek out unhealthy conflict, decades of experience have taught me that sometimes, there are things that must be fought for; things that must be defended. I grew up in the undergrowth of six older siblings; a household with an absent father; a marriage to a life-partner who couldn’t see eye-to-eye on some of the most fundamental aspects of life. How can I acquiesce at a time when I need to be steadfast embarking on the most difficult role I have ever undertaken?

Sometimes, I wish I was not so isolated in my darkest moment or listen to the deafening silence during my weakest point exhausted beyond belief. I’ve also learnt hard lessons that light at the end of a tunnel is often mistaken as another on-coming train. But as much as I testify to mine and the strife of millions of other single-dads out there, we persist because it is necessary. And to all my detractors, frictionous actors and co-conspirators who inflict deep wounds, I am sure they don’t walk away unscathed either. Like it or not, as much as they are a part of my life, I am also in theirs. I stood up for a reason. More opposition would not cause me to concede; it would only make me determine to marshal more tenacity to defend what I deem important. I like who I am and I even thank them for helping to shape who I have become. Life rarely unfolds in ways we plan.

I’m glad my daughter’s bus broke down on her way to school that day. I’m glad normal life sometimes deals her situations that knock her off routine. I’m also glad she is knowledgeable and confident enough to find a new way around the disruption. Her journeys have only just begun. I hope she never struggles, but I would never wish her a journey without obstacles or challenges, either.