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Had Father been the Dearest

A missed opportunity on being Daddy's Princess

By Daniya AliPublished 2 years ago 6 min read
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I often wonder if fathers really know how important they are in their children's eyes. Society tends to portray them as second-class parents who just exist after the mother. Nobody really appreciates the anticipation of a father-to-be. Maybe because they don't carry the child for nine months, nor do they nurture it, nor feel it grow inside their body, nor do they nurse it. But fathers are always anxiously, nervously, anticipating the arrival of their child. Counting each day, hour, millisecond. It is this anticipation that is often overlooked, because their bodies don't pay the price for birthing a child.

I didn't have a father around while growing up, nor did my mother have anyone during both of her pregnancies. But I can only imagine that this is what my brother will go through when he becomes a father one day.

Three years after our mother's death, when my father finally made the initiative of calling us and checking up on us, he started calling me princess, and expressed his deep regrets on how he missed out on our childhood. He told me how he missed out on the opportunity of feeding me with his own hands, and playing with me. Apparently, he had a preference for daughters. I started wondering how different life would have been if my father would've been present. For what it counts, I wouldn't have had to make up stories of my father being present in my life just to feel normal.

I've been told that I'm an exact replica of him. I walk like him, talk like him. I even get my attitude and anger from him. Had he been present, he would not be a second-class parent that just exists. He would've been the dearest to me. He'd be my secret keeper, my partner in crime. I would've been his favourite, and he would've been mine.

Had father been the dearest, I would not be an ordinary girl, but his little princess. Nor would I ever miss any opportunity to act like one either. He would pamper me and spoil me with all his love and gifts, and toys. While my brother would get pampered by my mother, I would've had another parent who would've loved me more. He would shower all his love only on me. I would've been a spoiled brat.

I would run into his arms knowing they will provide me with safety, security, and protection. His safe, secure, and protective arms would save us from getting into trouble with our mother every time our grades weren't good. He would've also been the authority who would override my mother's decision to not buy us the toys we wanted to have. He would've convinced mom to let us play outside, eat whatever we want, and go wherever we want. We also would've shared our immense addiction for KitKat and Coffee Crisp.

Had father been the dearest, our summer holidays would not have been filled with extended, boring study sessions conducted by our mother. We wouldn't have had to study Math for one hour, English for one hour, writing Urdu and Hindi for one hour, and learning French for one hour every day, while we could hear the kids play outside the building. Nor would we feel left out while other kids told us about their vacation in their homeland, or their multiple trips to Wonderland, and Disneyland. Our father would've shut down the study sessions permanently. He would've told our mother to "let the kids play and enjoy because its the summer holidays". With our father around, our summer holidays would have been filled with trips to India and Pakistan, Wonderland and Disneyland, and all the fun places that kids would go to. They would be filled with late-night sessions of our father reminiscing about his childhood in India; what kind of a student he was, what kind of pranks he pulled on his family and friends, and the sacrifice he made by dropping out of school to help out his large family when his father had passed away. All of which we heard from our mother, and not from the man himself.

In the Ramadan of 2020, he sent me a picture of samosas, and nihari that he had made for iftari. It looked so mouth-watering. Now I sit and ponder about how our summer holidays would also have been filled with cooking lessons with him. My rotis would've been round. My omelets would've been the best. My chai would've been 'kadak'. I would've been the best cook. I also would've had the best cook in the family who would serve us the best, mouth-watering Indian-Pakistani delicacies every day.

Had father been the dearest, he would've been the first person I would talk to about my day. I wouldn't be able to contain my excitement to tell him what I learned in school, what game my friends and I played during recess. I was told my father had a very strong personality. If that was so, I would tell him about the kids in my school that weren't very nice to us. I would tell him about the time I felt lonely in high school because girls that I went to school with didn't want to be my friends anymore. I wouldn't have to battle loneliness. I wouldn't have felt like a burden on my family.

And whenever I would get sick, I would not be forced to go to school. I would have had dad who would offer to stay home, and miss work, just like he missed his obligatory Eid prayer when I was born. I would've been pampered, and given the most attention. He would personally feed me sliced fruits with his hands while I would rest in bed, dominated by the warmth, and softness of my blanket. He would anxiously be checking my forehead, to see if the fever has gone. He would've franticly been walking around to check for anything that could help me with my stomach flu. Because he is very attached to his religion, he would've been by my bedside reading prayers and blowing them on me. He would've been the first brown parent who would understand that I didn't get sick because I spend too much time on the computer, or the phone.

Had father been the dearest, he would've been the loudest parent, cheering, and whistling during my graduation. One parent would be recording me up on stage, while the other would bring his friends to make some noise for me when I get my diploma.

Had father been the dearest, he would've been the pillar of strength my brother and I needed when our mother passed away. He would've eased the stress and burden of making funeral arrangements. He would've been the one who would not let us feel our mother's absence, especially when my brother got married. My dearest father would've been the one to walk me down the aisle in the future.

Sometimes I wonder how my father must have thought how his life with his future kids would've been like. He must have imagined a happy scenario and thought this is what life will be like. Now, all I can do is wonder this is what life would've been like.

Neither of us knew what destiny had in store for us. He is not the dearest to me, nor am I to him. But one day, when my brother has kids, he will be the dearest father to his kids, and they will be the dearest to him.

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