Minor Issues: Allowing honest conversations to pierce through the silent world of fathers

SINGAPORE – I have been navigating the silent world of fatherhood.

It is a world where our vulnerabilities are hidden from the people who know us best. We often put on a brave front as we toil at work daily to make ends mean.

Masculinity is often taken to mean fathers are expected to quietly fulfil their responsibilities. That is what our own fathers did, and that ethos of stoicism is passed down to us. Like father, like son.

Like children, who are expected to be seen but not heard, an unspoken rule for fathers applies: We are supposed to silently provide for the family while we keep how we really feel to ourselves.

I have been working for more than a quarter of a century now. My work life can be divided into two seasons.

For the first 25 years, I was a salaried employee. Every month, I secured my pay cheque and made sure the family bills are paid.

Over the years, I saved some on the side for the children’s education. My oldest child is currently doing his bachelor’s degree in a local university. My middle child is in JC2 and my youngest is in secondary school.

My family structure fits the traditional mould, where the husband works and the wife tends to the household.

In the past, my wife did some part-time relief teaching and helped out with the parent support group in my youngest child’s primary school.

The division of labour blurred during weekdays. At times, I tended to the kids when I came home from work. My wife could take a break and reward herself with some good K-dramas on Netflix.

During the weekends, we took the children out for dinner and engaged in family bonding activities. We often reserved the middle of the week to have a picnic by the park in the evening.

But as they grew older, the children needed more me-time with friends. My wife and I are not complaining, though, because that frees us to enjoy more we-time as a couple.

About a year ago, I ventured out with a partner to set up our own firm. That was after 23 years of working for someone. I roped in my wife to take care of the administrative side of things.

That kicked off the second season of my life. It is an uncharted journey, but nothing compares with being the captain of your own ship. It was the timely gush of wind my sail needed to propel me to take calculated and rewarding risks.

Having been a father for the last 22 years, I have come to accept that I am supposed to gladly embrace my spousal and fatherly responsibilities. But at times, the going can be tough. I am also expected to accept that how I feel about it is not as important as what I do about it.

Fatherhood seems to be strictly action-based, while we keep our feelings at arm’s length. It is an emotionally silent world, and we try not to get our loved ones involved in our world of work and toil. That impassive posturing passed down from father to son is a reminder that to share my feelings so openly is a luxury I do not have time for.

I should be in control, keeping it together and striving for financial success. And when I meet a setback, I have to deal with it and avoid being a burden. Nobody wants to hear my sob story.

Why bother them with how I feel? Why make the personal fault lines so prominent? Only the weak announce openly that they are weak, right? Doesn’t a father’s shoulders broaden as the load he quietly bears expands? Isn’t it shameful for men to complain?

Fathers just plough through. Seasons may change as our children grow up, but the workload does not. As age catches up, we feel we have to work even harder just to catch up. We work hard for the family and become emotionally hardened.

At times, I meditate on the Bible to draw perspective from spiritual fathers of old. One chapter in Psalms stands out for me. It is about embracing a broken and contrite heart and, thereafter, to grow in strength and resilience from it. Fathers need to be reminded of that.

In a world of steely countenances, what fathers need is an open heart that is willing to share our grief, pain and disappointments. We should learn to entrust our broken and contrite hearts to people who genuinely want the best for us. We don’t have to wait for a time of repentance to share with our loved ones the struggles we encounter and how we feel about them.

Over the years, I have learnt to open up more to my wife and close friends. I am beginning to allow some honest unravelling in my emotionally silent world.

Working alongside my wife, she is now exposed to the other half of my world and the challenges I face. It gives us the opportunity to go deeper in our conversations and solve problems together.

Our conversations have become more about relationship-building rather than just passing or processing of information.

A good companion is a healing balm for the broken soul.

When it comes to interpersonal social skills, I have learnt that there are five levels of communication, according to a website by Jane Taylor, a life coach.

The first two levels are what I call surface-level interactions. They involve exchanges of pleasantries, empty chatter and juicy gossip. We are often bemused by them.

Nothing of ourselves is offered to the other party at these levels. We also avoid inviting the other party to offer themselves to us for fear of becoming emotionally invested.

The third level is where we share our ideas and opinions. Value judgments feature prominently, and people may break into heated argument when they disagree.

The fourth level of communication is where we share our gut feelings. At this level, we trade our silence and anonymity for vulnerability. We come out of our shell and tell it as it is. Our barriers are lowered and our dreams, fears and shame come pouring through.

I believe this is where stoic fathers falter. To be honest, I can count with one hand the number of times my late father shared with me at this level. I guess he was as tight-lipped with my mum and siblings too.

The fifth level is peak communication. I believe that all four levels before it are susceptible to misunderstanding and arguments. It happens when we share too freely without understanding, empathy and tact. But when we come to this last level, there is emotional and spiritual connection, and everything clicks.

While there is no perfect communication, the parties at this fifth level are in sync at a deep and authentic level.

This is the level we should aspire to attain, especially for fathers restrained by decades of upbringing, tradition and culture.

We should allow honest conversations to pierce through our silent world. And this can happen only when we allow the cracks we conceal from others to be seen. From there, we invite people who matter to us to come into our lives, and learn to build understanding and intimacy.