Missing In Action: Daddy, where were you when I needed you most?

The physical presence of a father is not a sufficient factor for a healthy family, but it is definitely a necessary one.

Early Memories

My first real memories of my father are from when I was around three and a half years old. I vaguely remember the excitement of going to the small aerodrome in Daman (then still a Portuguese colony on the Gujarat coast). Though it was a weekday, my mother dressed my elder brother and me in our Sunday best. She looked prettier than usual and smelled lovely.

My grandfather took us to the aerodrome, where we would sometimes go to watch planes land or take off. But that day was extra special, we were going to receive and meet our father for the first time since we were babies.

Until then, I had only seen photographs of him all over our family home, where we lived with my grandmother, pictures of him as a young boy, as a handsome groom in the wedding album (where I searched in vain for my brother and me), holding us as babies, and more recent photos of him alone or with friends in the distant land where he worked.

A Month of Memories

The month that followed is a photo montage in my mind:

• My parents sitting and talking while we played with the toys he brought.

• Evening walks to the Damanganga River.

• Crossing halfway over the broken bridge to watch ferries and fishing boats.

• The setting sun.

• Wrigley’s gum he gave us while telling stories.

All too soon, the month flew by. We returned to the aerodrome, this time to see Daddy (Papai) off, back to where he had come from, somewhere “near Egypt,” as he told us.

After that, I missed the “dad-of-the-special-month” in a way I had never missed the dad in photo frames. He had become real to me. From his letters, read aloud by my teary mother, we knew he missed us deeply too.

Together,  Then Apart Again

Soon, we joined my father in the Gulf for a year. It would take a booklet to capture the memories of that year,  living together as a family, seeing him daily.

So when, a year later, my elder brother and I were again dressed to travel, this time with UM (Unaccompanied Minor) tags, the parting was even harder.

I was six and a half and understood much more. We were told it was for our good,  to study in an English-medium school in Bombay while my parents stayed back so my father could earn for us.

We lived with a loving, childless uncle and aunt for six years. We met our parents and younger brother annually, but otherwise stayed connected only through letters and photographs.

Growing Up, Emotional Distance

After a year in boarding school, my mother and two younger brothers moved to Bombay, and we lived together, minus my father, who joined us a couple of years later.

By then I was a teenager. Though we shared common interests, reading, debating, music, the years apart had created emotional distance.

We were never truly close.

Later I learned that my grandfather had also sent my father and his brothers to boarding school. I never explored how that affected him; he never wanted to speak about it.

Repeating the Pattern

I eventually married and emigrated. I landed what seemed like the best job, a “high-flying” management consultant role involving constant travel across North America.

Both my sons were born during those years.

Except for vacations and occasional local projects, I was away Sunday night through Friday night.

I became a weekend dad.

I would arrive Friday nights carrying “manna from heaven”, cheese and crackers from flights, which my older son eagerly awaited. Trying to be the best husband and father within a weekend stretched the meaning of “quality time.”

Eventually, this lifestyle contributed to the breakdown of my marriage. The most painful moment was watching my sons disappear through airport security with their mother, headed to their new home, again “near Egypt.”

Turning Point

A couple of years earlier, I had come into a personal relationship with God. I began to understand how vital a father’s closeness and accessibility are.

I tried to change my job, if not my career, but not in time to prevent the damage. By God’s grace, when my adult sons and I reunited years later, we were able to rebuild a loving relationship.

If I could relive life, I would place family immediately after God in my priorities, though I’ve learned that is easier said than done.

In my father’s family, this pattern of absentee fathers had run three generations, but it has now been broken.

I do not use the word “curse” lightly. Studies across cultures show that absentee fathers significantly contribute to psychological, behavioral, and even criminal dysfunction.

MIA Fathers, Missing in Action

Since returning to India, I’ve become increasingly aware of “MIA” fathers in otherwise intact families.

Consider the socio-economic spectrum:

• Migrant labourers, drivers, construction workers leave families in villages to earn in cities.

• Middle-class jobs demand prolonged travel.

• Merchant navy sailors spend months at sea.

• Armed forces personnel are often posted away from families.

• Frequent transfers lead parents to send children to boarding schools.

Even the best boarding schools are no substitute for growing up with both parents. Yet many families make this sacrifice “for the child’s good” without weighing emotional costs.

Presence Before Quality

I am not suggesting a father’s physical presence alone guarantees a healthy family, but it is necessary.

As Woody Allen quipped, “Eighty percent of life is just showing up.”

Only when fathers are present can we speak about:

• Quality time

• Emotional connection

• Role modelling

• Guidance and mentorship

Like students waiting eagerly in a classroom, children may be present and ready, but too often, the teacher is absent.

A Father’s Appeal

As a father who has learned the hard way, I appeal to fellow fathers:

Be present.
Engage emotionally.
Teach, and keep learning.

The Old Testament ends with a profound choice: God’s blessing rests where the hearts of fathers turn toward their children, and children toward their fathers. Otherwise, there is brokenness.

Fathers, what will you choose this day, a blessing or a curse?