A paper presented Sydney 16 August 2024 at the inaugural ADRA International Mediation Conference
Writing on this topic presents challenges for me.
I am privileged to be a father. Each day, I fill my role as a father to my two small children.
I structure my life around my role as a father. I get my children ready for school each morning. I work school hours, so that I can take my children to and from school each day. Each evening, I cook dinner, and, after dinner, I put my son to bed and read to him. This is not only the most enjoyable but, I feel, the most important part of my day.
But does being a father qualify me to talk about the importance of fathers? I don’t think so. At best, it qualifies me to talk about my experience of parenting and why I think fathers are important. And that is the beginning of why I find speaking on the topic challenging.
I am not used to speaking on topics that are very personal to me (and to every other father). In fact, doing so makes me feel uncomfortable. For many reasons, some of which will follow, I do not feel that I am or have ever been a “good” father. For the 10 years that I was a judge that self-doubt was a real monkey on my back. It meant that the “imposter syndrome” I already lived, was very real for me when it came to hearing and determining parenting cases. I really did not feel that I (or, for that matter, any judge, report writer or independent children’s lawyer) had a right to “judge” a parent.
Also, I am also conscious that this is not my first attempt at fatherhood. It is my second. And I am so very conscious that my first attempt was pretty poor. There was a lot I got very, very wrong. At the very least, I was not the most “present” father. So, in everything I say on the topic, indeed, everything I do each day this time around, I am conscious of the mistakes that I have made. And I judge myself for those mistakes, very harshly
Also, I do not believe that I have a close relationship with my own father. It pains me to say so. But at the ages that we now find ourselves, I doubt that we will ever be closer. And that brings with it an enormous sense of loss and a certain hollowness.
My colleague Laurence Boulle, with whom I am honoured to co-present, has referred to the exercise undertaken with a group of Mongolian men, of having them write a letter to their father. In 2022 I undertook that exercise. I wrote a lengthy letter to my parents (jointly) pouring out my soul to them and thanking them for everything they had done for me. I felt I needed to do so whilst they were still alive (and they still are).
I didn’t want or expect a response. Yet I received one-a brief, handwritten letter in my father’s beautiful copper plate hand. In essence, it simply told me not to worry and to try and be happy. It ended with “your mother and I both love you and are very proud of you”. It did not really engage with anything I had said in my 12-page letter. But I had never expected that it would.
I make clear that I do not, in any way, judge or blame my father for this. He is a good man and a far better man that I. He was an extraordinarily hard-working man and a wonderful provider. He enabled everything I have ever achieved in my life (along with the reformist Whitlam government – the likes of which we have not had since and, sadly, may never see again – without whose reforms, I would likely never have attended University).
When I think of my relationship with my father, the phrase that comes to mind is that annoying social media construct “it’s complicated”. We are, in some ways, very alike and in some ways, so very different. But also, when I think of my father, I think of the phrase that Eric Baker often used in judgements, that children need to know their parents “warts and all”. Part of the problem in our relationship is that I really don’t know my father, or anything of my family history, very well.
I am so very proud of my dad (and my mum). They left England (with my two sisters and I) and moved halfway around the world, to Australia, to start a new life and to provide a better life for us. There have been times that I have really questioned why they embarked on that expedition, but I never doubt their courage in doing so. Whatever their motives, I know it worked out for we kids. My eldest sister became the first person in our family, from the 1600’s to now, to go to university. I was the second.
I know that I’ve done well (you can develop the KPIs however you like) and have done better than I would have done if my family had stayed in England. But it came with costs. One of those was growing up without any extended family or even any knowledge that such things, whether in general or specific terms, existed. It wasn’t until the second year of my law degree, sitting in a succession lecture, at 19 years of age, that I first really heard about extended family – grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.
And my parents, especially my father, were the epitome of immigrant stock – hard working to a fault. In fact, my father was very much a workaholic (one of the things we have in common). But this meant that my interactions with my father, growing up, were limited. I certainly remember and hold dear to me, the times we did spend together and especially the times we spent doing things together. Those times were not all positive, but they were important and formative for me.
And, perhaps, that personal understanding of the formative importance to me of my own father should be my starting point.
I have had the privilege in my life of meeting an extraordinary woman, Professor Cindy Blackstock. Once, while visiting Australia, Cindy gave a talk at my request at a Reconciliation Week event I had organised. Cindy happens to be a Gitxsan woman from British Columbia.
Cindy said something in her talk which resonated with me, being to the effect that we only value knowledge that is very new, from the latest research. And yet, First Nations people value wisdom that is millennia old.
In thinking about this presentation, on the importance of father, I have found myself continuously coming back to Cindy’s words as, the more I read and considered the topic, the more I felt that the topic of importance of fathers should not be approached as a revelation of what we are now discovering but as a remembrance of what we have chosen to forget, at least in Euro-centric societies (as opposed to First Nations communities).
In Anglo-nomative societies, the role of fatherhood has changed dramatically since the industrial revolution. As opined by Roman Krznaric in “…pre-industrial society…in rural areas especially, family life and working life were based in the home. Running the household was a joint enterprise: while a wife rocked the baby, her husband built the cradle and cut hay for the child to lie on”.
The industrial revolution, the movement away from at home subsistence and the concentration of labour away from the home and into factories and urban centres, saw men (and women) leaving their homes and, thus their children. The duality of patriarchy and consumer capitalism then led to an increasing burden of parenting falling to mothers (rather than fathers) and the establishment of what is often referred to, even today, as the “traditional” roles of men as bread winner and women as homemaker and parent.
American poet Robert Bly points out that before the Industrial Revolution a son participated in what his father did. He worked with his father. He shared in his father’s world. But, as men (and women and children) began working outside of the home this disrupted family life. Children had, and continue to have, less access to their fathers than they did two hundred years ago. This arose not only from work outside of the home but from the normalising narratives that built up around this change – a man’s value became judged by his role as a provider (and thus an enabler of consumption).
Through increasing work outside of the home, fathers are precluded from child-rearing. And it is by reference to this absence of fathers from the home and engagement in hands on child rearing that might be a convenient point to think about why fathers are important and what is lost by their absence.
Why are fathers important?
A straightforward answer might be that fathers are important because families are important.
A good starting point might be the International Convention on the Rights of the Child. The International Convention is incorporated in its entirety as an object of the Family Law Act 1975. The objects inform the way that the Family Law Act should be interpreted and applied and guides the outcomes that should be strived for.
The preamble to the International Convention asserts that, ‘Childhood is entitled to special care and assistance.’ The Convention continues:
Convinced that the family, as the fundamental group of society and the natural environment for the growth and well-being of all its members and particularly children, should be afforded the necessary protection and assistance so that it can fully assume its responsibilities within the community, Recognizing that the child, for the full and harmonious development of his or her personality, should grow up in a family environment, in an atmosphere of happiness, love and understanding.. “
This portion of the preamble makes clear that the international community, the majority of the world’s nations, accept that the family is the fundamental unit of society. This must also, at least by implication, point to acceptance of the fundamental acceptance that children have the right to grow up in an atmosphere of happiness, love and understanding.
But perhaps anyone can be “family” and can provide happiness, love and understanding within a family? Why are fathers different to anyone else?
A good starting point to more specifically answer this question is provided by the English Association of Child Psychotherapists who opine “Children need fathers – just as they need mothers – to love them, to be interested in them and to respond to their needs, making them feel valued and understood”.
One might posit that if the importance of a father is for them to love their children and be interested in them, that any number of people, of any gender and whether biological connected or not, could achieve these purposes. But perhaps the answer lies more deeply.
David Blankenhorn expands on paternal roles and their importance, suggesting four broad ways in which fathers benefit their children, being:
Physical protection;
Material provision;
“Paternal cultural transmission” – the ability to contribute to the identity, character and competence of a child; and,
Day to day nurturing – feeding children, playing with them, telling them stories, etc.
The US Department of Health and Human Services went so far as to produce an extensive reference manual focused upon the importance of fathers in the healthy development if children. Whilst many ways in which fathers are important to the healthy development of children are identified, an early statement of the authors would resonate with dispute resolvers working with separated parents:
“One of the most important influences a father can have on his child is indirect – fathers influence their children in large part through the quality of their relationship with the mother of their children. A father who has a good relationship with the mother of their children is more likely to be involved and to spend time with their children and to have children who are psychologically and emotionally healthier”.
This might be seen as a reference to the maternal “gatekeeping” role with which dispute resolvers would be familiar. However, more positively, this passage, as the authors go on to explain, embodies an important aspect of parenting, namely, behaviour modelling:
“One of the most important benefits of a positive relationship between mother and father…is the behaviour it models for children. Fathers who treat the mothers of their children with respect and deal with conflict within the relationship in an adult and appropriate manner are more likely to have boys who understand how they are to treat women and are less likely to act in an aggressive fashion towards females. Girls with involved, respectful fathers see how they should expect men to treat them and are less likely to become involved in violent or unhealthy relationships”
The real developmental benefits to children of involvement with a caring father are clearly spelt out as including:
Better educational outcomes;
Higher IQs;
Better linguistic and cognitive abilities;
Being more patient and better able to handle stress and frustration;
Better emotional security;
More secure attachment with, not only their fathers, but other care givers, including mothers;
Better regulation of emotions, feelings and behaviours;
Greater independence, self-confidence and self control;
Less likely to be depressed and/or anxious; and,
Better physical and mental health and less likely to abuse drugs and alcohol.
These are real, tangible and life affecting benefits. One can only hope that these benefits that fathers provide to their children might be considered by courts when interpreting the May 2024 amendments to the Family Law Act, when considering and interpreting the new, express focus of the legislation- “safety.”
Current dialogues regarding men and their role in families, are dominated by considerations of violence and reference to “toxic masculinity”. In light of this, it is not surprising that we attempt to define what a “good” father is. My concern is that the benefits to children of having a present and involved father in their life, are not prefaced upon or determined by a father meeting someone else’s definition or expectation of what might be a “good father”. I would suggest that, provided that a father was not a positively unacceptable risk to their child, if they were known to and/or interacting with their child, that they are important to their child and able to bring benefit to the relationship.
It is befitting the topic of this paper that I should leave the last words to and by reference to my 3-year-old daughter.
Just before completing this paper, I received of a new post about my daughter on her Day Care Centre’s platform. The story was about my daughter playing with her baby (a doll) in the sandpit. She gave the baby a bottle, then put her to bed and covered her with a (sand) blanket, being careful not to cover her face so that she was able to breath. She then patted her baby to sleep, just like I do when I do her bedtime.
The story reports that the educator asked her “what do babies need?” and my daughter responded with “grown ups to hug them all tight”.
The story concludes with a comment by the educator:
“It is great to see that [she] has an understanding and has taken from her real-life experiences of what a baby needs and how she can take care of a baby”
Indeed, it is. Because that’s what fathers (and mothers and grandparents and others) do. They model behaviour and meet children’s needs, physical and emotional, and by doing so they provide the love, care, nurture and education that children need.
But then, just as I thought I had the perfect ending, I thought that I would go one better and use my daughter as a research sample of one. After I had gotten her dressed, I was brushing her hair and thought that she might give me some real insight and wisdom with which to end my discourse and so we had a conversation. I asked her “Why do you think daddies are important?”
My daughter put her finger to her chin and took a moment to contemplate her answer, then smiled and answered “POOH”.
I remember you
your hand, holding mine
as we walk past the high street shopfronts
The slow red buses rolling by
conductors on their platforms
waving to us, you waving back
your hand large and strong
enveloping mine
The cool mist of the South London autumn wets my skin
The sunlight, diffused by sooty clouds
as we walk to the railway bridge
Your hands around my waist, lifting me up
to stand on the dark bricks
Looking down at the rails and the stones and the litter beneath
as the first wisps of warm air drift up from the tunnel
before stream explodes out
preceding the enormous locomotive
hurtling towards Waterloo
with the smell of iron and coal and power.
In that moment there is only you and me
your hands strong, holding me firm
protecting me
I remember you
holding my hand
And I realise that I remember those mornings
Because they were so few
I remember you, holding my hand
the way I now hold your hand
mine enveloping yours
my hand strong and firm yet gentle
and yours, weak and wrinkled and cool
Yet still, as the monitor beside you beeps
you speak of “rivers of blood” and “queue jumpers”
and how Brexit will give England back to the English
I realise that this might be the last time we talk
our last chance to hear each other
our first chance to hear each other
I don’t want to remember you like this
I want to remember you as the man I loved
the man who loved me
when you held my hand and nothing else mattered
