Father Day Reflection - 2025.

There comes a time in every parent’s life when the rhythm changes. For years, the days are filled with the constant hum of family life—school runs, dinners together, late-night chats in the kitchen, weekends packed with sport, movies, or just the chaos of kids being kids. The soundtrack is laughter, noise, and the sense that your children are always within reach.

And then, almost without realising, things shift. The little boys who once clutched my hand crossing the street now walk ahead with confidence. The questions that once tumbled out with wide-eyed wonder turn into conversations that challenge, provoke, and inspire. Suddenly, they are not children anymore but young adults stepping into the world on their own terms.

That’s where I find myself now. My two boys have embraced their independence fully. The house feels quieter, the routines less dictated by their schedules, and yet what I feel isn’t sadness. It’s joy. It’s pride. It’s the deep contentment of watching them become men I admire, not just sons I love.

My eldest is working on his master’s degree, a big enough undertaking in itself, but he still finds time to volunteer at a local hospital. His chosen path, to become a genetic counselor, is a career that blends knowledge with compassion, science with humanity. It tells me everything about the kind of person he is: thoughtful, empathetic, and committed to making a difference.

My youngest is about to head off to the UK for two months (after 7 months last year), where he’ll help care for my parents who are struggling with disability. At his age, when so many are focused on adventure or escape, he has chosen responsibility and service - guided by his love for his grandparents. 

What makes his trip to the UK even more meaningful to me is knowing that it isn’t only about supporting my parents. It’s also a chance for him to spend time with my sister. One of my greatest regrets about living in Australia is that I haven’t been able to be as close to her as I’d have liked, so it really pleases me that my son will have this time with her. There’s something deeply reassuring about knowing he’ll be able to strengthen that bond, weaving our family ties even closer across the distance.

And when he returns, he’ll be taking up studies in aged and mental health care—a path that demands resilience, heart, and patience.

That both my sons have chosen futures in caring professions fills me with wonder. Not because I think it says anything about me as a parent, but because it speaks volumes about who they are. Their values, their compassion, their sense of the world—it’s all there in the choices they’re making. And I find myself not just proud, but hopeful, because the world needs more people like them.

It would be easy, perhaps, to frame this as a parenting success story, but I don’t see it that way. Children are never simply products of us. They are their own people, influenced by countless experiences, ideas, and relationships along the way. What I do feel, though, is gratitude. Gratitude that the love and guidance we tried to offer has taken root in ways that matter. Gratitude that they still choose to spend time with us, even now that they have full and busy lives of their own. That, maybe, is the sweetest part—knowing that when we sit around the table together, or take a walk, or share a laugh, it isn’t obligation that brings us there, but choice.

If I ever had a goal as a father, it was a simple one: to be to my children what my father was to me. He wasn’t perfect—none of us are—but he was steady, supportive, and present. He made sure I knew I was loved and believed in. That was my compass. And from the quiet things my sons have said to me over the years, I think I’ve managed to live up to that, at least enough. Not perfectly, not without mistakes, but enough. And enough, I’ve learned, is all it ever needed to be.

I know many parents feel sadness when their children grow up and leave the nest. I understand that—the absence of their daily company does leave a space. But for me, it doesn’t feel like loss. It feels like growth, like expansion. Parenting doesn’t end when your children become adults; it simply changes. It becomes less about steering and more about walking alongside, cheering them on, sometimes just standing back to watch them shine.

The truth is, although I reminisce fondly, I don’t miss the days when they were small and always under my roof, because what I have now is equally precious. The conversations we share today—their perspectives, their humour, their insights—bring me as much joy as the bedtime stories and Lego towers of the past. Every stage of parenthood has its beauty, and this stage is no exception.

I also know I haven’t walked this journey alone. Genna, my wife, has been the most extraordinary partner in parenting I could have hoped for. Whatever we’ve managed to do right, we’ve done together. And maybe that’s why our family feels the way it does today—close, loving, respectful, and, most importantly, still choosing to be together. For me, that’s the greatest measure of all.

I don’t share any of this as a boast, but as a hug to other parents. Parenting is full of doubts, frustrations, and moments of wondering if you’re getting it right. But then you catch glimpses—your child helping someone, speaking with kindness, showing integrity—and you realise those small seeds you planted have grown into something real. It’s not about perfection; it’s about presence. It’s about love.

So as I look back on 22 years of parenting, what I feel most is joy. Joy at who my boys are, joy at the relationships we share, joy at the future that lies ahead for them. If my aim was to be to them what my father was to me, then perhaps I’ve managed it. And if my boys are any indication, then maybe, just maybe, I’ve done ok.