Fatherless home…

When I say the words “Father’s Day”, who is the first person that comes to mind?

Is it a supportive uncle who has been there for you through the conundrums of your adolescences? Or maybe it’s an older brother who has always been one step behind you protecting you from the terrors of life. Or maybe you think of the man that helped create you and gave you your last name.

Unfortunately, this isn’t the case for all.

Growing up in a household without a father I always assumed I would be lacking something.

No one to teach me about how to fix my car or threaten the life of any boys that were to break my heart. No one to tell me how lucky a man was going to be one day to have me and no one to tell me that I was always going to be his little girl, regardless of my age.

I always grew up craving the stability that comes with having a father in your life. The certainty of always having ‘him’ to call on. ‘Him’ being the first him that was important to me. Him being the first him to set the standard for all the “Him’s” that would follow.

But again, unfortunately this isn’t the case for all.

For me, when I think of my Father’s Day, I celebrate my mother. The matriarch of my household.

I celebrate her courage. Her persistence. Her constant ‘can do’ attitude even when life repeatedly said you ‘cannot’. Her drive an ambition has never allowed her give in.

She is motivated by every downfall and uplifted through every storm. She is strength personified and has carried the load of single motherhood for 21 years.

With my mother around there is nothing I could ever lack. Under my mother all these years I’ve learnt perseverance, I’ve learnt independence and I’ve learnt power.

But most importantly, my mother has taught me seeds of beauty can blossom even from the most defective soil.

It just depends on who’s watering the seeds.

Although I rarely had the luxury of having a father when growing up, I can’t wait to give that luxury to my kids one day.