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Tuesday, June 24, 2025

The heart of fatherhood

by

12 days ago
20250612
CNC3 Ask the Doctor’s host Dr Joel Teelucksingh.

CNC3 Ask the Doctor’s host Dr Joel Teelucksingh.

There are mo­ments in a man’s life when the world slows down and every­thing—his ca­reer, his de­grees, his dead­lines—melts in­to the back­ground. For me, that mo­ment hap­pened when ba­by Daniel’s tiny fin­gers curled tight­ly around mine with a grip that could ri­val any heavy­weight box­er. In that in­stant, the weight of fa­ther­hood land­ed gen­tly—but ir­rev­o­ca­bly—on my heart.

We of­ten shine a light on Moth­er’s Day with the grandeur and in­ten­si­ty it right­ly de­serves. Fa­ther’s Day, by con­trast, is qui­eter—less cel­e­brat­ed, of­ten over­shad­owed. But the truth is, good fa­thers are not ex­tinct. They are sim­ply not al­ways loud about their love. They are the men fix­ing school projects late in­to the night, the ones at­tend­ing par­ent-teacher meet­ings be­tween dou­ble shifts, the ones pray­ing silent­ly over sick chil­dren or do­ing with­out so their fam­i­lies can have more.

I have stood at hos­pi­tal bed­sides, lis­tened to fi­nal breaths, de­liv­ered dif­fi­cult di­ag­noses and cel­e­brat­ed mir­a­cle re­cov­er­ies. But noth­ing pre­pared me for the sa­cred, hum­bling, all-con­sum­ing joy—and ter­ror—of be­com­ing a fa­ther.

To many, my fa­ther is a spir­i­tu­al com­pass—a min­is­ter of re­li­gion whose ser­mons echo not from mi­cro­phones, but from mo­ments of qui­et com­pas­sion and un­wa­ver­ing in­tegri­ty. He stands at many pul­pits, yes, but it is the way he lives that preach­es the loud­est.

I of­ten won­dered how he man­aged to give so much to his con­gre­ga­tion and still find time for his three chil­dren. It is on­ly now that I un­der­stand the sac­ri­fice em­bed­ded in every smile, every late-night con­ver­sa­tion, every silent prayer of­fered on our be­half.

We must up­lift fa­thers, ho­n­our them, and yes—al­so call on them to do bet­ter when they fall short. Be­cause while the im­age of a present, lov­ing fa­ther is some­thing to be cher­ished, the re­al­i­ty is that many chil­dren grow up with­out that fig­ure. And the ef­fects of fa­ther­less­ness rip­ple through gen­er­a­tions—af­fect­ing men­tal health, ed­u­ca­tion­al out­comes, self-es­teem, and even phys­i­cal health.

It is here that my broth­er’s work takes on pro­found mean­ing. Many may not know that In­ter­na­tion­al Men’s Day, ob­served on No­vem­ber 19, was in fact start­ed by my broth­er right here in Trinidad and To­ba­go. It was no co­in­ci­dence that he chose that date—it is the birth­day of our fa­ther. And just as poignant­ly, World Day of the Boy Child, which he al­so cham­pi­oned, falls on the birth­day of our moth­er.

June is Men’s Men­tal Health Month—a time to break the si­lence that too of­ten sur­rounds the emo­tion­al strug­gles of men. In a world where boys are still told to “man up” and vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty is mis­tak­en for weak­ness, far too many men suf­fer in si­lence. De­pres­sion, anx­i­ety, and sui­ci­dal thoughts are of­ten buried be­neath sto­ic smiles and silent bat­tles.

This month, let us en­cour­age men to speak, to seek help, and to know that strength is not about bot­tling it up—it’s about break­ing free.

A healthy man is not just one with strong mus­cles or low cho­les­terol, but one who knows it’s okay to say, “I’m not okay.”

Vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty is the birth­place of re­al con­nec­tion.

To the men read­ing this to­day: your health mat­ters. Not just for you, but for your chil­dren, your fam­i­lies, your fu­tures. Talk to some­one. Walk more. Drink less. Stop smok­ing. Screen for blood pres­sure, cho­les­terol, di­a­betes, prostate health and oth­er age-ap­pro­pri­ate con­di­tions. Let your chil­dren see you mod­el re­spon­si­bil­i­ty.

The health of a fa­ther of­ten be­comes a lega­cy. Chil­dren who see their fa­thers ex­er­cise, eat well, man­age stress and at­tend med­ical ap­point­ments, are far more like­ly to adopt those be­hav­iours them­selves. And yet, far too many men de­lay med­ical care un­til it’s too late—brush­ing off chest pain, ig­nor­ing un­ex­plained weight loss, or stay­ing silent about de­pres­sion.

If we want to raise healthy chil­dren, we must first nur­ture healthy men. Breathe deeply.

Hug your chil­dren more tight­ly and tell them that you love them. You may not al­ways know the right words, but your ac­tions—your qui­et con­sis­ten­cy—speak vol­umes.

To the women read­ing: en­cour­age the men in your lives to seek care. To speak up. To open up. Let’s not al­low pride to be the rea­son we at­tend fu­ner­als that could’ve been post­poned by pre­ven­tion.

And to ba­by Daniel—one day, when you’re old enough to read this, know that you changed your fa­ther’s life. You made me soft­er, bold­er, kinder. I hope that when you speak of me one day, it will be with the same warmth I feel when I speak of your grand­fa­ther—a man who preach­es less with words and more with love.

Let us ho­n­our all fa­thers: the bi­o­log­i­cal, the adop­tive, the step­fa­thers, the grand­fa­thers, the un­cles who raised nieces and nephews like their own. Let us ho­n­our the sin­gle fa­thers hold­ing it down. The griev­ing fa­thers who vis­it graves in­stead of cribs. The ex­pec­tant fa­thers with trem­bling hands and hope­ful hearts. The bro­ken fa­thers who are try­ing to be bet­ter. The strong fa­thers who make it look easy, even when it isn’t.

Let us rewrite the sto­ry of fa­ther­hood in our na­tion—one of ac­count­abil­i­ty, health, pres­ence and love.

In the end, our chil­dren won’t re­mem­ber the size of our house or the car we drove. They’ll re­mem­ber the bed­time sto­ries, the gig­gles, the scraped knees we kissed and the days we showed up—even when it was hard.

Hap­py Fa­ther’s Day to the men who make the world a safer, stronger, more lov­ing place—one child at a time.


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