By Laurence Chinery & Timothy Scott
There’s no single definition of fatherhood. No map. No manual. And no promise that we’ll get it all right. But what binds many of us as fathers is the quiet vow to keep showing up, however that looks.
In this shared reflection, two fathers from different corners of the world write letters to their children. One is a stay-at-home dad in the Netherlands, raising his boys with daily presence and spiritual intention. The other is a father in Mexico who spent nearly two decades apart from his children, walking across countries in an effort to bridge the impossible gap.
These letters are different in voice and experience, but they carry the same hope: that our children might one day understand who we were, and just how much we loved them.
To my two mighty sons, from your dad who’s consistently trying to figure things out.
Families are interesting, everyone has one and everyone has a view on what the word family can mean and should mean. Even the members of one family can have wildly different perspectives as they have not all had the shared experiences throughout their lives, your mum and dad smashed together their views on family when getting married, which at the time were formed by moments not lived by either of you.
How then, to be a good father? What is a good father? Or even a good parent?
I’ve recently been reminded of some training I did whilst a school teacher - around the topic of bullying prevention. One thing I learnt from that training was a certain way to use the language when it came to addressing possible bullying situations. We were taught to never label a child as a bully - only to define their actions as an act of bullying, it was suggested that labelling a child as a bully would make it more difficult for that child to see the power they had in changing, taking a different course of action, changing their decisions and helping to repair the situation.
I would argue that similar labelling should be avoided when it comes to talking about fatherhood or parenting - I prefer to aim to consistently make good choices for your mum and you boys. Instead of arguing what a good father is or what a bad father is, let’s address the actions that a man makes. If I walk around head held high thinking that I am a “good dad” it would be easy to say something or do something hurtful or counterproductive and not see it for what it is. In a similar way, I have bad days, external circumstances may affect my mentality more than I want and lead me to act poorly, yet if I beat myself up at the end of the dad calling myself a “bad dad” where’s the way out of that self pity?
That’s why I am always talking about choices, decisions, actions, in every aspect of life - family relationships, friendships, the way we treat strangers, the way we treat ourselves, our discipline for self improvement. Good and bad habits are formed out of choices and actions, they can be changed and altered for better or for worse. I hope when I am being your dad, playing with you, teaching you, caring for you, that the actions and words fill you both with positive feelings, I know I will have made mistakes and said the wrong thing in the wrong way, and for that I am truly sorry, I aim to not do it again, or, more realistically, limit the amount of times that happens.
So, as we talk about families and fatherhood, it’s important to remember those that came before us. Unfortunately you never met my dad, your grandfather. He also tried his best to make good choices and decisions, though he wasn’t always successful. I must remind myself that I am initially formed and moulded in his image, in the same way you are in mine.
I hope and pray you both grow to be mighty men and fantastic fathers.
- Daddy
Laurence’s letter reminds us that fatherhood is built choice by choice, in the quiet, steady actions that shape our children’s lives over time. His is a story of daily presence, of lessons taught in real time, of love woven into the rhythm of ordinary days.
Timothy’s path has been different, measured not in bedtimes and school runs, but in miles walked, years apart, and a relentless fight to close the gap between him and his children. What follows is a letter from this father, Timothy, a man who has learned that showing up isn’t always about having all the answers, but about refusing to stop trying, no matter how far the distance.
To All My Children, But Especially to the One I’ve Yet to Hold
Mistakes were made. I don’t want you to suffer for those misdeeds.
I grew up without a father figure. It left me with more questions than answers. I’ve stumbled through life trying to find some semblance of normalcy, a path that might lead to something better. I’m still searching, not just for myself, but now for you too.
Maddie, your siblings are grown. Much older than you. That puts some distance between your lives, but I want you to know, they already love you. Before you’ve taken your first breath, they love you.
I’ll try to be the father you need and deserve. With your brother and sisters, I was there, but from afar. Not by choice, but because of circumstances I couldn’t control. That distance strained our relationship. It still does. It wasn’t something I took lightly. Maybe you won’t understand that now, but I hope you will one day.
I’ll try. I don’t have all the answers, but I’ll be here. That’s what I think a father is, showing up, even when you don’t know what to do. I know there will be times when life feels unfair, or confusing, or hard. I hope you’ll come to me with those questions. I may not always know, but we’ll look for the answers together.
Being in your life means more to me than anything else. More than money, more than success, more than pride. Just being here with you is everything.
All I ask of you is to try. When adversity comes, and it will, stand up. Be kind. Look out for your mom. And hold tight to your brother and sisters. Family doesn’t always make sense, but it matters.
To all my kids, thank you. Without you, there would be no us.
I’m sorry for the times I wasn’t there when you needed me most. I know it hurt. I never intended to be an absent father, but I was. And that pain lives in me too.
If you’re reading this one day, I hope it brings you peace. Know that I was always there, even when I wasn’t.
With all my love,
Dad
Two fathers. Two letters. Two lives shaped by very different roads, but the same heartbeat beneath it all: a desire to love our children the best we can, even when we don’t have a map.
Whether through everyday routines or a thousand-mile walk, through bedtime stories or late-night prayers, through presence or persistence, we write these words not as perfect men, but as present ones.
If our children ever read these letters, may they feel the truth between the lines. We were trying. We still are.
This is what Dad Dialogue is about: not instruction, not perfection, but reflection. A space where fatherhood gets a voice, even when it doesn’t have all the answers.
Learn more: Laurence Chinery - Dad Dialogue