Essay: A Father’s Anxieties

Desmond Black’s personal essay allows the reader shows us a glimpse of the emotions of a parent who sees a reflection of their own childhood in their children’s.

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Six months after my father’s passing, to ease the burden on my family, I quit my job and moved back home to focus on childcare.

According to The Book of Later Han, Lu Chu accused Kong Rong of saying: “What kinship does a father have toward his son? In terms of their true intentions, it is merely for the sake of desire. As for the mother’s relation with her child, what good reason do we have for this existence? It’s as if they are objects placed in a jar; once out, they are gone.” But I must confess candidly that my children were not born from any such desires. They are the precious fruits of our two years of artificial insemination after marriage.

Previously, my wife and I had immersed ourselves in a blissful duo world. We’d been together for seven years, married for another seven, despite frequent separations due to work. The carefree and prosperous life gave me a sense of confidence and satisfaction that lingers still. I often spoke about the child-free philosophy, which upset a friend who criticized me for having no sense of social responsibility for not having children. Indeed, back then, I had little sense of responsibility and only needed to manage myself. Public policy, environmental issues, healthcare, education — they seemed irrelevant.

Though both my wife and I were frequently pressured by our in-laws to have children, those words felt like whispers on the wind. Until one day, we visited my parents. After lunch, my introverted father, emboldened by his liquor, asked, “When do you plan on letting us see our grandchildren? We are getting older, and our energy for helping you will diminish.” At that moment, I only told to myself: “Who needs your help with the kids; I’ll take care of them myself.” Of course, those words remained unspoken. Although I had often conflicted with my father since childhood, at 35 that moment, I didn’t want another quarrel.

Perhaps it was a weariness of our tranquil life, perhaps it was the friend’s criticism about social responsibility, or maybe some inner call prompted me to finally suggest having children to my wife. She agreed.

After confirming that natural conception had a very low success rate, I wrestled with artificial insemination as a non-natural gift for a while. Eventually, after my wife went through multiple painful injections and medication sessions, along with the emotional toll of repeated failed implantations, we decided to implant two embryos at once to increase our chances. To our surprise, this attempt was successful! The twin children born from this were revelatory, leading me to reconsider nature’s gifts.

From then on, a man who had previously traveled extensively and loved adventure became reluctant to leave home, finding new meaning in life. This experience also forced me to reevaluate the world around me. I began to care about everything — pondering the butterfly effect of changing international situations, adhering to safety rules, being cautious of unleashed dogs, studying laws, actively participating in grassroots elections and voting… I became intolerant of any uncivilized behavior, trying every means possible to protect my children. My mind was always filled with new thoughts about their future, which gradually took control, sometimes driving me into madnesses and anxieties. Despite being tormented by these anxieties, I knew that I would be their most steadfast support.

What troubled me more, though, was my own family shadow. This anxiety stemmed from a fear rooted in my father’s actions. After the children were born, I continued to travel frequently while my parents came to help with childcare. My wife returned to work soon after giving birth and worked diligently, often returning home late at night.

Later, I learned that she didn’t want to go home after work because the atmosphere at home was oppressive. Indeed, this atmosphere was created by my father. He always had a stern expression and never smiled; he intimidated my mother and even physically abused her. Throughout my childhood, I rarely heard him speak kindly to her. His strictness and cold demeanor influenced how I perceived love, exacerbating my anxieties and fears.

My wife did not grow up in such an environment. She was naturally outgoing and came from a family where laughter was always the norm. I could understand her fear of this oppressive atmosphere and worried that the children would grow up under similar conditions. While I knew that my father really loved his grandchildren, he cared for them with meticulous attention, but he had never reflected on how he expressed love.

After three years of childcare and one week after being diagnosed with severe depression, at the age of 69, my father committed suicide. Except for my mother and a friend, no one comforted me. I took many days off work but also often missed them, waking up to cry, going out to walk with the children, then returning home to cry again. The cycle repeated day after day. During that time, it wasn’t so much about taking care of my children as much as my children were taking care of me.

Looking at them made me suddenly smile; I thought they would never experience my childhood environment. However, despite years of performance-driven experiences shaping my personality, I couldn’t help but feel that the original family shadow truly wouldn’t disappear.

Another year passed. Now I drop off my children at kindergarten in the morning and return home to read. In the afternoon, I pick them up, watch them play, and meet some of their friends. My mother continues her daily routine — buying groceries, doing laundry — and always cooks delicious food for everyone, and ensures that all dirty spots on kids’ clothes are cleaned by hand before throwing them in the washing machine. This old hard-working lady is my mother, a woman who has dedicated herself to her family throughout her whole life.

At 40, I still cannot cook, and I feel guilty about this. My wife switched to a TikTok-alike job, working late into the night every day. There isn’t much communication between her and me, even our children. Because she often returns home after we are asleep and keeps sleeping while we are awake. I worry about her health and wish she could spend more time taking care of the children, giving me some rest.

In the absence of children, I once celebrated the greatness of parental love. As a father now, I realize that my love is ordinary, anxious, weary, and even almost hysterical. These emotions continue to torment me but also allow me to accept them with grace as I find ways to reconcile with my anxieties. After all, when I know my children need me, and when I hear them call me Dad, it’s all worth it.

Author’s Bio

Desmond Black is the pen name of a writer from China. He served for Huawei Technologies, Pingan International Financial Leasing Co. and later a domestic bank in mainland. Now he is a full-time father.