Francis Gonsalves

Hundred years ago, on June 19, 1910, Father’s Day was celebrated for the first time — thanks to the efforts of Sonora Dodd of Spokane, Washington. Dodd told people to come to church wearing roses: a red rose to honour a living father and a white rose for a deceased one. Dodd wore a white rose to honour her dad who raised six kids after her mom’s untimely death.

Although one might argue that Father’s Day isn’t desi but an American implant, June 19 could fruitfully be used to reflect upon fathers and fathering.
“One father is more than a hundred schoolmasters”, wrote George Herbert. Sure, we’ve learnt unforgettable lessons from our fathers. As the head of the family, my dad sought counsel from another head: God. Dad insisted that we spend moments in prayer at dawn and dusk. “Give us firm faith, Lord!” he’d pray, entrusting us to God’s care. Devoted disciple of Jesus, he loved bhakts of all faiths and respected all religions. This was bhakti at its best.
Fathers have traditionally been entrusted with training the minds of their children. Dad strove to impart true jnana to us, his children, by cultivating a passion for reading, music, poetry, art, sport and drama. Carefully budgeting his small salary to include good books, musical instruments and art-music-sport activities for us, he’d say: “God wants you to be happy; and happiness lies within you!”
Stereotypes like “moms must roll out rotis and dads must be bread-earners”, or “mothers mould hearts while fathers fashion minds” were demolished by my dad. He did the cooking and cleaning at home after his retirement, while encouraging mom to reassume her role as schoolteacher, which she had relinquished to care for us during childhood.
My dad had alchemic hands. A versatile artist and musician, he could transform any music and material to manufacture something refreshingly new. His Midas touch was manifest in the statues he crafted and arranged artistically in the veranda amidst a colourful collection of rose plants which he and mom tenderly tended, and we, kids, perfunctorily watered. “Life’s like these roses”, he’d muse, “beautiful, even with their thorns”.
My dad trod a thorny trail as he suffered three massive cardiac arrests and succumbed to the fourth. Years later, I asked mom, “Don’t you miss dad?” She replied, “Sometimes... but, before dad died he said that I’d feel his lingering presence among the roses we tended”. I realised that the roses-amidst-thorns kept mother hopeful of someday going “Home” to heaven, which would but be final fulfilment of the heavenly home they created for us.
Beyond visible and tangible realities that are transient, there lingers The Transcendental Reality whom Christians call abba and address with a universal “Our Father” believing that all men/women are sisters/brothers, offspring of One God. Similarly, in some religions “The Ultimate Being” is seen and symbolised as father, grandfather, pita, appa or baba. From my book Pilgrim Poems, here’s a verse I wrote years ago on Father’s Day:
“From all eternity God fashioned our birth,
Creating a sacrament of Godself on earth.
Through dad God reveals in time and space,
Divine Presence, at home, with human face.”

Religions seemingly suggest that human beings are replicas — no matter how imperfect — of divine fatherhood/motherhood. Moreover, psychologists like Carl Jung speak of “archetypes” in the collective unconscious of humankind, fundamental among which are the “father archetype” and “mother archetype”. Indeed, inherent within each male are traces of the feminine inner personality (anima), much as a slice of the male psyche (animus) resides in females. Thus, beyond gender archetypes and stereotypes, eternally enshrined within us is the propensity and potentiality to be father-and-mother.
Being a brahmachari, I don’t have children. And, though I don’t like titles and degrees prefixed and suffixed to people, I’m often called “Father Francis” on account of my priesthood. To live up to this title, I often remember my dad who, even without Raymond, was quite “the complete man” — harmonising heart-head-hands (bhakti-jnana-karma) with consummate consistency. So, on this Father’s Day, though I won’t wear roses for dad, I’ll fondly remember him. Perhaps, with a pushpanjali I’ll pray that we all strive to be a father and mother for more people, thereby mirroring God: Abba and amma of us all.

— Francis Gonsalves is the principal of the Vidyajyoti College of Theology, Delhi. He is involved in interfaith dialogue and peoples’ initiatives for fostering justice, harmony and peace. He can be
contacted at fragons@gmail.com