It’s Sunday, Father’s Day in Brazil. Yasmin and I had arranged to go to Jessica’s for breakfast with her and Mario.

But Yasmin woke up feeling sick. She went to the bathroom several times trying to be sick, without success, and had a severe headache and heartburn. I gave her some water, but she wasn’t improving. It was 8:30, and we were due at Jessica’s for 9:30.

I suggested we cancel breakfast, rearrange it for another day, and let her rest before heading back to her mother’s.

At first she didn’t want to cancel. She wanted to go, more out of guilt than anything, not wanting to let me down. I told her she wasn’t letting me down in any way.

I messaged Jessica, who called, concerned about Yasmin, but understood.

We figured it was probably the nuggets I’d bought her the night before from the local mini-market. I’d tried one and found it extremely spicy, and I like spicy food, so that’s saying something.

I left Yasmin resting and went downstairs to work out: skipping, aerobics, kettlebells, and 30 lengths in the pool. Afterwards I stayed in the courtyard, bought a beer from the vending machine, checked emails and messages, and called Nalva to tell her what had happened to her daughter.

Nalva said Yasmin already knew she couldn’t eat nuggets anymore. True or not, at least her mother knew, which felt like the right thing.

When I got back, Yasmin was lightly asleep. I changed, cut my hair, and wrote a blog post.

Once she woke, I asked what she wanted for lunch, and settled on a small quentinho of rice and beans with barbecue and salad from a local street-food stand where the food is genuinely good.

I went out, bought it, and she ate. At about 4pm she caught a taxi back to her mother’s in Botafogo.

So that was my Father’s Day. Am I disappointed? Not in the least. Would I have liked to be with Mario, Jessica, and both my daughters together? Of course.

But it didn’t happen, and that’s fine. It’s just a day that can be redone, maybe next week or the week after. It might not be exactly what it would have been, but that doesn’t matter. If it can’t happen now, it’ll happen later.

Yasmin gave me some boxer shorts, men’s moisturising cream, and a bottle of wine now chilling in the fridge. But what I valued most was a small handwritten note thanking me for being her father and for being so supportive.

That’s the best present a father could ask for: recognition and love.

I teach Fabio and his son Eduardo, a family from Rio who moved to Sao Paulo for Fabio’s work. Eduardo didn’t give his father anything for Father’s Day, and nothing for his mother on Mother’s Day either. I’ve tried, in this year’s classes and in past ones, to teach him the importance of showing his parents some recognition.

I tried to explain that if his parents give to him 24/7, 365 days a year, the least he could do is reciprocate on special occasions: Christmas, Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day. He agreed he understood, but did nothing.

How messed up is that?

Married or not, I always made sure to take my daughters out to buy presents for their mothers on special occasions. Showing appreciation for their mothers has always mattered to me.

We don’t expect anything back from our children for all we give them, except some recognition, respect, love, or appreciation. Every relationship is different, but in a reasonably functional parent-child relationship, it matters that a child learns to give, not just receive.

Giving is better than receiving, and it’s been shown to be true. The earlier we teach children that, the better for them, their families, and the world. Or am I just old, stupid, and out of date to think this way? I had a beer at Guarabira’s and was in bed by 8pm.

Be kind and be happy. If you cannot be happy, still be kind, but never be naïve.

Thank you

Thank you for reading. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments.

Richard

Photos by Richard George Photography

The post Father’s Day | A Note That Mattered Most first appeared on The Long Gringo.

It is the eve of the first of three bank holidays in November.

This is the penultimate month of the year, and I will be visiting England for the first time in 22 years. It feels like an eternity, almost a generation. The countdown has begun, and I am keen to go. My stay with Nalva and Yasmin is starting to wear a bit thin. Yasmin hasn’t properly spoken to me since July, when I asked her to do two things during her school holidays.

As a result, all hell has broken loose. I had asked her to try not to use her cell phone during the day, only after 5 p.m. I wanted to incentivise her to find things to do during the day and to use her mobile phone only at the end of the day, so she could use her time to explore her creativity, as she has always done since she was a small girl.

The second thing was for her to either go to the gym to work out and exercise or walk for an hour every day to get out in the street, soak up some sun, and feel good about herself.

Ideally, she could have done both: she could have enrolled in a gym while also going for a walk every day, but these two simple requests I made became the catalyst for a nuclear war at home, resulting in her doing neither of them, and I became public enemy number one.

I thought it would improve, but it has only worsened. I do not know whether it is me. Am I wrong? Am I stupid because I am stupid? Or am I stupid for not having seen my daughter’s cruel side before? Have I been blind all this time?

Only now can I see she can be cruel when she chooses to be. I have tried to show her, at this complex age before adulthood, that what she cultivates now can lay the foundation for the rest of her life.

My father was never around, and my mother was excessively hysterical and unbalanced. I have tried to guide my younger daughter towards a promising future. However, in return, I have faced great stress, backstabbing, and unfair accusations. I am also very shocked, surprised, and extremely disappointed in her.

It’s another three weeks until I go to England. What should I do? In the medium term, I’m not entirely sure. Should I return to Brazil in a couple of months? Stay in England? Or go somewhere else? I don’t know!

My dream is to acquire land in the town of Terasopolis in the state of Rio de Janeiro, nestled in the mountains I visited two years ago, with approximately three acres, just large enough to avoid hearing or seeing neighbours. It boasted over a thousand eucalyptus trees, each standing 20 metres high, whispering with the rustle of the wind amidst a cool climate.

Building a tiny house there would be straightforward, allowing me to spend six months in Terasopolis in the mountains and six months travelling and creating content. That is my dream, and it will only be feasible over the medium to long term.

So, what should I do for now? After everything with Yasmin, I want to distance myself from them for a while, as a father and an ex-supportive husband.

Nalva is all right. I recognise that her life is difficult. However, to spit on the hand that feeds her is neither intelligent nor logical. I have always believed she is 99% emotional and 1% rational; the confusion last night was evidence of that.

She has an unfair side that emerges when she gets angry and explodes. She says anything to justify her position or her reasons to the extent that it turns into quite a dirty game defending her point of view. She feels the need to hurt the other person, and if she doesn’t, she believes she hasn’t properly justified herself, which is exceedingly cruel and unjust.

It is nearly vulgar. Unfortunately, I believe that Yasmin has picked up a bit of the same, evidently through example and by having more contact with her mother than with me at times. A mother’s influence can have a profound effect on a child’s overall education and character.

It also reminds me of my mother, who also has this tendency when she’s angry or when she thinks she is right to say whatever she wants when she wants; it doesn’t matter how much she hurts the person who is on the receiving end.

I feel that I’m too old for this kind of treatment and stress. I need to protect myself from negativity. I’m fortunate to be going to England, where I can have time to do what I want, go where I want, and formulate my next plan.

The year is ending, but a new one is about to begin.

In bed by midnight.

Thank you.

Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.

Richard

Photos by Richard George Photography

The post A Father’s Reflection | Family Tension first appeared on The Long Gringo.