A Father Story of Loss – By Bajan Owl
She used to sit at the kitchen table, watching me read the morning paper, copying the way I folded it just so. When she got older, she’d ask my opinion on everything – which university program to choose, whether to take that job offer, even which apartment to rent. “What do you think, Daddy?” was her constant refrain, and I’d give her my measured, practical advice in the same tone my father used with me. Firm. Direct. No nonsense.
What I didn’t realize then was that she wasn’t just seeking my guidance – she was seeking my approval, my encouragement, my emotional presence. And what I gave her instead was the Caribbean father I knew how to be: stoic, strong, and sadly distant from the very emotions that could have bridged the gap between us.
My daughter is gone now. And with her departure came the crushing realization that love unexpressed is love that dies with you.
The Caribbean Man’s Burden: Strength Over Softness
Growing up in the Caribbean, I learned early that men don’t cry, don’t show weakness, and certainly don’t get emotional over “small things.” My father was a good man – worked hard, provided for us, made sure we had what we needed. But I can count on one hand the times he told me he was proud of me. Physical affection was reserved for occasions of serious illness or significant achievements. Everything else was handled with firm correction and stoic expectation.
This wasn’t cruelty – this was Caribbean masculinity. We were taught that our love was demonstrated through provision, protection, and guidance. Words of affirmation were seen as unnecessary, potentially making children “soft” or overly dependent on praise. “If I’m feeding you and keeping a roof over your head, you should know I love you,” was the unspoken philosophy.
I carried this same approach into my own parenting. When my daughter excelled in school, I’d nod approvingly and say, “Good. Keep it up.” When she showed me her artwork, I examined it seriously and pointed out areas for improvement. When she came to me excited about her achievements, I’d remind her not to get “beside herself” and to stay humble.
I thought I was preparing her for a world that wouldn’t coddle her. I thought I was teaching her resilience. What I was doing was teaching her that her father’s love was conditional on her performance and that emotional expression was a sign of weakness.
The Girl Who Mirrored Me
She was so much like me, it was uncanny. Same analytical mind, same dry humor, same stubborn streak. She’d argue points with the precision of a lawyer, just like her old man. She had my work ethic, my perfectionism, and, unfortunately, she also inherited my tendency to internalize emotions rather than express them.
But unlike me, she was also tender-hearted. I’d catch her crying over movies or giving away her lunch money to classmates who forgot theirs. She felt everything deeply, and somewhere along the way, I taught her that this depth of feeling was something to be controlled rather than celebrated.
When she’d come home upset about a friend’s betrayal or a teacher’s unfairness, instead of first acknowledging her pain, I’d jump straight into problem-solving mode. “What are you crying for? That’s life. People will disappoint you. Learn from it and move on.” I thought I was teaching her strength. I was teaching her that her emotions were inconvenient interruptions to rational thinking.
The Heavy Hand of Caribbean Discipline
Caribbean parents often confuse fear with respect, compliance with understanding. We use shame as a teaching tool and emotional withdrawal as punishment. “I’m not talking to you until you act right,” or “After all I do for you, this is how you repay me?” become our default responses to disappointment.
I recall the last serious conversation we had before she fell ill. She’d made a decision I disagreed with – nothing major, just a career move I thought was risky. Instead of expressing my concerns with love and trust, I went into full Caribbean father mode. I questioned her judgment, reminded her of all the sacrifices I’d made for her education, and ended with the classic: “You’re too hardheaded for your own good.”
She listened quietly, like she always did, and said, “Okay, Daddy. I understand.” But I could see something change in her eyes. A distance that wasn’t there before. She still came to me for advice after that, but something was different. More formal. More careful.
I didn’t know it then, but I had just taught my daughter that disappointing me meant risking my emotional rejection. And for a child who looked up to me as much as she did, that was devastating.
The Silence Between Love and Expression
Caribbean culture teaches us that actions speak louder than words, but what happens when your actions are interpreted through the lens of emotional distance? My daughter knew I loved her – I worked overtime to pay for her education, I drove her everywhere she needed to go, I sat in every parent-teacher conference, and I was there for every critical moment.
But she also knew that my love came with conditions and expectations. She knew that my approval had to be earned and re-earned constantly. She knew that emotional expression made me uncomfortable and that my default response to her feelings was to correct her rather than offer comfort.
The tragedy is that she was becoming an amazing woman despite my emotional limitations, not because of them. Her strength came from fighting through the messages I inadvertently sent about emotional vulnerability being weakness. Her independence came from learning that she couldn’t depend on me for emotional support, only practical guidance.
What I Learned Too Late
The day the doctor told us about her diagnosis, I watched my strong, stoic daughter break down in tears. And for the first time in years, I didn’t try to fix it or redirect it. I just held her. In that hospital room, all my Caribbean masculinity crumbled, and I finally became the father she’d needed all along.
During her illness, she told me things I wish she’d felt safe to share years earlier. She told me about times she’d needed encouragement instead of correction, comfort instead of solutions, and simple acknowledgment instead of immediate improvement plans. She told me that she’d spent years trying to earn expressions of pride that should have been freely given.
“I always knew you loved me, Daddy,” she said one day, as she held my hand. “I just wish you knew how to show it in ways that didn’t feel like I had to work for it.”
Those words shattered something in me that needed to break.
To My Caribbean Brothers: Break the Cycle
If you’re reading this as a Caribbean man raising children, please hear me: your strength is not diminished by emotional expression. Your authority is not threatened by showing affection. Your children need to hear that you’re proud of them, not just when they achieve something significant, but also for the small daily victories they accomplish.
Here’s what I wish I’d known:
Replace Stoicism with Emotional Intelligence
Your children don’t need you to be emotionally unavailable to be strong. They need you to model healthy emotional expression. When your child is upset, your first response should be to acknowledge their feelings: “I can see this really hurt you” before moving to solutions.
Praise the Process, Not Just the Product
Instead of waiting for significant achievements to show pride, celebrate effort, improvement, and character. “I’m proud of how hard you worked on this” is more powerful than “Good job” after success.
Physical Affection is Not Weakness
Hugs, shoulder squeezes, and physical comfort don’t make children soft – they make them secure. Caribbean parents often withhold physical affection as children get older, especially with boys. Don’t do this.
Ask About Feelings, Not Just Facts
“How was school?” gets facts. “How did school make you feel today?” gets a connection. Your children need to know that their emotional world matters to you.
Apologize When You Get It Wrong
Caribbean parents often believe that apologizing to children undermines authority. It doesn’t – it models accountability and shows that respect goes both ways.
For the Fresh-Off-the-Boat Generation
If you’ve recently immigrated from the Caribbean, you’re already dealing with a massive cultural adjustment. Don’t let fear of raising “soft” children in a different culture push you toward even more emotional distance. Your children need your strength, but they also need your heart.
American Culture Isn’t the Enemy of Discipline
You can maintain Caribbean values of respect, hard work, and family loyalty while also embracing emotional openness and transparency. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.
Your Children Are Navigating Two Worlds
They require additional emotional support as they navigate Caribbean expectations alongside American social dynamics. Be their safe space, not another source of cultural pressure.
Punishment Should Teach, Not Break
The goal of discipline should be to teach better choices, not to establish fear-based compliance. Children who comply out of fear often struggle with decision-making when you’re not around.
Build Connection Before Correction
Before addressing behavioral issues, ensure your relationship bank account is filled with positive interactions, encouragement, and emotional connection.
Practical Steps for Emotional Connection
Daily Affirmations
Find something to praise about your child every day, genuinely. Not performance-based, but character-based: “I love how kind you were to your brother today” or “I appreciate how you kept trying even when it was hard.”
Bedtime Conversations
Use bedtime as an opportunity for connection, not just a routine. Ask about their day, their friends, their dreams. Share appropriate stories from your own childhood.
Regular One-on-One Time
Create individual time with each child, doing something they enjoy. Use this time to listen more than you talk.
Express Pride Publicly
Don’t just correct your children in front of others – also praise them. Let them hear you telling other adults about their positive qualities.
Physical Affection Without Occasion
Don’t wait for special moments for hugs. Random acts of affection throughout the day build security.
The Discipline That Builds Up
Caribbean discipline often focuses on what children did wrong rather than teaching what they should do right. Here’s a different approach:
Natural Consequences Over Punishment
Let life teach the lessons when possible. If they don’t do homework, let them face the teacher rather than adding your punishment on top.
Problem-Solving Together
When behavior issues arise, involve your child in finding solutions: “What do you think would help you remember to do your chores without me having to remind you?”
Address Behavior, Not Character
“That was a poor choice” instead of “You’re being bad.” Please focus on the action, not their identity.
Cool Down Before Correcting
If you’re angry, take a moment to calm down before addressing the issue. Caribbean parents often speak in the heat of emotion, which can lead to saying things we regret.
Honor Your Parents While Evolving
This isn’t about rejecting everything our parents taught us. Many Caribbean values – such as respect for elders, a strong work ethic, family loyalty, and resilience – are beautiful gifts that we should pass on. But we can keep the good while letting go of the harmful.
Your parents did the best they could with what they knew. You can do better with what you know now.
When You Mess Up (Because You Will)
Every parent makes mistakes. Caribbean parents often refuse to acknowledge them, thinking it undermines authority. Here’s what to do instead:
Own It Quickly
“I handled that wrong, and I’m sorry” goes a long way with children.
Explain Without Excusing
“I grew up in a time when parents didn’t talk about feelings much, but that doesn’t make it right. You deserve better from me.”
Change the Pattern
Apologies without changed behavior are just words. Show your child that you’re working to do better.
Building Legacy, Not Just Rules
My daughter used to say she wanted to be just like me. By the time I learned how to be the father she deserved, it was too late for her to see the full extent of the transformation. But it’s not too late for your children.
The legacy you leave isn’t just about the rules you enforce or the achievements you push them toward. It’s about how you make them feel about themselves, how you teach them to handle emotions, and whether they feel truly known and loved by you.
A Message to My Daughter
Baby girl, if somehow you can hear this, I want you to know I was proud of you every single day, not just the days I showed it. Your tender heart wasn’t a weakness – it was your greatest strength. Your questions weren’t challenges to my authority – they were signs of the brilliant, thoughtful woman you were becoming.
I’m sorry it took losing you to learn how to love out loud. I’m sorry I confused strength with emotional distance and confused correction with love. You deserved better from me, and I pray that sharing this story will help other children get the father you should have had all along.
To Every Caribbean Parent Reading This
Your children don’t need you to be perfect, but they do need you to be present – emotionally present. They need your strength, but they also need your heart. They need your guidance, but they also need your encouragement.
Please don’t wait until it’s too late to tell them how proud you are of them. Don’t wait for perfect behavior to show them unconditional love. Don’t confuse emotional distance with strength or fear-based compliance with respect.
Break the cycle. Your children – and their children – will thank you for it.
The greatest gift you can give your child isn’t just your provision or protection – it’s the security of knowing that your love for them isn’t based on their performance, and that they can come to you with anything, even their deepest emotions, and find acceptance rather than correction.
Love them loudly. Love them daily. Love them while you can.
Bajan Owl is a Caribbean-American writer and father who learned life’s most important lessons too late. He writes about parenting, loss, and the courage it takes to break generational patterns while honoring cultural heritage. This piece is dedicated to his daughter, whose memory continues to teach him how to love better.