There are so many things and pastimes and special people and objects which are hugely underrated in life. Imagine all those great scientists and researchers who through their spectacular discoveries have saved millions of lives, yet who remain totally unknown. Yet no matter how hard you try and how deep you delve, you will never ever find anything that even comes close in underratedness to being a father.

Being a father is being simply everything. Basically it is being a mother with a penis. Sure we don’t menstruate and bite people’s heads off for no reason. Many of us too have massive bellies but the only difference is that we have to carry ours for much of our lives and not just for the rare nine month stint. And you don’t hear us complaining about them and walking around like a moaning zombie, holding our backs with one arm.

We too have boobs which bounce up and down painfully on horses and speedboats. But we just grin and bear it and we don’t even bother wearing a bra.

We love and feel for our children as much as mothers do, but are always given second place for somehow we simply don’t count as much. And we don’t have the luxury of having baby food on tap, where all we have to do is drowsily turn over and pull down a flap in our bra in our sleep. We have to get out of bed, go to the kitchen, heat up some water, mix in the powder, shake, stir and then wait for the ideal temperature – cause even that comes automatically in mothers!

So we have to largely compensate through hard work and effort, for all the biological shortfalls our male bodies have been bestowed in such matters. And while they were originally designed for a quickie and a runner, a sort of penis and testicles on fast legs, leaving all parenting duties for the deserving mothers, society has now ruled otherwise. So we have had to greatly hone our nurturing skills, which many of us have even mastered to great levels. In many a case even more than the smoking, drinking, coke-sniffing, partygoing, still working, not very much caring, tattooed, mother.

Although admittedly there are certain mothers who seem to adhere to the old school of using the male of their specious simply to spawn their young and to move on, after of course signing a small paper document with each one of them, a situation that also brings them ‘relief’. I have heard that the best formula is three, each from a different father of course…

But whatever happens mummy is always right. She is always assumed of loving the children to a much greater degree. And if she is up in Paceville all night partying, while daddy is home tending to the kids, it is only because she needs some well deserved relaxation. And if she prefers running around with her friends for coffee and cakes, while daddy takes time off from work to look after the children, then it is her we need to support and to pity, for she too needs to rest after coming back home so late.

So the daddies just take it in their stride. Don’t worry honey, mummy will soon be home, she had to go out to meet someone important. Hi mum, oh she just had to pop out to get some shopping but don’t worry everything is fine. Yes your honour I would like to have joint custody as they are my children too after all.

Having said all of this, I think it is now opportune to state that I simply adore mothers and that the above was only to portray the extreme. Fortunately for us most mothers remain by far the one most precious thing in our lives. However by exposing such real scenarios I wanted to highlight the other side of the story, for as usual in life there is always one.

Fathers are so often at best just taken for granted. They are simply there. They are considered an accessory to the family, provided of course that they are always there without fail. They are there for trivial things such as opening jam jars, carting gas cylinders around, fixing punctures, changing light bulbs, hanging up picture frames, hovering over the plumber pretending to understand and checking out the house at night for ghosts and intruders. And more so for the bigger things in life such as educating, giving the best example, entertaining, giving advice, laying the foundation for stability, taking the front line in times of trouble, bringing in some, much, if not all of the bread and of course one of their commonest and most important roles, playing at bank.

But do we curse and complain? Oh no, we’ll leave that to others who are much more talented and qualified in such matters than us. Men really don’t mind being treated simply as a work horse and labelled a provider in life. They even take pride at such notions which would certainly be totally unacceptable to most women. Men want to protect and provide for their families and most do it with pride and joy.

We don’t mind our wives getting all the attention and support and compassion and sympathy and concern. All we desire is one small word and not much more, just a tiny bit of respect would suffice, that’s all.

So we continue loving our wives and children dearly, even our daughters who suddenly mysteriously hate us with a passion, once they hit their teens. We simply wait patiently until they just grow out of it and start talking to us again, as if nothing ever happened. It only takes about a decade or so. We love our wives dearly even in the hardest of times, when they hatefully glare at us and evilly menstruate in glee. We accept their hormonal imbalances throughout their lives and even as they grow older and find yet another excuse to be nasty in their middle age menopause. And when old age finally sets in, this is often accompanied by an unimaginable bitterness, transforming them into nasty verbal poison spitting machine, which we also somehow endure.

Men have problems too, they have mood swings and depressions and hormonal imbalances and they need attention too. They bear the brunt of so much stress and problems yet somehow they deal with it in a totally different way. While women choose the path of bringing everyone down with them and nagging their way to insanity for all those around, men tend to go to the garage, hit a few nails on the hand, chop up some firewood and talk to themselves for a while, until it all goes away. When we are down we don’t persecute our partners and families, we pick up our gear and go quietly fishing. Or we pop down to the pub for a drink with the lads, which is an instantly effective cure for anything under the sun. In other words we simply tend to get out of the way and leave everyone in peace and work out our problems and frustrations alone.

For it surely isn’t women who are the biggest victims of PMS and puberty and post baby blues and adolescence and menopause and old age bitterness, if you think properly about it…

And in the same way that religious merchants have long learned to explain away a visibly evil god simply by claiming that he works in mysterious ways, women too are brainwashing men that all their faults and weaknesses are simply signs of man’s inability to understand them. As if kindness and patience and respect and good humour come in different versions based on gender and time of the month.

But we love women all the same. To the extent that we cannot live without them and no matter what they do, they are the mothers of our children and for that alone we will always adore them. They are the only means of transforming a night of flighty pleasure into a grown human being, our flesh and blood, our heir to all of life.

And even if you no longer want our surnames, nor us to open your doors, we still look at you as the fairer sex and love you just as much.

For most of us are compulsive daddies who relish sharing absolutely everything we have and earn with our dear families. We don’t mind getting an extra job and sacrificing most of our leisure time, sometimes even missing out forever on the best moments of our children’s lives. And we also don’t even mind being accused, in the process, of not caring for our family due to our absence, when all that we’re doing is caring for them even more.

For we are only the father, a necessary evil of sorts. And should one cross even a tiny imaginary line, then he can instantly fall into great disrepute. Evil husband, wife beater, pedophile, abuser of kids. An unfaithful, cheating, rapist of sorts, only so often empty accusations bringing much sympathy to a female devious mind.

And daddies also somehow learn to endure all the verbal aggression, the psychological warfare and the mental abuse, contrasting wildly with the big puppy eyes and the fragile high pitched voice of the occasional needy. As they do with the constant bullying interspersed with crocodile tears.

Men are not perfect and dads can always do more. But in the end most of them try very hard and do their best to care for their families, devoting their entire lives for this one only purpose. Sometimes they manage to amass considerable belongings, only with their children in mind. They continue well into old age waking up early in the morning to ensure that once they pass on, all who is left will have plenty. If they can, they will all help their kids along the way with virtually anything they need, being studies, weddings, vehicles and apartments as well.

For dads assume their role perfectly and focus their entire existence into giving and providing for all those around. Even in cases where the children aren’t theirs but their loved ones, they will still treat them in exactly the same way.

And just as a lovely ode towards mothers should be cherished and praised, one on fathers should not be belittled or scorned with examples of the few nasty ones, for this too can go both ways.

I adore mothers and I respect fathers and I love them both just as much. My dad was my hero and today I miss them both just as much.