Daunted by dad-hood, encouraged by dad

Imminent parenthood pushes Nick Brewer to pause and consider what sort of Dad he needs to be.

Nick Brewer

Nick Brewer is a critically acclaimed rapper and recording artist. He is a patron of Anxiety UK, and runs Talk About It - helping young people explore creative writing.

A dad hovers with open arms ready to catch a baby taking first steps

Peter Dlhy on Unsplash

I’m about to become a father for the first time.

While there is excitement and joy as my wife and I prepare to start this new chapter of life, I’m not sure that I feel qualified to be a dad. As someone with an anxious disposition, I like to be as prepared as possible for any task ahead. However, just six weeks from the due date, I could quite easily do with another nine months to get ready for the new arrival.

I’ve been reading books about parenting, listening to podcasts, attending classes with my wife, all to try and equip myself with the necessary skills. I’ve also tried to do as much DIY as my limited skillset allows me, to make the house ‘baby ready’.

Yet, I can’t get away from this nagging feeling that I might not have what it takes to be a good dad. Watching my wife flourish over these last few months, building a strong connection with the baby and preparing for motherhood, is quite astounding. Honestly, I can’t say I have that same feeling of connection with the baby.

What do I say to a bump? I’m rarely at a loss for words in life, but I was stumped.

This lack of connection became clearest to me when my wife first suggested that I speak to the bump, so that the baby could get to know my voice. As I hesitantly stooped down and got in position to talk, my mind went completely blank. What do I say to a bump? I’m rarely at a loss for words in life, but I was stumped. An awkward ‘hello’ and ‘how are you?’ wasn’t cutting it.

Suddenly, I had an idea to sing a song. My song of choice was ‘All My Loving’ by The Beatles. This isn’t a song that I’ve listened to in at least ten years, and my wife had never even heard it. So, why did this song come to mind at that moment? Some sort of distant memory had crept in, of my own father singing this to me as a child, most nights before I went to sleep. As this memory came back to me, I started to think, what can I learn about the role of a father from the example set by my own father?

Can I reach the incredibly high bar that my dad has set for parenting? I’m not so sure, but I’ve got no excuse not to, as I’ve had a near perfect example in him.

My dad is a very different character to me. While I often overthink and worry about everything, my dad just seems to have an ability to get on with life, regardless of what he might be going through. He’s not the most outwardly emotional man. It would be rare for him to answer the question ‘how are you?’ with anything other than ‘fine’.

He’s much more of a ‘man’s man’ than me; one of those guys that just seems generally good at most handy things. He’s the type of guy that you would want to help install laminate flooring or rewire a lamp. He’s reliable, having been with the same employer for nearly 40 years, and he gives great financial advice. He is not hypermasculine in any way, but he’s solid. Dependable. He would do anything to help anyone, no matter what it may cost him.

He has a lot of qualities that a good father needs, and as his son I’ve reaped many rewards from having a dad like this. I’ve grown up feeling safe and reassured. And while I’ve picked up some of my dad’s traits, I’m not sure how similar we are. I’m a lot more emotionally wired than he is. I worry about things that I imagine have never crossed his mind. I’ve spent a lot of time chasing creative pursuits and sought work opportunities that I believed would fulfil me. I’ve spent countless hours trying to figure out my ‘purpose’. I’m extremely unskilled when it comes to DIY. I worry that I’m just a lot more selfish than he is. Can I reach the incredibly high bar that my dad has set for parenting? I’m not so sure, but I’ve got no excuse not to, as I’ve had a near perfect example in him.

While I could go on about my dad’s various qualities, when I think of the ways in which he has impacted me most, one of the most important things he did was create a safe environment for me to grow up and develop in.

Through his willingness to patiently let me become myself, with the parental guidance that was required of him of course, he demonstrated love.

From a young age, I just had this feeling that I could express anything to my dad. Over the years I’ve asked countless questions, expressed numerous fears, and explored several different interests with him. Looking back as an adult, I imagine that I’ve frustrated my dad on several occasions; pondering and worrying about things that he knew I didn’t need to. But he didn’t shut me down, he created space for me to express those things.

There’s a piece of advice from James, one of the leaders of the early Christians, way back 1,900 years ago. He encouraged his reader to be ‘quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry’. That’s what my dad exhibited to me. He didn’t bat away my worrisome thoughts or ignore my silly questions. He didn’t show frustration, although I’m sure at times he might’ve wanted to. The way that he interacted with me communicated that I was safe and loved. I’m sure he didn’t get everything right, and I imagine if I asked him, he would be able to detail all the things he did wrong. But through his willingness to patiently let me become myself, with the parental guidance that was required of him of course, he demonstrated love.

For me, the love my father showed me is a picture of God’s love for his children. As I spend these last few weeks to prepare in whatever way I can to become a dad, I rest assured that, even though I am guaranteed to get things wrong, I will have ample opportunity to love my child. St Paul described love as, among other things, patient, kind, the opposite of self-seeking, and always protective.

As I embark on a journey where I will try and fail and try again to be a good father, I know that I don’t need to be perfect, I just need to show love in tangible ways. My favourite line of ‘All My Loving’ by The Beatles is:

‘All my loving, I will send to you.’

I can’t wait to get the opportunity to do that with my unborn child.

Snippet

America

Comment

Trauma

12 September 2025

3 min read

Why Charlie Kirk’s murder shook me so much

When violence hits close to home, we search for answers

Will Fagan

Will Fagan serves as a minister in the Episcopal Church in Birmingham, Alabama.

Mourning students at a vigil hold a sign about Charlie Kirk.

Students at Texas Tech hold a vigil for Charlie Kirk.

X.com/OldRowOfficial.

Unless you've managed to avoid all news this week, you’ll have heard of a series of unconnected violent attacks in the United States, the most recent being the assassination of 31-year-old conservative political activist Charlie Kirk during a speaking engagement at a university in Utah.

Every time there is a shooting in my country – whatever the motives – I become physically sick and had a similar reaction this week. I cannot watch the news; I delete social media and avoid the topic in conversation as much as possible. Our present and public culture of violence coupled with the resultant news cycle is simply too much, too fear-inducing, and leaves one with the helpless thought of, “what would happen if I was in a situation like this?” I’m sure I’m not alone in this response.

I do not agree with Kirk’s politics (though as an ordained minister, I wouldn’t tell you if I did), yet what I can tell you is that his death has gripped me in a way I couldn’t have foreseen, nor expected, becoming strikingly close to home. Kirk was 31 with a three- and one-year-old child. I am 32 with a three- and one-year-old. The idea that this could happen, period, followed by the thought of a prospect of never seeing my own children grow up completely undoes me.

This is undoubtedly a common response to when tragedy strikes individuals with whom we can readily identify. I doubt I have to list examples (were you 37 years old when Princess Diana died?; etc). because you’re probably thinking of certain instances right now in times where tragedy has hit, even metaphorically, quite close to home.

As I write this not from a gun control perspective, nor a political one at all, what is the theological answer to why events like this continue to happen? It is a question that I have been asked, unprovoked, by three young fathers (of diverse political persuasion) this week who have been gripped similarly to me.

What continues to come to mind is a blanket statement written by the Apostle Paul in his first century letter to the Galatian churches in which he calls the backdrop of our lives, “This present evil age.” It is a harsh statement, and it is unpleasant, but I also think it is true. How, you ask, can I apply this first century statement to 21st century life?

For one, Paul is writing about the time before Jesus Christ returns, a time that Christian teaching states that we presently occupy, so the statement does apply. But perhaps more importantly, when I look around, I confess that, especially in weeks like this one, “this present evil age” is an existence that I recognize. It is an existence that tragically we can largely expect, an existence that cannot be fixed politically, personally, or corporately as much as we would like to.

Rather than depressingly stripping us of agency, how is this helpful? I find it helpful in two key ways: First, this present evil age as a descriptor is helpful because it helps answer, “Why?” to my despondency, confusion, and nausea at senseless tragedy. It helps me put those feelings somewhere and begins to, if only slightly, give the nonsensical a name.

More than that, though, it forces me to look beyond this world, and to a power greater than the seen forces here – a power that I cannot see, a power that is good, merciful, and just, a power that will one day, and hopefully soon, make all things new.

Of course, we cannot make sense of senseless and violent and sickening tragedy. We weren’t meant to, and that is grievous. So might we only call on the name of the one who has come to this present evil age before, and that he might come again – soon.

Support Seen & Unseen

Since Spring 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,500 articles. All for free.
This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?

Do so by joining Behind The Seen. Alongside other benefits, you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing my reading and reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin
Editor-in-Chief

Pledge now.