In February 2007, I was home for my last winter break from university in China. As my parents prepared for Chinese New Year (“Chun Jie”), I nervously told them I was dating a Canadian.

My Dad, washing dishes, froze and started putting unrinsed plates into the cupboards.

“Dad, you haven’t rinsed them yet,” I pointed out, bracing for his reaction.
“A foreigner?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied, unsure of what to expect.
“Okay. Then so be it,” he said, not asking another question.

A week later, he organized everything—hotels, restaurants, sightseeing—to welcome my then-boyfriend, now ex, to join our family for Chun Jie.

“I will not marry a guy like my Dad.” — 20-year-old Lisa

My Dad is a gentle, kind, and loving man. An extrovert who loves travelling and learning new perspectives, he never took any risks. A capable salesperson, he turned down many opportunities for more lucrative paths, staying in a modest job that made his boss rich and kept us struggling.

Growing up in the 1980s in China, everyone was poor. But as people around us improved their circumstances with new businesses, I felt embarrassed living in our tiny, shabby apartment. I couldn’t understand why he chose to stay status quo and held grudges against him for playing it safe. “We could have a better life if he tried,” I thought, interpreting his efforts as “less than.”

The stolen things

In grade 10, I bought a fancy new bike with my $100 savings—a lot of money for a teenager in China in 2000. I remember feeling so proud riding the bike. One afternoon, I left it unlocked on campus, and it was stolen. Heartbroken, I searched for my bike for weeks! When my Dad surprised me with a “similar” bike for half the price from an unknown brand, I was unimpressed. “Okay,” I murmured when he excitedly showed it to me.

Before leaving for university, I bought a high-end cell phone for $500. A month later, it was stolen during a bus transfer along with my wallet. Two weeks later, I went home for the Mid-Autumn Festival. My Dad handed me a very used, second-hand white Motorola flip phone with a tiny black-and-white screen.

“Take this. It’ll be easier to contact us,” Dad said. “Yikes,” my heart sank. “Do I really have to use this ‘block’?” I wondered. “How much is it?” I asked. “$100,” Dad replied. I reluctantly used it for four years until I got my first job after graduation.

Oh, did I mention I also hated his drinking and smoking despite their social acceptance in China? So, when it came time to date, I wanted someone nothing like my dad. A Canadian who took the risk of working abroad and didn’t smoke or drink? Perfect.

For the next 15 years, I was busy living life: working, marrying, moving countries, going back to school, starting a career in Canada, having kids, buying houses…You get the idea. I saw my Dad occasionally, but our contact was limited.

Silence, support, strength

In 2020, shortly after COVID was named, my ex abruptly left when I was pregnant with our second child. Completely shocked, I didn’t know how to break the terrifying news to my dad, who was nursing my 93-year-old grandma in China.

Growing up, I was the kid who only shared bad news if I had to. This time, I didn’t know where to begin covering the bad. A couple of months later, my Mom told him.

Shortly after my daughter was born, my grandma passed away, and Dad came to Canada as soon as he took care of the funeral.

After nearly 40 hours of travel, Dad arrived at my house in Canada, said nothing about my ex or the divorce, and immediately started helping with the kids.

A couple of months later, seeing me struggle with the divorce process, he pulled me aside and said, “Kiddo, finish this.” I kept silent. “It’s not a big deal. You will get through it,” Dad continued,

"Life is a marathon, not a sprint."

He never spoke about it again. Knowing he couldn’t help legally due to the language barrier, he simply played the father role for my kids, feeding, changing diapers (barely succeeding😁), playing with, and loving them.

Already retired in China, he found a factory job here, figured out transportation, and worked for more than two years to support me financially. A social guy, he made many friends and travelled with them when he wasn’t working.

He didn’t speak a word of English, yet he managed to establish his social circle and life here in Canada. When he flew back to China last year, he even arranged for a private van to take him to the airport so I didn’t have to drive.

Like a mountain

This is a guy who feared taking any risks.

Looking back, how terrified and worried must Dad have felt when he learned about my Canadian boyfriend? So much so that he put unrinsed dishes in the cupboard. And I couldn’t even begin to imagine how he felt when my mom told him about my ex leaving us.

Growing up, he always wanted me to become a schoolteacher, enjoy summer and winter vacations, marry a guy from my hometown, and, you know, have a stable and easy life.

Man, did I choose a different path? Here I am, on the other side of the world, divorced with two kids. Yet, just like how he supported me with the stolen bike and cell phone, this risk-averse guy came to my rescue quietly, with everything he could offer, and not a word of blaming.

Recently, it hit me: I got it all wrong. It’s not about the bike, cellphone, life choices, or risks. My Dad may not have had millions, but he gave me $9 when he had $10. Period. It’s about showing up!

➡️It’s about him holding the motion-sick 8-year-old me on a crowded bus in Shanghai on the hottest summer day for the entire 90-minute ride to the zoo.
➡️It’s about him taking me to KFC (a rare and expensive treat in the 90s in China) for the first time and watching me savour each bite while he bought nothing for himself.
➡️It’s about his unconditional support of all my decisions, whether he agrees or not.
➡️It’s about him showing up for me and my kids whenever we need him, wherever we are.

We have a Chinese saying, “Father’s love is like a mountain.” That is my Dad. Quiet, solid, tall. I don’t always see him, but I know I can always lean on him.

As I sit here, reflecting on the past four years, feeling all the emotions rising within me, I am filled with the deepest gratitude to my Dad for showing up for us and, most importantly, for showing us tenacity and unconditional love, for modelling his way of approaching life, because:

"It's not a big deal."

Life is a marathon, not a sprint. You, my friend, will get through this!

A special "thank-you" to all the amazing dads. Thank YOU for showing up! 💗