My dad's love language is giving me hand-me-downs
& buying me fruit
It’s Father’s Day in a lot of countries this weekend, and I’ve just got back from spending a few weeks with mine, so I’m sure you can guess the theme of this article.
I must warn you though: this likely won’t be the heart warming piece you might be expecting, even if I am feeling sentimental enough to write a tribute.
You see, my father and I are far from Bob and Louise, Cher and Mel, or Geralt and Ciri. Or, if you prefer real life examples, Lenny and Zoe, Lionel and Nicole, or Paul and Stella.
Truth be told, we’ve had a rocky relationship for most of my life. I was no-to-low contact with him for over a decade. I don’t want to go into too much detail out of respect for his privacy (maybe he’d be annoyed knowing I published this article, IDK), but let’s just say things turned sour after my parents’ divorce.
Many people understood and supported my decision, but eventually I chose forgiveness. And I’m glad. Holding grudges chips away at your own inner peace. I feel much lighter now that I’ve rekindled our relationship, even if he still makes me feel like that Ben Affleck smoking meme at times.
I guess we all need a bit of time and maturity to give people grace.
Personally, it took me decades to see my father not just in his parental role, but as a human. Now that I’m an adult that has made her own fair share of mistakes, I realize he was always just trying to find his way and do his best. A lot like me and probably you. I now understand that he’s also faced a lot of regret in his life, and I’m at a point where I don’t feel the need to add to it.
There are also many cultural nuances I didn’t understand growing up, especially in the western world, where dads are so often portrayed as loveable goofballs. Phil Dunphy, Rufus Humphrey, and Homer Simpson come to mind. And even though those dads are fictional characters, I knew they were rooted in some level of truth — I got a taste of it in real life via friends and classmates.
One of my core childhood memories was around this time of year in grade 4 or 5. We were making Father’s Day cards, and my teacher had prepped a writing template for us. All we had to do was fill in the blanks, but I couldn’t. I remember sitting there blankly for a few minutes, feeling confused because nothing in the template applied to my dad. It had quintessential western dad stuff, like “my dad grills the best _____” and “no one is a bigger fan of {insert sports team} than my dad”. Eventually, I went up to the teacher and told her I didn’t know what to write, because my dad didn’t do any of the things in the template. I can’t remember how we amended it, but I remember her seeming as lost as I was.
The reason? My dad is overwhelmingly Asian. He’s a grumpy hard ass that virtually never shows affection, let alone contentment. I don’t mean to stereotype, but he really ticks all the boxes of an overly critical Asian dad. Nothing I’ve done has ever felt good enough for him, whether it was my grades and clothes growing up to my current career and my weight.
He didn’t do dad things like teach me how to ride a bike or change a tire — dads are meant to do those things, right? Instead, he rode my ass for not studying hard enough (he wanted me to be a doctor, obvs), and that was pretty much the extent of our childhood exchanges. It was a far cry from my mom’s affectionate, supportive parenting style.
This may come as a shock depending on your cultural background, but I’ve never heard my dad say he’s proud of me. I can’t even remember the last time he told me he loved me. Yes, even last weekend, after what should have been a sweet goodbye at the airport. I uttered those three words before heading through security, only to hear a curt “ok bye” as a response.
But before you feel sad for me or tell me that I should go no contact again, hear me out. I did feel upset for a fleeting moment, but then I looked down at my luggage. At the massive box of lychees he gave me because I told him my husband has never had fresh ones. At the silk shirts he passed down to me because he wants me to have natural fabric clothes in my wardrobe, and the glass lens sunglasses he bought me because I told him my collection is all plastic.
I know that love languages have been busted as BS, but I very much believe that everyone has their own way of showing love. And relationships of all kinds get a lot better when both sides understand that.
I’ve come to accept that my father will never be a chill, goofy western dad. He’ll never say things like “I’m proud of you kiddo” or “good job sweetheart”. And that’s ok, because I’ve learned to decipher his affection in other ways.
During my visit, he’d buy me fresh coconut water every time we passed a fruit stand that sold it because I told him I liked it once. He made sure I had a fruit platter with all my favourites and mango lassis on tap every day. He put the only mosquito net in the house over my bed, even though my room had a screen over the window and his didn’t. He bargained with the cashmere vendor to ensure I was getting the premium quality pieces. He even stroked my hair a few times. And though he didn’t explicitly say “I love you”, he said he didn’t want me to go so soon about halfway through my trip. I don’t need to be an expert analyst to know what he meant.
We’ll probably never have the father-daughter relationship of sitcom dreams — upon reflection, the most accurate representation of our relationship is probably Jung and Appa from Kim’s Convenience, even though they’re a father-son duo. I’ve learned to accept the parental cards I’ve been dealt, and I know that my dad cares in his own emotionally repressed way. He may not say it with words, but his actions are clear enough.
And now, back to those silk shirts, because I know you’re curious.
Starting off with this bold red number, which I immediately noticed in his wardrobe. My dad’s style has never been this flamboyant — he was always more of a neutral kind of guy, so I was honestly surprised he owned this shirt.
I wondered where and when he ever wore this (I’m imagining a fancy dinner or awards ceremony of some sort), and secretly hoped he would let me bring it home. A quick conversation about silk clothes made that hope come true.
It’s a gorgeous, rich colour that shifts between scarlet and burgundy in the light, so I think it pairs best with black. I’ll have to experiment with other colour combos in the future.
He also let me take the light blue counterpart, which I’m looking forward to wearing as a light layer for the summer. This photo makes it look a bit paler than it actually is — it’s a true sky blue that pairs well with a lot of my pastel pieces.
And finally, my OG hand-me-down: a cream cotton blazer. My dad gave me this last year to wear as a travel layer, and it made me feel so smart. I met an elegant woman at the airport who invited me to be her lounge guest, and I 100% attribute it to the blazer.
Now it gives me 80s vibes, but I absolutely love it. The only other blazer I have is a more formal/classic black one, so it’s nice to have a light summer option.
There’s something extra special about parental hand-me-downs. I suppose they already count as heirlooms, especially when they’re made of higher quality materials.
Maybe a lot of people can vividly remember their parents in the hand-me-downs, but when it comes to my dad’s pieces, I’ve never actually seen him wear them. I know he got the blazer in China and the shirts in India, but beyond that, I have no idea about their history.
I can imagine my dad being a pain in the ass when he was buying the pieces, arguing with the shop vendors as per usual. Him wearing the blazer during spring university lectures in China, or during business meetings in Malaysia. The silk shirts remain a mystery to me. I suppose I could ask, but he’s never been one for reminiscing about former outfits.
Anyway, now it’s my turn to take them to different corners of the earth. And every time I wear them, I’ll think of my dad’s complicated, unspoken love.
Thank you for reading! Happy Father’s Day if you observe. And if you don’t, I’ve been there and am sending you hugs.
PS: Feel free to share your favourite family hand-me-downs in the comments! And for more intentional fashion & minimalist living insights, you know what to do.