Written by Cathrine Banda
I was born as the first child to a single mother and the first grandchild to my maternal grandparents. Welcomed into my grandparents’ home, I was the baby of the family at that time—the last born in the household—and was showered with immense love.
My grandfather, whom I lovingly call Dad to this day, took it upon himself to shield and protect me as if I were his own child. He stepped into the role of my father when my mother returned to school, becoming my anchor and my hero. He made life easier by always providing for my every need. I grew up genuinely believing he was my biological father—because not once did he tell me or behave otherwise.
From a young age, my father (grandfather) supported all my ideas, even the wild and silly ones. He always listened. We could spend hours talking about life, politics, religion, and especially development. We see the world through the same lens.
During college, I commuted to night school nearly 40km away. The only way home was a single bus that left town at 8 p.m. If I missed it, I would be stranded. Though a local pastor was kind enough to offer a place to stay when needed, my father could never sleep peacefully until he knew I was safe. He would wake up and drive to town at 5 a.m. to pick me up himself.
After graduation, he got me my first job at a company where he once worked. He checked in regularly, brought me lunch, and visited often. Every time he came to my office, the pride in his smile filled my heart with warmth.
When I eventually learned that he was not my biological father, it did not break my heart. By then, our love and bond were already deeply rooted. In my eyes and heart, he is and will always be my father. Nothing could ever change that.
Growing up as the last born in my grandfather’s home, I also received immense love from my uncle—his first son, and my mother’s younger brother. He was fascinated by the idea that his sister had a baby, and that baby was me. When I later moved to live in the same country as him, he proudly embraced me as his daughter.
He involved me in projects far beyond my years, took me to events that expanded my mind, and during round-table discussions would say, “Let’s hear what Cathy has to say about this.” He helped shape my strength, confidence, and critical thinking.
Though I never liked coffee before, he introduced me to it during our long visits to Exclusive Books, where we’d read for hours while sipping warm cups of coffee. From those moments, he created a bookworm and a lover of words.
It would be unfair not to mention my biological father. He also tried—loving me in his own way. But I wasn’t ready to embrace two fathers. Sadly, that meant my love for him remained distant. I didn’t hate him—I just unfairly compared his efforts to the deep love I had known from my grandfather.
He tried one final time to reach out, but by then he was on his sickbed. I couldn’t show him the love he deserved, and that is a guilt I carry with me. I know he deeply loved me. I just never allowed him to show it fully. My apology now feels hollow, for it can no longer reach him. My love for him aches in his absence. Grief reminds me daily of the opportunity we lost.
On This Father’s Day, I Celebrate All My Fathers
To my grandfather – my Dad:
I love you deeply. I am forever humbled and grateful to the Lord for your life. Thank you for loving me as your own. I know, deep down, I am your favorite daughter. You are the first man I ever loved. Thank you for being my protector, my guide, and for speaking blessings over my life—blessings I now live in.
To my uncle – my plus-one father:
Your unconditional love was my strength. Because of you, I stand tall among giants. Because of you, I speak with confidence. Because of you, I love words, books, and coffee. I walk into boardrooms with my head high and my voice steady—because of you.
To my biological father:
My heart grieves the time and moments we lost. Those final conversations we shared, though brief, will remain in my heart forever. I know you loved me deeply. I am sorry I never fully opened my heart to you. I wish I had let you love me in your own way. Grief now sits where love should have bloomed.
To all my fathers, earthly and heavenly—Happy Father’s Day.
Your love, each in its own form, built the woman I am today. Thank you.
Written by Cathrine Banda, also known as The Village, former radio presenter on 1873 fm (Johannesburg, South Africa), motivational speaker, game changer, writer.
