Working father, busy daughter

Yet as I held my student’s hand as she carefully stepped onto the balance beam, I felt tears pricking in my eyes. It seemed as if her turbulent emotions had transferred straight from her heart into mine. As I drove home that evening, the lump in my throat thickened. I felt stupid as I realized I was jealous of this 3-year-old and her dad and their outwardly expressions of love. 

At the time of that class, I hadn’t seen my father in three weeks. He had a series of work trips that required him to leave for New York and Mumbai, and, strangely enough, I had barely noticed his absence. My dad and I lead very separate lives. His job requires him to work long hours and travel extensively, while I spend most of my days in school, at dance or studying. But seeing this father and daughter, who happened to look a lot like 3-year-old Ayana 15 years ago, was like a dam breaking inside me. Suddenly, I felt just as small as her, wanting to stay attached to him as long as possible. 

For the first 10 or so years of my childhood, my dad and I were very close. Some of my earliest memories are of my dad and me at the zoo, laughing at the funny animals; on spontaneous day trips to San Francisco, where he’d take me around his favorite postgraduation spots; and at family get-togethers, where he’d teach me the lyrics to classic Bollywood songs. 

My dad started to fade out of my daily life in middle school when he started a new job. I’d see him in the mornings, when I left for school, and in the evening when he came back from the office. In recent years, this trend has continued to progress. Now, I’m lucky to see my dad for a few minutes before I go to sleep, and he often takes red-eyes across the country for conferences, giving my mom and me short notice as to when he leaves and returns. 

I know it isn’t his fault. Looking back, I realize that this outcome was the result of events beyond my control. My parents raised me during the postrecession years, forcing them to care for a child while also trying to stimulate their own careers. I find it very interesting to set my relationship with my dad against the backdrop of his career. In the first five years of my life, my dad was jumping from start-up to start-up, attempting to latch onto Silicon Valley’s next big company, which meant he was working less consistently and therefore had more time to spend with me. With the heydays of Fantex and E-Trade long gone, my moments with him are firmly settled in the past, and with every promotion and extra meeting at his current job, I see my dad less and less.

I have a difficult time balancing my perception of my dad between his roles as a father and a businessman. On the one hand, he is the quintessential immigrant success story, having worked hard enough to move to America and lead a successful life. Things I took for granted, like when he traded our old Prius for a shiny silver Tesla or when he invested in property in Lake Tahoe, weren’t just fun surprises for our family; they were markers of my dad’s career advancement, a tangible manifestation of his hard work.

But material benefits aside, my dad has changed from the added stress of his job. In pictures and memories, he was always smiling, lively and telling jokes. Now, I often find him passed out on the couch with his computer on his lap, open to a Microsoft Teams page, or having loud, heated conversations with clients or co-workers over the phone. Our conversations no longer revolve around funny things we see on the street or petty gossip at my school. Now, we stick to basic life updates — what classes I’m in, if I have a 4.0 GPA or not, if I’m still doing ballet. 

I find myself getting annoyed at him very easily, too. His classic dad mannerisms — losing his glasses and keys, purposefully embarrassing me in front of cute boys, watching Facebook reels at full volume — once endeared me, but now irk me. And the mistakes that my mom and I make, like putting forks in the wrong drawer or leaving our shoes out in the foyer, result in screaming matches about lack of brainpower. Our relationship, which was once characterized by adventure, laughter and conversation, is now limited to aired-out grievances and eye-rolls. 

I have a lot of questions regarding how I should feel about my dad. I don’t know if I’m proud, indifferent, angry or disappointed, or all of those at the same time. I don’t know if I should feel grateful that we have the shiny Tesla that he takes to the office, or if I should miss the days he would drive me in our old Prius. 

I’m ashamed to admit that I’ll miss my mom a lot more at college than my dad. My goal for the next few months is to treasure those rare moments with my dad, to ask him about his life, and to relive our memories from my childhood. In a year, I hope to be in a place where my dad could come to parents’ weekend instead of my mom, and my ambivalence wouldn’t take the place of joy. And I hope that when he leaves parents’ weekend, I’ll feel a little like my young friend at gymnastics, scared and saddened to let her dad go. 

Ayana Ganjoo is a senior at Carlmont High School in Belmont. Student News appears in the weekend edition. You can email Student News at news@smdailyjournal.com.