Dear Reluctant Dad,

We haven’t met,
but I know your child —
and they’ve asked me to write to you.

I’m Neil, a 42-year-old bloke with a fondness for stories
and a quiet regret in my heart.
I’d like to tell you why.

In March 2021, just as Covid was loosening its grip,
my dad, Patrick, died after a long, slow struggle with dementia.
Six days later, my son was born.
His middle name is Patrick.

That week will stay with me forever.
Grief and joy, side by side.
One story ending, another just beginning.

My dad and I were close.
But there are so many things I never got to ask him.
The younger years, the little moments,
the things he thought no one cared to know.

He was a humble man —
quiet, funny, never one to make a fuss.
And like so many dads,
he assumed no one would want to sit and listen
to the “boring bits.”

But here’s the truth:
your child wants to hear those bits.
The odd jobs you had,
the car you loved and wrecked,
the music that made you feel 10 feet tall.
Even that night you snuck into the cinema
and got caught. Yes, that one.

They want to know you,
not just as “Dad,” but as a person.
Before them.
So they can pass you on — stories, voice, spirit —
to their own kids someday.

This isn’t therapy.
It’s not about regrets or deep confessions.
It’s about sitting down and telling your story
while you still can.
The laughs, the lessons, the late-night adventures.
The moments no one ever wrote down.

Your child might struggle to ask.
Not because they don’t care —
but because they know you’re not one for the emotional stuff.
Still, they want this.
Not just for them,
but for the generations to come.

They hope you’ll give five hours of your time.
To share your story.
Your words.
Your life.

It means more than you realise.

Would you give it a crack?

It’s worth five hours, isn’t it?

Thank you,
Your child
And a guy called Neil