A Letter To My Son
Arian,
You may not understand this today.
Right now, your world is toys, snacks, Mumma, Dada, and somehow reading the same book 19 times with the same excitement.
But one day, you may wonder why Dada left home every morning.
Why I took calls.
Why I worked.
Why I cared so much about mortgages, money, and helping people make better decisions.
And I want you to know this:
I never left because I wanted to be away from you.
I left because I wanted to build a life worthy of coming back to you.
Before becoming your dad, ambition felt different.
It was about goals. Income. Business. Growth.
After you, it became heavier.
Not heavier in a bad way.
Heavier with meaning.
Now, every decision has your face attached to it.
And maybe that’s what fatherhood does.
It makes you softer and stronger at the same time.
I do mortgages for a living.
But I don’t just see files anymore.
I see families trying to buy safety. Stability. A bedroom for their child. A kitchen where birthdays will happen. A home where their future will unfold.
And because of you, I feel an even deeper responsibility to be honest with my advice. Even when honesty costs me money.
Sometimes the right advice is:
Don’t buy yet.
Buy less than you qualify for.
Protect your cash flow.
Don’t chase the house just because the bank says yes.
That may not always be the most profitable advice for me.
But it is the kind of advice I hope you would give one day.
Because I don’t just want to provide for you.
I want to become the person I would be proud to see you become.
I want you to learn that money matters.
But how you make it matters more.
- Give more than you take.
- Help people when it would be easier to sell them.
- Choose honesty when shortcuts look more rewarding.
Build wealth, but don’t become poor in character while doing it.
And yes, I feel guilty leaving you at home.
Every parent carries guilt differently.
Some carry it while leaving for work.
Some carry it while staying home and wondering if they are doing enough.
For me, that guilt often shows up as a quiet pressure to build.
The bills.
The business.
The savings.
The protection.
The life I want to create for our family.
Some mornings, I leave while part of me stays behind with you.
But if you ever read this, Arian, I want you to know:
The hours I miss with you do not reduce my love for you.
They increase it.
Because every hour away reminds me exactly who I am doing this for.
Before you, I wanted to be successful.
After you, I want to be worthy.
Worthy of your respect.
Worthy of your trust.
Worthy of being called Dada.
Love,
Dada
P.S. If you are a parent, hit reply and tell me this:
What changed in you after becoming responsible for someone else’s future?
Not the perfect answer.
The real one.