I’d Call My Dad Before 911
- Simranjit Sokhi
- Jun 24
- 4 min read
If a meteor were hurtling toward Earth, the power grid collapsed, every phone stopped working, and a pack of escaped zoo lions started roaming my neighborhood, I'd still ask my dad what to do.
I’d still ask him, fully believing he’d know—fully believing that he’d get us out of this mess.
My dad doesn't work for NASA, nor is he particularly fond of zoo life or its animals. But for most of my life, my dad has existed in my mind as someone who always knows the next step.
Even when he doesn't, he somehow makes it feel like he does.
When I was eight years old, the thought of leaving my parents made me cry for hours. I didn't understand the hows or whys of it. I just knew my mom lived in a different country from her parents, and that was enough for me to reject the idea for myself. As someone who's always been incredibly close to her parents, I couldn't imagine marriage if it meant not being with them.
I remember my mom crying, too, while trying to get me to stop. But my dad didn't cry. I saw his face. I knew he was upset by the thought of it—he just wouldn't show it. Of course he wouldn't. He's dad. My big, strong, loving dad.
Just a man who probably feels every emotion just as deeply, but learned long ago that someone had to stay composed.
My dad's a very quiet, honest, no-bullshitting, no-sugarcoating kind of dad. Growing up, I was always the kid who teased him, made fun of him, and poked at him.
Nothing has changed.
My dad dodges the topic of marriage like a D1 athlete dodging a tackle. But he also laughs when I tell him that, with the number of times he has me make him chaa, he'll need to buy a house next to mine so I can keep dropping it off. I tell my mom that it helps me sleep when people are talking around me. Now I know I get it from him. Every night he calls us over so we can talk while he slowly dozes off.
My dad lets me braid his beard. My dad makes me inspect the swimming pool after he’s done a good job cleaning it. My dad asks what soda I want so he can tell me the other one is his favorite. My dad waits for everyone to order off the menu so he can say he wants the same thing too.
None of these things is significant on its own, but somehow, when you love someone, these habits become landmarks.
When you're younger, you don't notice who wakes up first. You never pay attention to how the bill gets paid. You don't notice who fixed the leaky faucet. You don't notice who spends years thinking ten steps ahead so everyone else can think about today. As kids, our parents feel permanent. We assume they'll always know the answer because they always have. And then one day, you grow up enough to start noticing the gray in their hair. You notice the way they fall asleep in the living room a little faster than they used to. Conversations become more practical than hypothetical. And one day, you start taking care of the people who spent their lives taking care of you.
Fathers bring more to life than they'll ever be given credit for. And I realize that more and more every day. Every frictional moment. Every time we think they're thinking too far ahead. There’s a balance they bring. If mothers are the heart, fathers are the brain. If mothers nurture you at rock bottom, fathers create the ladder to help you climb back up.
For a long time, I thought my dad didn't understand my frustrations. I craved validation when my dad often offered solutions. At the time, it felt like he was missing the point. But looking back, he was just busy trying to help me move forward. He got to work right away so I could sit in the hurt a little longer. They say moms always know. I say dads always know, too. They know, and they keep knowing as though the Universe sat inside them and pushed them forward on the days they didn't feel like getting out of bed. They become the steady hand pushing from behind. They're the person who builds the bridge before you've even figured out whether you want to cross the river.
Not a lot of South Asian fathers are expressive in traditional ways. They don't sit down and tell you how much they care. They show it through advice or random reminders. My dad sends me a text while sitting on an airplane 35,000 feet in the air, reminding me to make sure the garage door is locked. Dads just care in funny ways. For years, I thought my dad was simply practical. But now I see that practicality was his way of loving us. It was his way of helping us move through the world with logic and preparation.
So much of what fathers do happens in the background, like electricity. You don’t think about it until it isn’t there.
If the world were ever ending all at once, my first instinct would still be to call my dad. He's not invincible, and he doesn't have all the answers. I know that. But somehow, he makes impossible things feel manageable. He makes uncertainty feel smaller. If the world were ending, I don't know what my dad would do. But he’d figure out a way to make it better. I just know I’d still look for him first.
© Rooh Sheesha 2026. All rights reserved.
Unless stated otherwise, everything shared — from words to visuals — is original. Please do not copy, repost, or reuse without permission.
Comments