I’ve noticed that nearly every care-experienced young person I talk to carries some kind of hesitation or raruraru around days like Father’s Day. For some, it’s a reminder of what’s missing. For others, it’s wrapped in grief or anger. For those stepping into their own journey of parenthood, it can bring feelings of fear, love, or both. Whatever the response, one thing is clear – Father’s Day is rarely simple, and each of us carries our own unique story that shapes how we feel.

One of the greatest gifts of being care-experienced and working at VOYCE is the connection with other kaimahi who share that lived experience. These bonds run deep – like finding siblings we never knew we had, woven together by a shared thread of understanding.

Among these incredible people is Pātariki – someone who has a rare ability to make others feel seen and heard. He carries strength in his vulnerability and is now a devoted father to three beautiful, loved, and well-cared-for tamariki.

If you’ve ever met Pātariki, you’ll know he’s a wordsmith. His poetry, spoken word, and raps are powerful, moving, and beautifully crafted. I’ve been lucky enough to read some of his work, and with his blessing, I want to share excerpts of a piece Pātariki has shared with me, which speak to the journey he went on of becoming a Dad.

—

“In that sterile hospital room, with the smell of antiseptic and warm blankets, something sacred happened.

I became a father.

Not the kind I feared as a kid. Not the ones who bailed, broke or bruised.

Different.

A present one.

A real one.

One who would grow with her, not away from her.

That night, I held Bella in my arms as she slept on my chest. And I cried – the tears I didn’t know I still had.

Because I knew this was the start of something good. Something pure. Something I never thought I’d have.”

—-

For Pātariki, becoming a father at a young age changed him – from a kid who figured things out on his own, to a parent who would never leave his child to fend for herself.

“I’d never had this kind of responsibility. No one had ever really raised me, so how was I supposed to raise her?

But every time I’d change a nappy wrong, or warm the bottle too hot, or rock her to sleep just right –  I learned.

I became.

Became softer.

More patient.

More grounded.

I stopped running the streets. Didn’t care about hustling anymore. Ddin’t want to be out getting lit or acting tough. I had a reason now.

My daughter.”

—

After Pātariki and his wife had their two daughters, they made the choice to move back to Christchurch – where Pātariki himself had been in care, and held a lot of traumatic memories.

“Christchurch was familiar, but everything felt different now. It wasn’t just the city I knew from the chaos of my youth – it was the place where I’d returned, older, more grounded, with my family by my side.

We moved into a place of our own. It wasn’t flash, but it was ours. Warm kai on the stove, toys scattered across the floor, laughter echoing down the hallway – that’s all we ever wanted.

I was still working hard, but now I had purpose walking through the door every night. Sara held us together through it all – new city, new routine, new challenges.

Christchurch didn’t scare me anymore. It reminded me of pain, sure. But now, I was reclaiming that space. We were making new memories in the same streets that once haunted me.

We started exploring together, showing the girls where Dad had come from, even if I filtered some of it for their young ears. I’d point out places, not for the trauma, but for the resilience it took to return.

The healing was slow – but it was happening.

I wasn’t just a boy from the system anymore.

I was a father.

A husband.

A provider.

And in this city, once filled with ghosts, we were building something solid. Something beautiful.”

—

 A few years later, Pātariki and Sara added to their whānau, but their baby boy made a dramatic and scary entrance to the world:

“I watched my wife recover without her boy in her arms. I saw the hurt in her eyes, the ache only a mother knows. And I held that pain too, right alongside our boy.

That week in the hospital changed me.

I was scared – but I was calm.

Strong.

Because he needed that.

Oakley, my boy.

You came into this world a fighter. And I knew – from the moment I first held you, that I’d never stop fighting for you.”

—

I want to firstly thank Pātariki for sharing his experience with me, and with everyone reading this – his vulnerability allows for others to learn more about the realities being an adult post-care. I also want to acknowledge Pātariki for being a role model within the care community, on the possibilities of being a good parent. I know that a lot of us have fear surrounding parenthood – especially if we come from a whānau with multiple generations of care experience, or have experienced harm at the hands of our parents.

Seeing others with care experience become incredible parents heals all of us a little bit, and I want to mihi to Pātariki for the work he’s done on changing the narrative of his life.

If you’re care experienced, and struggle with days like Father’s Day, I hope you get through it the best way you can, and in a way that is healing for you. I also hope you know that there are so many of us who see you and who understand the complexity of broken whānau connections.

To those who aren’t care experienced, but who are our supporters, caregivers, allies, stakeholders and friends – I say thank you for reading and keep learning – the more you know and understand about the realities facing the care community (even beyond our time in care), the better you can help make a real change.