Before my dad died I didn't know how to express my emotions towards him – this Father's Day I want to encourage more sons to say 'I love you'

Many young boys are still growing up with an awkwardness when it comes to showing their fathers true affection

Post-adolescence we never do quite make it back to that place we enjoyed so much when were children. Not, that is, until it’s too late (Getty)

It’s that special time of year again when dads across Britain wake up with glee hoping that the Father’s Day fairy has delivered their hastily wrapped present, slightly sexist card and poorly cooked breakfast in bed.

But it’s an odd thing, Father’s Day. Deep down we all know we’re being bent over by the all-powerful card capitalists in their quest to monetise every relationship we have, and yet every year we spend about £700m celebrating a single day; desperately attempting to prove our affection towards our dads. And while it’s a sad truth that we spend almost double that amount celebrating our mums on their allotted day, what’s even sadder is that many young boys are still growing up with an awkwardness when it comes to showing their fathers true affection.

It’s been nearly five years since I lost my dad, and by the end of his life I can honestly say that nothing was left unsaid between us. My dad knew how I felt about him from the moment I was born and vice versa, but it took an initial cancer diagnosis for me to tell him that I loved him.

Having miraculously thrown off the shackles of machismo he inherited from his own father, he cultivated a truly loving relationship with me and my two brothers. Then, around the time puberty hit, the outward affection between us stopped. Sure, I was a complete and utter shit during half of my teens, and yet he told me after the event that he loved me unconditionally. And of course he did. That’s what parents do. We knew we loved each other, so why did it become so difficult to admit? It was never difficult with my mum.

The truth is many men struggle with emotional intimacy towards their ageing sons, and all too often the feeling is reciprocated. The love remains, but the openness dries up.

I now visit schools and speak to teenagers about these sorts of issues. What strikes me is the frequency with which I’m told by adolescent boys that they can’t talk to their fathers about matters of emotion. “It’s either mum or Miss”, is the usual response.

Clearly something is going very wrong with our father-son relationships. We’ve created a world in which sons feel shame speaking to their own fathers about their problems. We need to break down that fear of embarrassment from both sides, because it’s preventing us from developing honest, emotional relationships with our male family members.

As the silence goes on, it becomes increasingly difficult to break. And post adolescence we never do quite make it back to that place we enjoyed so much when were children. Not, that is, until it’s too late.

As our fathers deteriorate before our eyes, we scramble to rekindle that emotional bond. But why does that impetus come only when we’re facing the prospect of death? I thanked my dad for everything he’d done for our family, but only about 12 hours before the end.

I’ll never forget the day he was given the official three-month countdown. He understandably fixated on the fact he’d never get to meet my future children, or see me get married.

“But you’ve seen so much of my life,” I’d always retort, desperate to try and make him feel better and, honestly, avoid the subject. I promised him my children would know all about the brilliant grandfather they never met, as would my partner. But it’s only now, as my life moves on without him, that I truly understand what he meant. He regretted that he’d never get to learn more about his son, and I’ll never get to learn more about the man my dad was.

There are no more conversations for us to have. No more hours in the garden aimlessly throwing a ball back and forth, no more car journeys listening to Level 42 and no more times he’d proudly embarrass me in front of my mates.

We had a wonderful relationship, but we didn’t take full advantage of the time we had together.

I had 26 years to find out what made my dad my dad. Twenty-six years to learn what he was like when he was a teenager or what it felt like falling in love with my mum. Twenty-six years to find out about his fears or regrets, or how having children changed his life. I never asked him why his relationship with his own father was so strained, or what it felt like to become estranged from your own brother, even as you both knew you were dying.

I’d started the conversations, but for us it was just too late. I missed so many opportunities while he was alive, and I miss him more now as a result.

There was so much I didn’t know about my dad, and I missed my chance to find out.

Please don’t make that mistake.

So whether you’re a father or a son, don’t use this single day as an opportunity to say something heartfelt and feel your work is done.

Talk to each other, hug each other and find out more about the man you love.