There is a silent crisis affecting our organizations and our cities: it’s not just a problem of institutions, technology, or the economy. It’s a problem of fatherhood. We lack fathers: people who fully embrace their role, with a genuine presence, calm authority, and the ability to nurture. And when a father is absent—even if he lives under the same roof—the mother is often left alone to bear the daily burden of the household, and the children grow up with a void that they later try to fill with substitutes who fail to provide proper guidance.

In his book, Fabio Rosini articulates the magnitude of what’s at stake: fatherhood is not a “title” or a feeling; it’s a demanding task and a milestone of maturity. In his view, human life follows a path: transitioning from being a child  (the one who receives) to being a father (the one who gives). And this transition requires relinquishing self-referential. It’s not just a pretty phrase: it’s an inner transformation.

Being a father is not about being present: it’s about arriving.

Many men—and women too—remain stuck in a childlike stage: they continue to expect to be cared for, understood, and for the world to adapt to their moods. This immaturity fosters a sense of entitlement: “My desire should be an order for others.” The result is predictable: fragile relationships, chronic frustration, an inability to maintain commitments when they are difficult, and an emotional life that revolves around the self.

Authentic fatherhood breaks that cycle. It introduces a simple truth: the other is my blessed boundary. And that boundary is not oppression; it is fruitfulness.  The ultimate measure of a fulfilled life is not how much I “achieved,” but whether I generated life in others:  whether someone is better because of me, whether someone was happier because of my dedication.

A home without a father is not a home without affection; often it’s a home without boundaries. And boundaries are a form of love. The mother tends to be the welcoming “yes”; the father must know how to be the guiding “no” that orders, protects, and directs. Not to impose, but to cultivate freedom: to teach that life has limits, that there are sacrifices, that not every desire is good, that frustration can be overcome without destroying oneself or others.

When that role is lacking, the whole family pays the price: the mother becomes hypertrophied, omnipresent and omnipotent out of necessity; the children grow up without the training of reality; and the father is reduced to provider or spectator. But the world doesn’t need spectators: it needs adults.

There’s a crucial point: no one becomes a father simply through biology or by signing a birth certificate. A father is born when he allows himself to be affected by his child, when he learns to suffer for him, when he takes responsibility for his destiny. A testimony that Rosini mentions in his book expresses this starkly: the day a father wept over the seriousness of his infant daughter’s condition, that day he became a father. Fatherhood isn’t a discourse; it’s a bond that takes you beyond yourself.

This is especially relevant for managers: because companies tend to reward efficiency, autonomy, and control. But at home, leadership is different: it demands patience, repetition, leading by example, and a presence that cannot be outsourced.

Teaching how to love: from Me to You

We must conclude with one clear idea: teaching parenthood is teaching love. And this learning process—unfortunately—remains incomplete for many young people and quite a few adults as well. They are self-centred: they think first about how they feel, how they are treated, how much recognition they receive. And they are surprised when the world doesn’t respond to them.

You already pointed this out precisely: human maturity consists of putting the Other before the Self. Not as a denial of oneself, but as true fulfilment: human beings are designed to transcend themselves. When they shut themselves away in the search for affection and attention, they atrophy. When they serve, they flourish.

A young man objected that this sounds like willpower: “Isn’t striving against one’s own inclination just willpower?” The answer is deeper: it’s not about inner violence, but about returning to the original design of the human person. The inclination is fickle: it changes without knowing why, and leads nowhere; love, on the other hand, educates oneself. To love is not only to feel; it is to learn to give oneself, to support others, to prefer the good of the other when it benefits them, to keep one’s word even when it’s difficult… That is parenthood; and that, ultimately, is civilization.