Recently, fate reminded me again: parenthood is where borders between countries dissolve. That’s how I met Misha at a backyard gathering in a quiet California town. He had just come to America for the first time to visit his childhood friends.
He’s the father of five. His youngest is just six months old. His wife… left. Misha said she had “grown tired” and went to a monastery. But the truth is more complicated: she was broken by postpartum depression. And in rural Russia, you don’t talk about that. Suffering is still treated like a virtue. She was judged. He was pitied. And then—nothing. No help. No neighbor offering, “Let me take the baby for a bit.”
Misha was left alone—truly alone—with an infant in one arm and four more children who needed dinner, help with homework, and hugs.
He told his friends how, for years, he knocked on government doors, begging for help he didn’t even know existed. No one explained or guided him; there was just cold bureaucracy and silence. And yet, listening to him, I realized: he wasn’t complaining. He was ashamed. Ashamed to seem weak. He had been raised to provide, not to nurture. To build homes, not braid little girls’ hair. In Russia, traditional gender roles—man as head, woman as caretaker—are so deeply embedded that even pain doesn’t always give a man permission to ask for help.
Misha’s friends, Russian immigrants, were all fathers. Each had two or three kids: mortgages, insurance, soccer practice, and weekend brunch. No one apologized for being tired. No one joked, “A man’s job is to earn money.” They talked about which dance class to sign their daughter up for, how they treated the youngest for chickenpox, and how they survived sleepless nights with a newborn.
For me, this is where it truly hit home. In America, I finally understood what traditional family values really mean—not in slogans or speeches, but in everyday life.
While moms take the weekend to relax, get their hair done, chat with friends, or run to the grocery store, dads push strollers, feed toddlers from jars, chase kids around parks, and braid hair for school recitals.
It’s not for show.
It’s not performance.
It’s shared responsibility.
It’s intentional parenting.
It’s daily love.
It’s America.
Misha sat quietly, smiling, but his eyes stayed dim. He wasn’t that kind of father. He was a single father with just him and five children in Russia.
Then one of the friends said:
“Hey, we’ve got a neighbor. He’s American—born and raised here. He’s a single dad, too. Lost his wife to cancer a few years ago—two kids—not five like you, but still a lot. One’s five. The other just turned seventeen.”
And he shared the story. How this neighbor makes breakfast, packs school lunches, helps with college essays, brews soup, reads bedtime stories, and keeps track of vaccination schedules. He does it all. And he’s not broken because he’s not alone. Because he knows where to go. How to apply for tax credits, get into Head Start, and access food assistance when times are tough.
“He keeps going. Not because he’s some hero,” his friend added. “But because there are people around. And no one looks at him with pity. He’s just a dad at the clinic, school, and playground. No labels.”
That’s when I spoke up.
“Misha, you probably didn’t know—I used to serve in the Russian parliament. I chaired the committee on families, women, and children. And yes, I fought for single parents’ rights. Did you know the phrase ‘single father’ barely exists in Russian law? But there is some support—you have to know where to look. Especially if you’re a man.”
Misha frowned.
“I only recently found out about child benefits. But getting them? It’s a nightmare.”
“You’re right,” I said. “It’s all paperwork and persistence. In Russia, the burden is on you to apply. If you don’t ask, you don’t get. But if you push hard enough, the state will respond.
A single parent can apply for monthly support for children aged 0–17, up to 100% of the regional minimum income. There are tax deductions, childcare payments up to 18 months, utility subsidies, daycare discounts, and in some regions, even housing assistance. If the mother is deceased, has lost parental rights, or is declared unfit, the father can receive something called Maternity Capital.”
Misha looked up.
“Seriously? Can you use that money?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “And it’s not symbolic. It’s real money. You can use it to buy a home, pay off a mortgage, fund a child’s education, support a disabled child with special services or equipment, or even invest it into your pension savings.”
He stared at me as if hearing something he had desperately needed to know.
“And by the way, Misha,” I added, “there’s no real equivalent to that in the U.S. No Maternity Capital. But support does exist here—it just looks different. It’s more decentralized. It depends on the state. On the program.”
Then I paused to make sure he understood.
“Everything I just told you—those benefits and rights—they apply in Russia,” I clarified. “And when you return home—to Russia—you’ll know what to ask for. You’ll know what your children are entitled to. You won’t have to beg in the dark anymore.”
In Russia, single parents cannot legally be fired until their child turns 14—or 18 if the child has a disability. That’s written into the Labor Code. In the U.S., the Family and Medical Leave Act (FMLA) offers temporary unpaid leave but doesn’t protect against long-term job loss.
Yes, in Russia, everything depends on forms, documents, and signatures. But at least the law acknowledges a vulnerable parent. In the U.S., no dedicated law protects single parents as a category. Support is based on income, not on your family situation.
But America leads in something else. No one asks, “Where’s the mom?” when a father shows up at the pediatrician, daycare, or playground. No one stares—no one pities. Here, parenting is not a gender—it’s a choice. It’s loyalty.
As we said goodbye, I told them:
“By the way, Father’s Day in Russia is still new. We fought for it in parliament. It was made official in 2021 because dads deserve recognition, too. Gratitude. Visibility.”
“And in America?” someone asked.
In the U.S., Father’s Day has been celebrated officially since 1972, when President Nixon established it.
Yes, there are more single mothers than fathers. But parenting is not a contest. Not a title. Not a speech.
It’s that quiet, daily: ‘I’m here.’
It’s not gender.
It’s devotion.
To all the parents doing both jobs—mom and dad—if you don’t know what support you’re entitled to, ask. Search. Don’t stay silent.
Parenting alone is hard. But parenting without support—wherever you live—is even more challenging.