Being a new dad at 84 might be ‘fun’ for you, Al Pacino – but it won’t be for your son

My father passed away aged 80. He was days away from turning 81, but after all the chemo, wires, machines and beige hospital food, he couldn’t quite make it to his birthday.

I was 23 at the time – an adult, by definition – but his death still impacted me greatly. And I continued to struggle with it for the best part of a decade.

You see, I had spent a big portion of my life caring for him by that point, and I couldn’t quite get my head around not having that responsibility anymore – to not have that closeness with him, and not have the worry whenever I went abroad that I might not be there when it happened.

As a young teenager, it seemed like I was always in the back of an ambulance, filling out hospital forms or helping him to bed when he was too ill. How many 13-year-olds know their parent’s medical history, their blood type – even their date of birth?

Never did I resent him or my mum for this, though; I loved them both and understood that they did all they could, given the circumstances. But there was no denying the toll it took on me.

Beyond the emotional and psychological strain, Dad was retired by the time I was six, meaning we had less money than when my siblings grew up. Things were usually tight and I had to take on several jobs while at school to help out.

It’s why, when I read headlines about Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, Mick Jagger and the like adding to the number of offspring they have in their seventies and eighties, I feel indignant.

At least I had 20-odd years with my father and got to know him – I was also old enough to grasp his passing and remember the active years – when he’d run around with me, take me out for tea and cake, or our family holidays to France. I can’t imagine how it’d feel to be a child having to process all that.

By his own admission, Pacino isn’t exactly hands-on with his fourth child, 16-month-old Roman. In an interview with the BBC, he spoke about how their father-son relationship is somewhat limited to online interactions: “He does text me from time to time,” he said.

And that’s in part down to the fact that he and Roman’s mother, film producer Noor Alfallah, are no longer together and live in different locations – which, yes, could happen regardless of his age. But it’s still going to affect the boy.

He said that his new memoir, Sonny Boy, was motivated by his child, as it’ll allow him an insight into who his father was – should he not be around when he grows up.

“Everything he does is real,” says Pacino. “Everything he does is interesting to me. So, we talk. I play the harmonica with him on the other video thing [Zoom], and we have made this kind of contact. So, it’s fun.” Fun?

It’s also true that the economic element of things won’t impact Pacino’s son, given that his father is reportedly worth a whopping $120m (£91m) and his mother is successful in her own right. But those who aren’t part of the Hollywood elite will surely suffer in this situation.

Of course, people can be taken away at any given time and nothing is set in stone – I know friends of mine have lost their parents and loved ones without any warning, which proves as much. Nor am I saying that children need both parents – there is, however, a difference between not having them in your life because of divorce, donor insemination or because they walked out, and having them ripped away from you by death.

To me, it’s the selfishness of the decision that sets Pacino et al apart. They are actively choosing this fate for their children – who, by contrast, have no say in the matter.

It is nuanced – absolutely. I am constantly trying to reconcile the many versions of my father, and the many versions of my childhood and upbringing. Were there good times? 100 per cent. Am I the way I am today as a result? Of course. But would I rather have him in my life still? It goes without saying.