Oh Father, Where Art Though?

[Recommended Listening: Creedence Clearwater Revival - Long As I Can See The Light]


13th of September 2003, my Dad lay dying a lonely death in an Adelaide hospital. No one around but orderlies, nurses and doctors that didn't know him from the next patient. The next patient by the way died the day before, while we were waiting.... The day after they had gotten married.

Depressing huh? But then again.. What cancer isn't?

I never really new my Dad that well. I think that is ever more depressing. But what is more depressing than that, is that I never gave him the chance for me to get to know him.

The photo to the above, is my Dad, Neil, holding me when I was 10 days old. I was little then as you can see, and in many ways today, at 35 I still feel little. Sometimes I feel even smaller that that photo.

As I said, I didn't know my Dad, Neil, born 18th September 1946. I was just never too close to him. I know his father's name was Maurice and his mother's name was Heather, the same as MY mothers. Other than that, I know next to nothing of his past. It's a fact that saddens me beyond belief and worries me. Will MY children know the same? Even less, about me?

Sorry Dad, I deserve any penance I get but it will never make up for what I feel I have caused myself to lose for not caring enough to know.

How did all this come about? Let me just tell my story as best I can, let the so called fictional Karma sort it out after I die.

The earliest memory I have of my Dad was him washing the car with his shirt off. He had a huge scar on his shoulder from a motorbike accident years ago. I remember it being fairly fresh and pink looking. At the time I had no idea what it was. Some of the following memories aren't exactly on subject but I put them in as I thought of them. More for my own memory stick than anything.

I remember our old dog Carrie. An Old English Sheepdog. Only vaguely, I don't know what happened to her. I think I remember having an old photograph of her with a meaty thigh bone longer than having the actual dog. I remember the old swing we used to own. Originally painted yellow with most of the paint flaked off, leaving that old family memory of rust and familiarity.

I remember going out in the sun to purposely get sunburned so I could be a "red indian", and I remember hiding from my Dad when he mowed the lawn due to the noise the lawnmower made.

I remember at the house after that, the house which became our family home, laughing at my dad for having such a hairy chest. It was hot and summery and he was mowing the lawns. He said that if there ever was another Ice Age, he'd be one of the few to survive due to being hairy. Guess what Dad, I'm gonna survive an Ice age too. I can honestly thank you for that gene. All my girlfriends might not, but I do, with a fond and distant smile.

I remember every time my Father physically kicked my in my arse. Child and family services, you can all get fucked. I deserved every one of them and are far better off than the pansies you create these days.

In saying that....

I remember sneaking home at night and finding my Father drunk and passed out at the table, his face hovering just centimeters from his dinner, a plate full of spaghetti, toying with the idea of pushing his face into it and bolting.

I remember my Father, bursting into the lounge room and telling me he never wanted to see me again. I ran away from home that night, sneaking past my Auntie Marg's house in pitch darkness at the edge of Penola in case they looked out the window and saw me, a small grade 5 boy in his black duffle coat with snoopy embroidery that he'd sewn on himself. I remember planning to walk to Mount Gambier, 52km away, to get on a train to Heywood, and then to Melbourne and disappear forever that night... with no money... or knowledge of how to get from Mount Gambier to Heywood. I remember a couple of guys, they looked teacherish of age, picking me up. I was scared, but only that they'd dob me into the police. I told them that I was going to a friends house somewhere on Commercial St. They dobbed me into the police. A friendly copper drove me home.. I remember eyeing off his gun wondering... what if...... I was still in primary school....

I remember the single chair in the lounge room, a dark wooden chair, with a thin cushion tied to it, a floral cushion cover, I remember the outline of the whoppie cushion that I had drawn for maximum fart gag potential. Wasted potential as it seems. It never worked. I remember eating weet-bix on that chair at any given time of the day or night while watching any number of crappy movies that I still watch to this day.... less the weet-bix.

I remember finding my Father passed out on that chair with the axe leaning up beside it...

Let it be said now though, that he was never violent to us and never hurt us. I was never scared of him. I just didn't want to be around him during times like that.

I remember spending a lot of time at Mannum, South Australia, on the house boat that my Father came home once saying he had bought. No one knew anything about it until after if was done. Not even Mum. But there were a lot of good times spent up there. I remember Dad teaching me how to fish, how to start and steer the dinghy and other fun river stuff. I remember reading Silly Billy books up there too and generally having a great time. I think Dad was at his happiest up there, which is why he spent long periods of time up there. It wouldn't be strange for him to go up there for a weekend and not come back home for 3 months or more.

Dad was never a very affectionate person, I don't remember him hugging me or telling me he loves me. I don't think we even sat down and had meaningful talks about anything. Much of my life lessons were self taught, hence why I'm not perfect in a lot of ways.

My Dad was always pretty wild and active. He loved riding motor bikes, I DO remember he used to ride me to school in the sidecar of one of his bikes. Not always but some. Enough to remember fondly. He always liked to tinker in the shed with various things too. One day at his work, he had an accident that pretty much screwed his back up and he suddenly couldn't do any of those things.

Another thing he liked to do was play the piano. Another impulse buy was when he traded in his Yamaha Upright for a Clavinova, and then that in for a Baby Grand Piano. Also Yamaha. So I remember him playing that a lot. Sometimes I'd sit up and listen to him, most often not.

For me, this was a turning point in my relationship with him. It's then that I remember him drinking all the time and he wasn't a good person to be around when he's drunk. Another inherited trait. Not grateful for that one. Or perhaps it's just me reacting to things gone wrong. Either way, that's another story.

Most of the bad memories I have of my Father are to do with him drinking. My Mum was very patient but it wasn't unheard of for her to wake me up in the middle of the night to pack some clothes, and we drive all the way to Mount Barker to stay at my Auntie's house. I was allowed to take one tin of toys. I always liked going up there, so for me it was like an adventure.

So yeah. I was never too close.

The day he died, he was in a coma in an Adelaide hospital. His cancer (Non Hodgkin's Lymphoma)had come back through his spine and the doctors told us that he'd have no chance of coming out of it. We opted to switch off the machines and go out side while it happened.

I made some calls to work to arrange more time off, and then thought "No, no one should have to die alone." So I went upstairs to at least be there for him as he passed away. I was never there for him in life and it's the least I could have done. He died before I got back up to the room. So I feel that even that little chance was taken  from me.

I do miss having Dad around though. There are many things I'd like to talk to him about now. Although my Mum says otherwise, I do believe that he stayed all those years out of obligation. Not that he hated us in any way. I just don't think he was a settling down type of person. Having been in a bad marriage, I feel that maybe I have some things in common with him now. I too stayed as long as I did through obligation for my 3 beautiful children and the fact that I wanted to be a good husband. All I ended up doing though is making things far worse. Nearly losing my kids while I was at it.

I made my mistakes, I'm paying for them. I accept that.

I don't know what he really thought of me, he never told me. Maybe he was disappointed with me. I know I gave him plenty of reason to be disappointed in me. Maybe I'm just not much of a son. I'm trying to be a better Dad myself though. I like to think I'm doing OK in that department.

Sometimes, I'm scared, I feel like I just fail. I never had much to guide me so I still stumble to this day.

So Dad. If you're watching and reading somewhere, somehow. I do love you and I do miss you.

NOTE: There will be more photos added when I can get in to get them scanned.