The Sunday Reflection #54 - What fathers day means to me after 38 years with no Dad

 For some reason, I had a night of rather vivid, weird and wonderful dreams last night. Having been to see The Blockheads last night, I wasn't thinking of Fathers day at all, but one of my dreams was that I was having a drink with my sisters Valerie and Caroline. Val lives in America and she broke some rather odd news. She revealed that Dad had faked his own death because he wanted to move to Florida and was now working as a brain surgeon in Miami(????). Given that Dad would be 107, and had no medical training,  much as I loved him, I wouldn't want him performing brain surgery on me. 

When I woke up and put on the radio this morning Jumoke Fashola on BBC Radio London was talking about Fathers day. I thought about my dream and smiled. But Dad died in 1987, so I've had 38 Fathers days without him. In truth, when he was alive, Fathers day was not a thing at all. I don't recall ever doing anything to celebrate it. In fact, I only really became aware of it when I had my own kids. I recall that when my daughter Lizzie was three, she came up to my bedroom on Fathers day and said "Daddy, I have a special Fathers day present for you". I'd been out the night before, was feeling worse for wear, but put on a brave smile. She then handed me a can of Fosters and said "It's your favourite". As it was an act of love, I had to drink it, which was the last thing I felt like, and tell her how lovely it was.

I realised that Fathers day was more a thing for my children than it was for me. My wife's father lived until 2008 and we always made a fuss of him on Fathers day. I felt far more comfortable with that than taking accolades myself. In truth, I have always felt a complete fraud as a father. I really don't think I am particularly good at being a Dad. My wife has been brilliant as a mum, which meant that the kids have grown up to be amazing, but I am far too selfish and lazy to be a good Dad. The things that interest me, such as Ska and Punk Rock music and Football, I've tried to share with my kids. The things I do that I think they like, such as barbeques and Sunday roasts, I largely do because I like them. It is pure luck that the kids do as well. I was absolutely shocked to overhear my eldest daughter telling my son, when he was going through a phase where we didn't get on, how lucky he was to have me as a Dad. I was intrigued to hear why. She said "Why do you think all of our friends come around here, Dad is easy going and he lets us get on with things". She then listed a whole bunch of people they knew and listed all of the terrible faults of the fathers. She also pointed out that they all knew I'd throw myself under a bus to save them. Other good traits? I'm not a racist, I am tolerant of everyone and always try and welcome people. And I always am up for a party and some fun. When I had spare cash, I spent it on brilliant holidays for the family and when there was a crisis, I was never phased. Then she said, of course Dad can be a right twat at times, but so is everyones Dad, he only is a twat when something gives him the hump. Most of the time he just gets on with it and is fine. 

Blimey I thought. Then I thought about my own Dad. I was the youngest of six. I was 24 when he died. My eldest brothers were 40 years old. They had a fair crack of the whip and knew him properly as an adult. I only really had one proper evening with my Dad interacting as adults. It was special, although at the time it was just a night of snooker, alcohol and curry. It is odd to think that it was fourteen years ago when I passed the point that I'd spent more of my life with Dad than without him, My brothers will reach that point next year. My Dad was actually very like me. He had his own agenda. He saw raising kids as 'womens work'. His job was to pay the bills (although Mum always reckoned that if she didn't manage the cash, we'd be on the streets and she was probably right). Like our house now, my parents were always having visitors, putting people up, having people around for drinks. My Dad did not have my love of music. His thing was travel. He was a bomber pilot in WW2 and then a commercial pilot for a few years. Unlike me, Dad hated football. Cricket was his thing. I've always bonded with my son over football. I don't really like cricket, so we missed that. The one thing we did enjoy together was snooker. When Dad was short of a snooker partner, he'd take me to the Mill Hill Services Club buy me beers and play snooker with me. He'd chat with his mates there. I'd sit in the corner listening. They'd drink, smoke, share stories and jokes. By todays standards, the joke would be sexist and racist, but in the 1980's that was simply what was considered funny, with people like Bernard Manning and Jim Davidson telling jokes on primer time television. 

I recall one night listening to one of Dad's mates going on about his wife, telling sexist jokes about his mother in law etc. I'd never really heard anything like it. I must have been 20 at the time. As we walked home, Dad turned to me and said "Have you ever heard anything like that. You have my permission to smack me in the gob if I ever talk about your Mum like that. What a miserable life that bloke has". Dad said "If you marry someone you should love them, but most of all you should respect them. I hate people who go on like that". It really struck home to me. Sure, I bicker with my wife all of the time, but I love her and am full of respect for her. Last week at this time, we were recovering from a highly successful Mill Hill Music Festival. If it wasn't for her, there would be no festival. Of course a lot of people contribute and the rest of the committee are vital, but she is absolutely the lynchpin. She is organised and calm. If I got one thing from Dad, it was at that moment. He made me realise that respecting your partner is the sign of a real man. 

When it comes down to it. Dad was a real man. He made me aspire to be a real man as well. What is a real man? A real man is someone who always fulfills his commitments. A real man is someone who treats their partner with love and respect and apologises when, as will happen in relationships, we don't be the person we should be. A real man is someone who will throw themselves under a bus for their family if that is what will save them. A real man is someone who their friends will turn to when we have nowhere else to go. A real man is not Superman, he has no special powers, he has insecurities, he makes mistakes, he screws up, but he gets up and keeps going, learning from his mistakes. 

I've had 38 years with no Dad. For me, Fathers day is always tinged with melancholy. It is not a day for me to celebrate. I am off now to mass. I will say a prayer for Dad. It seems appropriate, I just wish he was there in person with me, rather than just in spirit. 

I only had 24 years wih him, but the mark he left is beyond comprehension. I think that all the things in life that I've acheived that are good are because I had the example of Dad in my first 24 years. But having said all that, no I wouldn't let him do brain surgery on me, not even when he was in his prime!

I made this little video a few years back. It seems appropriate to give it an air.

The Sunday Reflection #15 - Why I can't be doing with Fathers day

Good times - Sis Caro, Me, Dad

Of all the 'festivals' in the year, this is the one I like least. Don't get me wrong, no one is more in awe of their father than I am, or misses them more. For me though, the day to do it is my Dad's birthday, 1st April. A special day that I always miss him like hell on. I don't want to share my Dad's special day with the rest of the country. I have no idea when Fathers day first started in the UK, I don't recall celebrating it when my Dad was alive (He passed away in 1987). Since 1995, I've had children of my own. I've always tried to discourage them from celebrating it. I see no points lining the pockets of card companies or buying me stuff I don't really want. In truth the reason is I don't think I measure up to my Dad and I would never compare myself to him for this reason. 

There are many ways that I feel that my Dad was a man who was unique. He only had two years worth of formal education in the outback of Australia, yet he passed officer exams in the Royal Australian Air Force, flying bombers in World War II. He was shot down, taken POW, escaped, made it back to the UK. He started a very successful business, had six kids, all of whom are very smart (apart from me, I was always "The thick one", the one who didn't go to Uni or get any education after school). He was an excellent sportsman. A good cricketer and a handy boxer, winning tournaments in the RAF. He was also a bit of a hardnut. Legend has it ( and scalliwags in Burnt Oak who worked for him and knew him in his prime confirmed this) a local gangster came down to try and extort money from him. Dad picked him up and threw him in the incinerator where they burned waste. No more threats. He could mend anything. Fridges, ovens, cars, bikes. All I could do was bugger them up. He was funny and miscievious. At a charity banquet at the Town Hall, he was sat next to the Mayor. To my mothers horrors, he distracted the Mayor and nicked a sausage of his plate. As for lessons. He taught me a few. When I was a kid, I was scared by an episode of Dr Who and the monsters. He picked me up, told me that he was going to show me the scariest monster in the world. He told me to shut my eyes. He took me upstairs, then said "Do you want to see the monster now?". I said yes. He said "Open your eyes". I looked at myself in the mirror. He said  "The only thing you should be truly scared of is what you may do if you take the wrong path". He then told me about the German guards in the POW camp he was held in. He said that they were all good, decent men, but fighting an evil cause and most of them didn't even know. He said what the Nazi's did was a million times worse than any monster had perpetrated. 

When he died, I couldn't have been more shellshocked. It came completely out of the blue. He had an anuerisym and died suddenly. I simply couldn't believe it. I was 24 at the time. It had never occured to me that he was mortal. I had believed he'd always be there. About three months before he died, we went for a game of snooker, a curry and drunk a bottle of scotch. It was probably the only proper adult conversation we had. By this time, I had a decent job working for BT, as we built up the studio. He told me that he had to apologise to me. He said that he'd thought I was a complete let down to the family for a long time. He simply didn't understand my obsession with punk rock music. He'd thought that the band was trivial nonsense. He thought I was as thick as a plank and unemployable. He'd also thought I was rude and argumentative. He also thought I'd never get a girlfriend. 

He opened up and said he'd been wrong on all counts and he couldnt be prouder. He said that when he finally saw the band (in the summer of 1985 at The Grahame Park Festival), he was amazed how good we were. He was also amazed by the way I engaged with a bunch of scalliwag children who were set on causing trouble for the bands. A couple of other bands had their sets ruined. I offered them a pound for the one who did the best dance. They boogied through the set. My cousin, who was a missionary priest had come down with him. He said it was the most joyous thing he'd ever seen in England, commenting that he thought such fun only happened at African carnivals. He told me he was wrong to dismiss it. He was aolso proud of the work we were doing to build the studio which was starting to gain a good reputation. He was also proud that I'd got a job doing difficult technical things for a blue chip company and was earning good money. He said that he'd never seen it coming, but had realised that he'd realised that I was simply unmotivated at school etc. As to being rude and argumentative, he said he'd also realised that this was very much because I wouldn't take bullshit. Finally, he told me that he thought I had excellent taste in girls and that he'd been wrong to think no one would go near a slob like me. 

We laughed about all of this. He told me that his biggest regret was that this was probably the best chat he'd had with any of his children when they were adults. He told me that he found it incredibly difficult to treat us as peers. He said that he always found it hard to take what we had to say seriously. I asked him why. He said that with his daughters, he felt incredibly protective and wanted to make them happy. As for myself, Laurie and Frank, he found it difficult not to find fault in what we did. Even though my brothers were forty at the time, he couldn't stop himself finding fault and found it difficult to keep it to himself. I asked him what his biggest criticism was and he said "You know, the thing that really gets me about your brothers, is I really don't think they know how to enjoy themselves". I then asked about me. He replied "Oh, you like to enjoy yourself far too much but so long as you pay your way, I can't criticise that". He then said "You know, I've spent my life trying to get your mother to enjoy herself and she's spent her life trying to stop me spending all our money". We both laughed. 

Dad was going off to Florida shortly after this. We made a promise that we'd drag Frank and Laurie out and have a proper boys night out. Curry, beer, scotch and hangovers. It never happened. I never saw him again. 

God only knows what my kids will write about me in 37 years, if I dropped dead tomorrow. I hope the majority of their memories will be happy ones. For Birthdays, Xmas and any other celebration for my Dad, I'd always ask what he wanted. The answer was always the same "A big smile".

God Bless you Dad, wherever you are. I will remember you tonight, when the False Dots are playing at The Dublin Castle in Camden. If nothing else, you gave me the gifts of fun and love.