Father’s Footsteps

There are things that I wish I could tell my Dad, things that have happened since he passed away that I would have shared with him. Achievements of family members, places he would have enjoyed visiting with us, big decisions that he would have had an opinion on. When I pause to press a play back on the past, to the days before his illness when he was an active presence in family life, I ask myself what he would have made of all these developments.

Thoughts of him come into a bittersweet focus as Father’s Day is celebrated each June. The same would be true on other key dates of the year, his birthday and Christmas for example. On this Father’s Day (the seventh there has been without him) I am pausing to think of what a father brings to the family unit – what has been missing since we lost that kind and gentle man, with his dry sense of humour.

Little things come to mind, scattered anecdotes of times shared together, either from my own childhood or when he was in full ‘grandad mode’ to my children. Countryside walks up hills, over stiles and along narrow cliff paths with Dad leading the way – the intrepid adventurer would need a risk assessment completed nowadays but the freedom of it all was precious. Walking featured with our children too when Grandad would pretend the fairies were holding a meeting in a certain tree trunk and provide the soundtrack, out of sight of my daughter who was searching amongst the roots and moss for a glimpse of a glittery fairy wing.

Being a lover of the Goon Show and particularly Spike Milligan, it is perhaps no surprise that he was prone to quoting nonsense rhymes and often creating his own versions. For years, I think my children thought that Grandad’s version of Miss Polly who had a dolly that was six foot four, was the correct one and that their nursery teachers kept getting it wrong.

As a mathematics teacher, you might expect him to have been a man of order and pattern, yet there always seemed to be a chaotic trail of paperwork strewn around him as he marked papers or sorted race results for his athletics club. Dare to clear the table and we would be told that he knew where things were amongst the clutter and he certainly managed to work his way through it to achieve the tasks he needed to.

As a father, he brought humour to the day to day and although not an extroverted man by any means, he would be quick to make a joke to lighten a mood when needed, He worked hard to provide a solid home for us all without ever drawing attention to the fact that he was doing so. If his work was difficult or making ends meet was problematic, he never let on – not that I can remember any way. My perception is that of a man quietly doing what he needed to for home and family to succeed at one time or another an adventurer, joker, teacher, athlete and provider.

Now an experienced parent myself, I think of all that my husband contributes and is as a father too. He too has taught our children from his example, as they have grown. He has brought laughter with shared ‘in jokes,’ games and funny experiences over the years. Mostly, he has been quietly strong, a provider who feels responsible for the family whether that be their happiness, safety or financial security. In recent years, he has been able to let on if he has found this role difficult at times, whether in the past he perceived it as weak to admit that something may be difficult or to ask for help, I don’t know. I see it as positive to let that guard down occasionally so that we can try to work together to resolve issues and move forward.

From childhood boys are still told not to be a ‘wuss,’ to not run or cry ‘like a girl,’ or to ‘man up’ when faced with a challenge. Such expressions contribute to a certain image of a man, one who has to be strong, capable and dependable which also negates the need for showing emotions. Being brave enough to say how you feel shows a strength in my eyes and I’d much rather have that example shown to my children. There are times when his version of being a father can look like it’s in the background, quietly getting on with all that needs to be done to keep the family ship sailing on. I hope that he knows that it doesn’t go unnoticed and with that in mind, wish him a happy Father’s Day – relaxing with the family.

Into the Woods.

Autumn has long been my favourite season- it’s such a treat for all the senses. The spectacular colour treat that meets your eyes as you walk past trees - like artistic masterpieces on show without the need for a visit to a gallery, just emerging in the sunshine or fluttering on a breeze, even being reflected in a puddle from an autumn shower. The sounds that accompany the fallen leaves, crisp under your boots to remind you of a time when adult restraint didn’t keep you from stopping in the street to scoop up an armful of leaves and throw them high over your head to watch them fall all around you.

Then there’s the tastes and smells of autumn - many I am sure are inextricably linked to my childhood experiences. The smell of a bonfire reminds me of standing in a dark park, wrapped up in hat, scarf, gloves and coat waiting for the fireworks display. The joy of slowly chilling to the bone was the thought that when you got home, Mum’s sausages and jacket potatoes would be ready to warm you up, along with a cup of cocoa. Nowadays, it’s hot chocolate, rather than cocoa. That may sound like a subtle difference but the cocoa of my childhood was a simple affair whereas today’s offerings are one of luxury velvety chocolate, cream and marshmallows towering above the drink below.

The clocks turning back time at the end of October signals the shortening of days and to some seems a foreboding signal of darker times but this has never worried me. Without dark there is no beauty in candlelight, flickering bonfires or twinkling fairy lights that adorn homes and gardens during the festive season. Autumn has its own beauty, in nature’s display and in bringing people together, sheltering at home from the cold or sharing time together in celebratory mood whether that be for Halloween, Diwali, bonfire night, thanksgiving, Hanukkah or Christmas - indeed any other festival or celebration that brings family, friends and groups together. There’s something about gathering as a group at this time of the year. I’ve always liked the colours that appear on the autumn fashion rail and the sparkles that scatter themselves across the party outfits. Perhaps I just get caught up in the romance of it all?

It’s also an annual reminder of life’s ongoing circle, an outlandish flurry of colour and splendour before winter’s metaphorical sleep and end, whilst beneath it all is the promise of the first snowdrop and a spring awakening fresh and renewed next year.

As I write this, I’m taken up with the question of whether I am now entering my own autumn. The Spring of my youth is certainly long gone, although glimpses of those carefree days have come to the forefront of my mind as I’ve scanned through old photo albums or discussed memories with my own teenage children when they ask those recurring questions of ‘What did you do when you were that age, Mum?’ The spring-like eagerness you have when you’re finishing school, finding work, getting married and looking to the future seems somewhat naive with hindsight sometimes, but it sees you through the difficulties of setting up your adult life.

Summer - known by many for its long days, idyllic peaceful retreats with opportunities to paddle in the waves and eat ice cream, has also its fair share of pests: persistent wasps at a picnic, hay fever hindering your enjoyment of the outdoors and sometimes a humidity and heat that’s almost too much to bare. All in all, a good metaphor for the adult life I’ve had so far - nurturing a family, married relationship and a career path through all such highs and lows.

So now I stand in my metaphorical autumn wood. It’s my chance to be outrageous with a splendid colourful display, to kick up the crunchy leaves from beneath my boots and sink back on a sofa sampling the velvety smoothness of a hot chocolate. Whether anyone is stopping to watch the display before them or they’re too caught up with their own daily demands to notice another middle-aged mother with something to say, something to offer to others, that’s not for me to decide.

There’s a certain joy to the slow realisation that over time you’ve started to lose some responsibilities and that you can carve yourself a bit of time and personal space. When you notice that your kids don’t need you in quite the same way anymore it can feel a little like you’re a kite whose string has been cut on a windy day. The twists and turns of the journey ahead can leave you plummeting towards the ground some days and soaring through the clouds towards the sunlight on others.

If this is my autumn, then I’m going to emerge myself in all that it brings and show all that I still have to offer. There are some things in life that I can’t control but there are others where I have choices to make. Now is my chance to show my true colours, as the song states, and I intend them to be vibrant russets and golds - the very best that an autumn can show. I may even climb a few trees!

To Dance with my Father Again

I’m not sure I’m ready to write this as I sit this crisp, cold autumn morning, thinking of the subject matter. This week sees the 6th anniversary of my Dad’s death and I have spent this weekend trawling through old photographs which has been a bitter sweet experience. It became obvious that I don’t have many photos of my Dad and I suppose there were several reasons for this. My early childhood pictures were mainly of myself and my brother, or some included my Mum - I suppose that Dad was behind the camera. Later pictures rarely had him feature as he was always more comfortable in the background of events. That all said, it was therefore a treat to find the few snaps that we did and to glimpse the hidden memories from the past.

An unassuming man, Dad worked hard to make our lives better and mostly left us to follow our own interests, just as he was free to follow his own interest in athletics and walking. When you’re a child you don’t think to ask your parents how they are feeling or what they would like to do. You just spend your time demanding things from your parents without any consideration of their wishes. Yet, looking back, we did spend many a Saturday ‘helping’ Dad at his athletics club, so perhaps he did have time for himself.

For many years Dad liked a beer or two, or maybe more, on a regular basis. In the days when he was still teaching it was acceptable for staff to pop out for a pub lunch and a swift pint on a Friday lunchtime, before returning to lead lessons in the afternoon. The educational landscape has changed dramatically since and there wouldn’t be time now to get to the pub and back, let alone consume anything and let’s leave any moral issues about alcohol consumption by those in positions of authority to one side! Back then though, Friday saw the teachers lunching at the pub and seemingly having a more positive work-life balance than current times, and still supporting their students to achieve good results.

Our Sunday habits involved walking and a pub too. Dad would take us out for a walk, usually to spend time in a park, whilst Mum cooked the Sunday lunch. I remember with fondness sitting outside the pub with a bottle of coke and a packet of crisps that we had added salt to, from a little blue bag. After returning home and eating our roast dinner, Dad would doze off on the sofa - sleeping off the beer and roast potatoes!

The few photos that we did find were mostly linked to athletics and walking. Dad with his stop watch in hand, ready to be official timekeeper at a race meeting at Battersea or Crystal Palace, or a few with him in his full running outfit at the end of a race - clearly not looking his best. The walking pictures were usually from our family holidays on the Isle of Wight. We used to joke that we could only go somewhere exciting if we could walk there first! Often we would walk 5 miles or more to our destination but that was all part of the experience - climbing styles, avoiding nettles and cows in a farmer’s field, trying to negotiate a cliff path that was perilously close to a sheer drop! 

As I grew older I know that I felt closer to Mum, than Dad. Perhaps that’s s girl thing? Girly shopping outings as a teenager replaced by conversations on common ground about married life and then childbirth and raising toddlers. These phases are where I didn’t think to include my Dad more.

All too soon, he had suffered a stroke which brought on dementia and it was too late then to ask him meaningful questions. Adopting the role of carer with him, those were the times when Dad was in the room but spiritually elsewhere. Memories were often discussed with close family or friends at this time, with Dad sat alongside, out of a need to try to include him and in the vague hope that a shared memory would bring him some comfort or respite from his daily anxieties at the time.

There’s a line from the show ‘Blood Brothers’ referring to the character’s mind going dancing. Perhaps by this time, Dad’s mind was dancing, or in his case running a marathon. I wish I could remember a time when we had danced together though and think of the song lyric with pangs of regret. So, make the most of your time: sing, dance, laugh, walk up a hill together and take photos to share - not of stuff, instagram meals and landscapes, but of people who matter, all of them.