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. 

Kind Hearts and Karaoke

The seeds of friendship can be found in the most unlikely places and, when nurtured well, can grow into a thing of beauty, strength and compassion. Back in our playground days, we fell in and out of friendship frequently according to who wanted to join in the latest game or craze with us: French skipping with the athletic girls, swinging clackers, joining in bundles on the playing field or racing to complete a Rubik’s cube. The rules of friendship were somewhat blurred at the time and on the whole, falling out one day could be repaired and forgotten about by the end of the week. Sometimes, amongst all this you might find a best friend and a few people kept these for a long time – perhaps even counting a playground pal amongst their adult circle of friends.

My experience has been that I have a couple of friends that were made at secondary school or university who I keep in touch with and others who have become friends through work circles. However, it is my hobby which has brought me to a place of developing friendships that run a little deeper. A weekly drama group which combines a collection of people of different ages and backgrounds in a common goal to rehearse, perform and support each other in their hobby. Something about the process of drama is inspirational. People who would never normally meet in other social circles, cross-generational and with all different talents working together for the common goal of putting on a show. I’ve seen people go from shy, anxious individuals perhaps coming along to help out backstage, to standing proudly in a spotlight giving everything they have to their performance, their self-confidence soaring.

Friends I have made through this group have been there for me through personal tragedy, difficult days at work and stressful situations as well as being part of celebrations, fun times and achievements. Perhaps there is something about being part of a creative process together that helps the social bonding – sharing the workload involved in putting on a show, learning your lines and moves together and standing as one as a cast on stage to receive the audience response. It is true that friendships have grown here over the last decade or so and the group is such that we both work and play together – choosing to meet up outside the constraints of weekly rehearsals, with karaoke featuring often as an opportunity for a good laugh as we sing, dance and – let’s be honest – drink together.

Within the long and complex process of putting on a show, we all have different strengths and weaknesses but I have been touched by the small acts of kindness shown to one another to help out with a task, go over a scene where someone may be struggling and mostly in valuing the efforts that each of us are making. In fact, it is at drama that I was inspired by the kindest lady I have had the privilege to know. A gentler, more unassuming person you would be hard pushed to find and the joy of seeing her go from a timid chorus member to commanding the stage dancing with a feather boa to ‘Hey, Big Spender’ is a memory I shall treasure forever.

To look back on this highlight is to confront thoughts of her untimely passing just 4 days before she was due to join us on stage for our annual pantomime. A devastating blow to the group to lose such a core part of the group and such a special lady, it was a remarkable measure of the strength of the group working together to support each other in a way we never felt possible. The old adage is that the show must go on, and indeed her family were adamant that the group should do exactly that, but they were the hardest performances we have ever done.

The group has moved on in many ways since, with new members who never had the opportunity to know her, taking centre stage. This is rightly so, as a group is more than any one individual part of it and the nature of this type of group is that it changes and develops with each new venture that it begins. Though, the best bits of her personality linger with those of us who shared a stage with her and there are times when I have felt that she has joined us back there – who knows?

So yes, I lost a special friend and I discovered depths of character amongst other friends in dealing with this. This is why the friendship I refer to has a strength and meaning beyond that of those playground past times. But by referring to this dark episode, I don’t mean to belittle the contribution that others have made to my life – others who have walked into my group and life since this time. For a friend is not measured by the length of time that they have stood by your side but rather by the impact they have had upon you. Some friends tread a path together tentatively, gradually growing in their shared experiences to find themselves in a place where they realise just quite how much they need each other. Some friends have a presence that’s more immediate, taking you by surprise in how quickly you find yourself seeking their opinions, valuing their advice and noticing how aspects of your life are better for having known them.

It all comes down to kindness – in a busy world where everyone has to be somewhere, meeting a deadline, sorting out a list of chores and responsibilities, it can feel as if everyone is caught up in their own selfish endeavours. So when you find someone who can put that on hold, even for a moment to do something for another person, show a little kindness of heart, then that’s worth celebrating. I am very lucky to have found several people who are happy to share their kind hearts and karaoke evenings with me.