I grew up without a dad. Most of you
already know that. I have written about it many times. Sometimes just a memory. Sometimes a letter. And sometimes just a mention here or there.
It wasn’t always easy but it wasn’t
catastrophic either. Of course, my Mum had a lot to do with that. She was our
Mum and our Dad and she did an incredible job. In many ways I believe I
have grown to be the woman I am BECAUSE of my absent father. But that’s a whole
other blog post!
So today, on the figurative eve of Fathers
Day in Australia I am writing about the ‘other’ fathers in my life. The men
that taught me all the good things that I needed to learn about all those dad-things.
My experience has taught me that fathers come in many forms and wherever I can
I like to acknowledge and celebrate that.
Uncle Arthur
The most constant male role model in my
young life was my Mum’s younger brother Arthur. I’ve written about him before
here but what I want to say about Uncle Arthur is this. He was only ever
in my life as an Uncle and only part-time, as Uncles tend to be. My Opa [his
father] died when I was very young and my other Uncle, Marcel, lived away so
Uncle Arthur became the ‘man’ of the family by default. He would never have
admitted it. That was just the way he was. But he did all the ‘man’ stuff
required for the family. He moved the furniture and serviced the cars and fixed
the houses. He was gruff and scary when he was grumpy. You did not fuck with my
Uncle Arthur. But he was a strong and caring man who taught me many things,
without even trying, about what life could throw at you and how best to dodge
the shit.
He was also pretty cool. One night, driving down Marion Rd in his Buick
[he had THE COOLEST cars] a carload of hoons excitable young men pulled
up next to us at the lights. I was in the front passenger seat and they started
revving the engine of their souped up piece of shit car and yelling out lurid
comments compliments at us. Uncle Arthur smiled at them and turned to me
and said ‘You ready?’ ‘Yep’ I answered wide-eyed and unsure of what I needed to
be ready for. And then the lights turned green and it was on like Donkey Kong.
Those poor bastards blokes didn’t know what hit ‘em. It was
exhilarating. He was shifting gears like a racing car driver and had his
signature look of determination on his face. I was so excited that I was
squealing and giggling and being totally not cool. At all. And then he slowed
down and laughed and his dimples seemed deeper than ever. Like a little boy. As
a girl I never understood the treasure that moment was. But as a woman, when I
remember that time, I see how it impacted me. It has stayed with me for thirty
years so far. He showed strength and fun and vulnerability and an unwillingness
to back down that I’m sure made a mark on me.
He has his own kids and grandkids
who have missed him every day since he died eight years ago. I know they will feel his absence this Fathers
Day, as I do too, but they are so fortunate to have had that man as their
father for the years that they did.
My Step-Dad Sal
Mum started dating Sal when I was a
teenager. Before Tinder and RSVP.COM you had to meet people in person. Often by
chance. I remember the day she came home and told me that she had ‘seen’ this
man who worked a couple of boutiques down from her. “He’s GORGEOUS!” she gushed
and I rolled my eyes. I was a teenager – that was the standard response to
anything my Mum said. So their relationship began like a fairtytale. Really.
They courted and went on dates and there was this new man in our life who had
never been married or had his own children. But nothing phased him. He stepped
into our ready-made family with a willing and generous heart. The relationships
between my brother and I and Sal developed naturally and organically and as a
result he has become the most present male in my life. He rode in the car with
me and walked me down the aisle at my wedding. And then he handed me over [with
enthusiasm and relief probably] to my husband. He only just managed to get
through his speech as father of the bride because he cried like a baby. Really.
When something is absent from your life for
such a long time, it’s often hard to recognise that you ever really needed it…
or missed it. I managed to build quite a thick skin when it came to yearning
for any kind of paternal support or contribution to my life. I just figured I
was surviving without it, so couldn’t really need it. The simple logic of
youth. But having such an engaged step-father softened me. He taught me the
virtues of good, reliable men and he restored my faith in their existence. After
years of going without, I finally had someone else to lean on. And his
shoulders were so broad that he could take everything I threw at him without
buckling. I can’t tell you what that does to a young woman’s self-esteem,
because I don’t really know. What I do know is that I’m confident my opinions
of men in general changed, for the better, because of my relationship with Sal.
My sons are his grandchildren as if bound
by blood. He was at the hospital while my first son was being born and then in
the birthing suite with my mum when he was less than an hour old. My boys call
him Nonno and even though they know he isn’t my ‘real’ dad, to them there is no
‘realer’ grandfather. So they are second generation Australian with a French,
Dutch-Indonesian, Ukrainian heritage and an Italian grandfather. #mongrels.
When I was growing up, we celebrated my Mum
on Fathers Day. It just seemed appropriate. But then she got married to my
replacement Dad and it’s always been Sal’s day ever since.
My father-in-law John [JP]
I miss JP. His death five years ago has
left one of the biggest holes in my life. I hit it off with JP from the moment
I met him. Truth. When Mark brought me home to meet his parents for Christmas
dinner, JP poured me a vodka shot and we immediately fell into a rhythm with
each other that stayed with us until, literally, the day he died. Even on his
actual deathbed when he was beyond words and I gently cooled him with a damp
cloth during his last hours, I felt our connection. And I had already begun
missing and mourning him.
It’s hard to explain exactly what it was
about him that I resonated with so much. By all accounts he was a kind man who
worked hard and liked a joke or three, but it wasn’t that. I met him the year he
retired so he was very present and perhaps that helped lubricate our
relationship. He was always just around. Helping Mark out around the house,
fixing and renovating and gardening. He helped set up the liquor store and then
when we sold that he helped out in the warehouse – packing up orders ready for
freighting. He knew all our staff by name and they all loved him.
Mark spoke to him nearly every day and that
really made an impression on me. They touched base on everything. Family issues
and developments. Church politics. International politics. What Mark was
‘wasting’ his money on that week. What Mark was ‘neglecting’ that week. If he
ever called and I answered the phone, he was happy and willing to talk to me
before and sometimes in lieu of Mark. He’d also happily tell me what I was
‘wasting’ money on or ‘neglecting’… as if I was one of his own. In fact, I
always felt like one of his own.
When our first son Nathan was born – he was
nameless for nearly a week. Somehow in the preceding 9 months of hell pregnancy
Mark and I hadn’t agreed on a name yet so we were scrambling in the days before
we left hospital to come up with something. We consulted with both sets of
grandparents. ROOKIE MISTAKE. Do not EVER consult with grandparents about the
name of your child. JP called me morning and night in hospital after scouring borrowed
baby name books and the internet [he was VERY tech savvy] with ridiculous
helpful suggestions of popular traditional Ukrainian names. He was so earnest
and committed and I treasure those moments we shared. He made me laugh and then
he laughed with me because he never took anything personally and was never scared
of rejection. It made him very easy to be with. He put himself out there with
us as a family all the time and made himself available to us as often as he
could.
When I brought Nathan home it was JP who would
drop around during the day and bring me food. Usually some soup he had made or
his famous Bolognese sauce. He would invite himself over and rug the baby up
and sit him outside in a rocker and talk to him as he tended to the garden. “Why
don’t you go and relax?” he would tell me “Nathan is fine with me.”
He would make me cups of tea and stand in
the doorway with his back to me chatting as I breastfed. He adored his
grandsons and couldn’t get enough of them. He took them for walks and fed them
some of their first solids and held them until they fell asleep. He played with
them and talked to them and showed them everything he could. And I believe he
nurtured Mark’s role as a father by pure example.
When he was very sick and going through
treatment he moved in to our home with my mother-in-law and I was honoured to
wait on him for those weeks. Every day I made him breakfast, morning tea,
lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and supper. I have always shown love by cooking
for and feeding people and I showered him with as much love as I could. It was
heartbreaking watching him die but the impact he made on my heart is
significant and I will always be grateful for it.
So this Fathers Day I do have a lot to miss
but so much to celebrate and I give thanks to the other fathers in my life.
