Remembering my Dad

 

I was a pretty good student at school but one day I managed to get myself into a little bit of trouble – uncharacteristically, I swore at a teacher and landed in the Principal’s office.

I was at my friend’s house that afternoon and my Dad was due to pick me up. I asked my friend Bryan not to say anything about my indiscretion at school earlier that day and he agreed.

But as mates sometimes do, when my Dad picked me up, Bryan took great pleasure in racing out to the car and telling him that I’d been in trouble.

The 10 minute drive home was undertaken in silence. I waited and waited for Dad to say something, but he didn’t say a word until we pulled up in the driveway of my childhood home on McNaughton Street in Jamisontown.

He looked at me for 30 seconds or so, and then said, “how about we don’t tell mum about this one”.

The last two years or so were exceptionally tough on Dad and he, like so many others, didn’t deserve the hand he got dealt.

But while at 61 he was way too young to leave us, he has left me, my mum, my sister, his brother Noel and his entire family and friendship circle with so many memories.

As a child some of my fondest memories are our Saturday trips into the City. The routine was something he had shared with his brother Noel for decades – record shops, lunch and the latest Hollywood blockbuster.

Rarely was a Saturday missed.

Most of these trips were prior to the Internet taking over our lives and there was genuine excitement when he discovered a new CD or video had been released, while the movies were generally always of a genre dad loved – action flicks.

We’d watch Arnie, Sly Stallone or Bruce Willis do their thing and of course discuss the quality of the movie on the way home.

I grew out of those Saturday trips eventually – like most teenagers would – but they are something I’ll never forget and something he and Noel kept up well after I stopped going.

In fact, up until recently they still remained part of his life although with age, the closure of record shops and what Dad would call “crap movies”, the Saturday adventures were these days more about coffee shops and sharing laughs with his friends.

Dad taught me to drive, he taught me to shave, took me to my first concert and my first movie, and he taught me about passion.

He may not have been an adventurer or thrill seeker, but he certainly knew how to be passionate about something – and at the top of the list was rock and roll music, old TV shows and movies. His record and DVD collection stands testament to that – the size of it is only rivalled by his brother Noel.

Perhaps the worst thing I did was teach him how to use the iPad – it allowed him to keep track of every DVD he had and he’d make a note if someone borrowed one… it was usually me or my sister who faced the music over late returns.

Both he and my mum taught me about respecting the past – my so-called awful taste in music and sometimes questionable choice of TV shows is proof that I listened. He also introduced me to talk radio – so those who travel with me in my car know who to blame now.

Both my parents also taught me about work ethic. Dad was perhaps the hardest worker I ever knew, and while we may look back now and wish he’d slowed down a bit prior to becoming sick, the reality is that he instilled in me a drive and a passion for work and career that I don’t think I would have had otherwise.

Despite how hard he worked, he had such a giving nature when it came to his time. I remember for years and years, after a hard day at work, he’d still call by his mother’s house on the way home to have a cup of tea and a biscuit with her.

Dad wasn’t a jetsetter but that’s not to say he didn’t like travel.

He and mum had a wonderful trip to America two years ago and he raved about Graceland, New York and San Francisco.

As a kid Canberra was a regular travel destination while Melbourne, Hervey Bay and New Zealand also became regular trips for him and mum.

For a period during his illness we started walking around the Nepean River two or three times a week very early in the morning – and in the middle of winter. It was something he wasn’t able to keep up but in the few months that we did it, I think we grew even closer and I know he really enjoyed that time we spent together.

I also managed to take him to his first ever rugby league grand final in 2015 and I’ll hold that memory forever.

I’ll always be grateful that he made it to Stacey and I’s wedding, but sad that he will never get to meet his future grandchildren.

Thanks to Natalie, however, he did manage to play an incredibly important role in the lives of Zoe, Jaime-Lee, Brooke, Payton, Kynan and Afton… and I know he loved them immensely and was proud of the people they have become and are becoming.

There is a letter from Zoe to Dad in your Order of Service booklets that I really encourage you to read because it sums up the loving and giving nature he had with his kids and grandkids.

During his illness Dad rarely complained and never gave up hope. Through all the doctor’s appointments, surgeries and everything else that was thrown at him, he had an incredible resilience and strength that I will forever be proud of.
Until the very end he had hope and will power that all of us would only dream to have if we were ever unfortunate enough to be in a similar spot. Just eight days before he passed away he managed to get himself to Panthers to see a concert he was desperate to go to – a lesser man wouldn’t have even tried to get there.

They say it is the little things you will miss most and I know that will be true.

I’ll miss his regular reminders about speed cameras, drink driving and double demerits. He used to constantly update me on little pockets of the road where Police Cars would be hiding.

I’ll miss his weekly phone calls about there being something wrong with his computer, phone or iPod. “Your mother has done something to it again,” he’d say.

I’ll miss the human street directory – there was very few places he didn’t know how to get to purely off the top of his head. Before the days of GPS when I was driving all around Sydney, he used to draw me hand-written maps with written instructions on how to get there. Turn left at the McDonalds, turn right at the BP, go straight through the next round-a-bout… but watch out for the speed camera.

And I’ll miss us calling each other Neville, which was later shortened to Nev – I don’t even remember how that started.

A little while ago I made him a promise. I told him that on his birthday each year I’d watch a Cliff Richard concert, given how big of a role Cliff played in his life and indirectly in my life given he wouldn’t have met my mum without Cliff.
That’s a promise I’ll keep forever starting with this Monday on what would have been Dad’s 62nd birthday.

Dad has gone way too soon, but he built a life he was happy and proud of and created memories that we will all hold with us forever and I doubt a day will go by where he doesn’t enter our thoughts in one way or another.

Thank you