G’day again men of MENZ Issues… it’s good to be back and sharing again.

 

I have been counselling men for nearly 10 years now, and whilst every one of their stories has differed, one constant remains… the way that their father handled their heart as a boy has shaped their life as a man. Masculinity is bestowed by masculinity, and a boy’s father is the single most important male influence in the first 2 decades of his life. So, I want to put it out there to the men at MENZ Issues… How did your father handle your heart as a boy?

 

To get the ball rolling so to speak, I thought I’d share a little of my story, and the role my father played in my life…

 

It’s been four years now since my father’s passing… Friday 13^th August, 2004.  He was only 53 years of age. Sadly, the illness that claimed his life was self-inflicted… Liver Disease. That’s right… from as far back as I can remember, my father had been an alcoholic. He was good at what he did… he managed his own steel erection business. He was a hard-working man… that’s code for, he was a workaholic. He was just never home… and the absence of Dad in the home has a vacuum effect on a young boy. When he did finally arrive home, his first priority was to stack the fridge with a fresh carton of stubbies… that’s 24 stubbies every day. XXXX bitter ale (heavies) was his poison of choice. So that was pretty much a summary of what my relationship with my father looked like. Almost never home… and when he was finally home… he would just write himself off.

 

Fast forward to September 2003… my Dad was sick… very sick. He had very limited mobility in his legs, and he would frequently suffer from bouts of encephalopathy… basically his liver was unable to filter out the toxins in his blood, so when those toxins would reach his brain… he would become literally crazy and incoherent. From that point on, he was in hospital more often than he was out. I couldn’t change the past we had shared, but I could choose to honour him anyway, in the time he had remaining. So I was always there for him, and I am so glad that I was, because I can honestly say that I have no regrets.

 

One day I was taking him home from hospital after one of his many blood transfusions. I was walking a number of paces ahead of him, not wanting to be seen with him… embarrassed by the fact, that he had done this to himself. I knew it was wrong… I wanted to handle things differently… better… I began to pray. “Father, give me eyes to see my Dad as you see him.” I turned around and I saw my Dad as this 8 year old boy hobbling along… he could have been one of my own sons. You see at age 8, my father was asked by his mother to ride his bike across town to purchase a loaf of his father’s favourite bread. His father was the “town drunk”, and my Dad from a very young age despised him for it. So his response to his Mum was a resounding “NO!”. His 11 year old sister volunteered to go, and that was the last they saw of her. She was struck by a car and killed instantly. And so began my father’s journey of self-loathing and self-punishment, with no-one ever taking him in their arms and telling him that it was not his fault. There is always something deeper going on than a person’s behaviour or response. That’s why knowing one’s story is essential to really knowing the person. That’s why I offer this part of my story, and my Dad’s story.

 

About three weeks before my father passed away, we were called to the hospital to say our goodbyes. He had slipped into a coma, and we were told that he would pass quickly. I prayed for my father, and the next morning he woke. I had never heard my father tell me that he loved me, and I wasn’t about to wait for him to do so any longer. I decided to take the initiative. I told him that I loved him. He nodded. I told him a second time that I loved him. He told me that he liked me too. I told him a third time that I loved him, and finally… after nearly 34 years… the words that I longed to hear from him… “I love you too.” Both of us just wept together. He went on to apologise for not being a good Dad. I forgave him, and told him that he had done the best that he could, with what he had. I also shared with him a favourite memory that I had of him, and he thanked me for sharing. I asked him if he had considered eternity, and he went on to assure me that he had met his maker, and that he wanted to spend his remaining time with his loved ones. For nearly three weeks I came to know my Dad in a way I had always wanted to know him.

 

You cannot give what you do not have, and you cannot take someone where you have not been. So well done for frequenting this forum. You are being strategic and proactive in your approach to fatherhood, and your children will be the beneficiaries of your efforts.

 

Strength and Honour,