Today is Father's day across pretty much most of the world and this day always brings a little bit of a strange sense of foreboding for me. Day's like today make me remember in vivid technicolour...those few stolen moments with my Dad and how just the thought of him brings a warm glow to my heart.
My dad died tragically and far too soon. 14 February 1981 to be exact. As you can well imagine - Valentines Day in our home has always held a subtle irony that few others can identify with. He was young - in his mid-30's. I was 13 days over 4 years old...and my little sister was just short of 7 months. It was an unnecessary death for a man who was in his prime and who loved his family and community with such passion and zest for life.
People always ask me what I remember about my dad - my memories are few...some snippets of time with him around the Gifford pool with all the guys playing polo...I was fearless and jumped into the water whenever these youngsters called my name. And a memory...I think primarily based on my mom's regular retelling of the associated story throughout the years...of Lucy Broster...but that is really about it. But I never for a moment doubt his love for me. I can feel it in the photos I have of us and the stories his old colleagues, friends and students tell of him.
The above photo was my christening - and I was lurching for that glass of champers like nobody's business!! My dad is watching me and my mom is smiling and chuckling...pity she never continued to smile and chuckle when I lurched for booze in my uni years!!!! I love the look on my dad's face here - watching over me adoringly.
Dad was an only child - so there are no cousins or Aunts and Uncles from his side. My Ouma, with her solemn gray hair, braided within an inch of its life, worshipped my dad. He could do NO wrong in her eyes. He was the apple of her eye...and the fact that I so resembled my dad in my youth meant she idolised me too. I never knew my Oupa - he died shortly before I was born...but I know from my mom that he so wished I would be born on his birthday...2 February...alas - I was born on 1 February!
I often think about my dad and wonder what our relationship would have been had he survived his heart attack. And strangely enough I have a sixth sense that he and I would have been very close. I am similar in temperament to him - his friends and my mom tell me so. And I know that in my heart too. My mom and my sister are peas from the same pod - undoubtedly in sync all the time. I have a variety of friends who knew my dad - former students of his, old family friends. I love hearing their stories of their times with him - one day I want to gather them all together in a group of short stories. My dad was spontaneous, a bit of a party animal, loyal to the core and generous with his time to the things he loved. I know he was not perfect and I am in no way under the illusion that he was always there for my mom - he spent a lot of time away from home...either travelling for sport, coaching sport or playing sport. He was obsessed!
But through it all, I am reminded that no human being is perfect. I know I am a complex soul with a deep seated level of anxiety. I like things to match - just like my dad did. He wore matching socks, underpants and handkerchief...every time! I know that my life has turned out the way that the universe intended it. As tough as it is to not have my dad here, I am firmly of the opinion that the course my life has taken would have been inherently different if he had survived. And I am proud of the life I have lived up to this point. If my dad had lived, we would probably have gone to live in Cape Town (he loved it there) and so I would probably have gone to UCT and not Rhodes (and some of my best friends are from my Rhodes days). And so on and so on - my path would have been crafted differently.
I am driven and ambitious just like he was. Persistent and sometimes annoying, just like he was! We have the same attitude to money...and most scarily of all - very similar signatures as seen in our passports. I will always remember my mom's face going ashen when she saw my first signature on my metal Zim ID - she immediately got out my dad's passport and showed me what she meant. The symbolism of that similarity gets bigger to me with each passing year.
My mom has been the stalwart in our lives. Brave, courageous and always always always there. I adore my mom and would do anything for her. I know every day that she has not had an easy life - loss of a husband, two young children, without a home and job...and this is without all the health issues she has had over the years. I know my mom has sacrificed inordinately for my sister and I. I still sometimes pinch myself when I think that I came from a single parent family, yet I was educated in a private school for both junior and senior school and I had the privilege of attending university and completing 3 degrees. How on earth did she manage - it still baffles my mind. But in fact, I need only look to her steely-determination, iron will and stubborn nature to understand how she made it. Those who know my mom adore her - what's not to adore. She has instilled care, kindness and loyalty as well as a fierce work ethic in me - I owe her a lot.
So as I reflect on today - Father's Day - I realise I miss my dad more and more with each passing year. 25 January is his birthday, 14 February is the anniversary of his death and Father's Day...none of these are easy days and my tears linger for 24 hours around these times. I remember him, I love him, I wish he was with me every day - but I also know my mom has been my 'double decker' parent - compensating for his absence and loving me through it all. I salute them both xxxx
My dad died tragically and far too soon. 14 February 1981 to be exact. As you can well imagine - Valentines Day in our home has always held a subtle irony that few others can identify with. He was young - in his mid-30's. I was 13 days over 4 years old...and my little sister was just short of 7 months. It was an unnecessary death for a man who was in his prime and who loved his family and community with such passion and zest for life.
People always ask me what I remember about my dad - my memories are few...some snippets of time with him around the Gifford pool with all the guys playing polo...I was fearless and jumped into the water whenever these youngsters called my name. And a memory...I think primarily based on my mom's regular retelling of the associated story throughout the years...of Lucy Broster...but that is really about it. But I never for a moment doubt his love for me. I can feel it in the photos I have of us and the stories his old colleagues, friends and students tell of him.
The above photo was my christening - and I was lurching for that glass of champers like nobody's business!! My dad is watching me and my mom is smiling and chuckling...pity she never continued to smile and chuckle when I lurched for booze in my uni years!!!! I love the look on my dad's face here - watching over me adoringly.
Dad was an only child - so there are no cousins or Aunts and Uncles from his side. My Ouma, with her solemn gray hair, braided within an inch of its life, worshipped my dad. He could do NO wrong in her eyes. He was the apple of her eye...and the fact that I so resembled my dad in my youth meant she idolised me too. I never knew my Oupa - he died shortly before I was born...but I know from my mom that he so wished I would be born on his birthday...2 February...alas - I was born on 1 February!
I often think about my dad and wonder what our relationship would have been had he survived his heart attack. And strangely enough I have a sixth sense that he and I would have been very close. I am similar in temperament to him - his friends and my mom tell me so. And I know that in my heart too. My mom and my sister are peas from the same pod - undoubtedly in sync all the time. I have a variety of friends who knew my dad - former students of his, old family friends. I love hearing their stories of their times with him - one day I want to gather them all together in a group of short stories. My dad was spontaneous, a bit of a party animal, loyal to the core and generous with his time to the things he loved. I know he was not perfect and I am in no way under the illusion that he was always there for my mom - he spent a lot of time away from home...either travelling for sport, coaching sport or playing sport. He was obsessed!
But through it all, I am reminded that no human being is perfect. I know I am a complex soul with a deep seated level of anxiety. I like things to match - just like my dad did. He wore matching socks, underpants and handkerchief...every time! I know that my life has turned out the way that the universe intended it. As tough as it is to not have my dad here, I am firmly of the opinion that the course my life has taken would have been inherently different if he had survived. And I am proud of the life I have lived up to this point. If my dad had lived, we would probably have gone to live in Cape Town (he loved it there) and so I would probably have gone to UCT and not Rhodes (and some of my best friends are from my Rhodes days). And so on and so on - my path would have been crafted differently.
I am driven and ambitious just like he was. Persistent and sometimes annoying, just like he was! We have the same attitude to money...and most scarily of all - very similar signatures as seen in our passports. I will always remember my mom's face going ashen when she saw my first signature on my metal Zim ID - she immediately got out my dad's passport and showed me what she meant. The symbolism of that similarity gets bigger to me with each passing year.
My mom has been the stalwart in our lives. Brave, courageous and always always always there. I adore my mom and would do anything for her. I know every day that she has not had an easy life - loss of a husband, two young children, without a home and job...and this is without all the health issues she has had over the years. I know my mom has sacrificed inordinately for my sister and I. I still sometimes pinch myself when I think that I came from a single parent family, yet I was educated in a private school for both junior and senior school and I had the privilege of attending university and completing 3 degrees. How on earth did she manage - it still baffles my mind. But in fact, I need only look to her steely-determination, iron will and stubborn nature to understand how she made it. Those who know my mom adore her - what's not to adore. She has instilled care, kindness and loyalty as well as a fierce work ethic in me - I owe her a lot.
So as I reflect on today - Father's Day - I realise I miss my dad more and more with each passing year. 25 January is his birthday, 14 February is the anniversary of his death and Father's Day...none of these are easy days and my tears linger for 24 hours around these times. I remember him, I love him, I wish he was with me every day - but I also know my mom has been my 'double decker' parent - compensating for his absence and loving me through it all. I salute them both xxxx
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