Baby Octopuses, AA Meetings and a Kewpie Doll on a Stick
No human being is entirely good or entirely bad and my father was no
exception to this. Amidst attempted abductions, over a decade of
stalking, countless Domestic Violence Orders, alcohol induced rages, bitter
custody battles, supervised visitations at contact centres and terrifying
untreated mental illness, was the man who did not once hesitate to order
seafood pizzas for me, all the while knowing I would eat nothing, but the
teensy-weensy baby octopuses off them.
Beneath the outward portrayal of toughness was the dad who took his
children to Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings and church so we could see he
was trying. Masked by the facade of a performance he had mentally cast
himself in as "Father of the Year", was the manic yes-man, in all his
grandiose glory, who saw no problem with allowing his son to ride in the boot
of the car at his request to, nor with doing doughnuts and burn-outs in the
middle of public parks—never mind the blood noses from our faces constantly
smacking against the dash-board. They would be our mother's problem when
he splendidly deposited us back on her footpath in a puddle of red, reeking of
burnt rubber as he peeled out of sight. Oh, Dad... some of the memories that
once haunted me now just make me smile. I do not think there ever was or
ever will be another father quite like you...
I have blogged a lot about the bad side of my father. I think that
mostly stems from my using writing as a sort of informal therapy. It
helps me make sense of my trauma. Balance is important though and there
was never a shortage of it back then; there should not be a shortage of my
telling the good as well now.
How old were you when you first played the pokies? My brother and I
were around 6 and 9 years old respectively—LOL! As a mother, I sit here
and think, Lord, I would lose my shit if that were my kids! Children,
however, do not have that adult perspective on life. We were safe that
day; we were having fun, albeit illegal fun! Eventually, after being
asked to leave no less than every pub in Toowoomba, Dad dropped us home to Mum
with a big cup of unused coins each—score!
It was not always "over the top". There were stable
times too. I visited the Carnival of Flowers at night-time for the
first time with Dad. Mum took us during the day most years but there is
something magical about all those bright flashing lights against the darkened
sky. Dad lived in a unit just up the road from Queens Park and so we
walked down to Sideshow Alley. Well,
he walked, I rode on his shoulders. That night, Dad bought me my very
first Kewpie doll on a stick. Its short, slicked hair was a glittering gold,
and she sported a fluoro pink tutu. I treasured that doll for years but
whatever became of it in the end, I do not know.
We eventually made our way home, me clutching my prized doll in one hand
and a large bag of fairy floss in the other. I slept snuggled up to Dad in his bed that
night. For breakfast I had an entire
packet of those small pyramid shaped UHT milks designed to be enough for a
coffee or tea. I loved them and Dad used
to buy them especially for me when I visited.
Dad was spontaneous and impulsive. This of course led to a great
deal of reckless behaviour such as driving around a round-about as fast as he
could, for as many laps as he could, before rolling his car, breaking his arm
in the process. Then there was the time he bought a brand-new motorbike,
only to deliberately set it on fire on his front lawn for something to
do. But, let us not forget the time he took my brother and I to
the RSPCA to adopt a dog—this was one of the best things my father ever did for
all of us, Mum included, despite the time it took her to warm to the
idea.
Upon learning what Dad had planned that day, I loudly proclaimed,
"I want to call it Spot! Even if it doesn't have spots!"
I did not get my wish, much to my chagrin. I cannot recall what
type of dog I wanted or what it looked like. I do know I was royally
pissed off when my brother stuck his fingers in one of the cages and announced,
"Look Dad! This one likes me! Can we get this one?" when
said dog started licking his fingers.
When Dad agreed, I howled like the spoilt little brat I was and my
wailings grew louder still when my brother's suggested name of 'Blackie' stuck,
despite her being a kelpie-cross and therefore more than suitable for the name,
'Spot'.
So, there we were on the footpath again, me cracking the wobbly of all
wobblies, my brother happy as a pig in mud, a little black pup and a horrified
Mum as Dad performed his famous Houdini disappearing act
again. That adorable fur ball went onto become a member of our
family. I was 4 years old when we got her, and she passed away when I was
19. I was devastated, we all were, but she had a good life and was so
very loved.
Prior to her demise, Blackie had quite the adventure through life.
She was an escape artist and no matter what we did to keep her in the yard, she
always found a way out into the world! It got to the point where Mum had
had enough, and she advertised her for giveaway in the local newspaper.
My brother and I begged her not to, but Mum said, "She is a farm
dog. We can't keep her."
A man came all the way from Gatton to pick Blackie up but when the time
came, Mum could not go through with it. She turned the man
away.
I have so many fond memories of and with Blackie and I would not have any of those memories if it were not for my father who never took no for an answer and danced to the beat of his own drum. We all have a place in this world and play a vital role in the lives of those around us. Sometimes it takes many years to look back and see the good that was always there and always within a person. Nobody is all good, nor all bad. My father was no exception to this; is no exception to this. Wherever he is, I hope he knows, I will always love him from a distance. Always. ❤
Brilliant Writing xx
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