Patriot Realm

The 4th of August marks the 6th anniversary of my father's passing. He was married to Redhead for 65 years and they enjoyed a marriage that was firey, fulfilling and fun. It was a marriage of two Geminis and, to those of you who follow the stars, that portends a rather tempestuous and exciting relationship.

Redhead and Raymond F Peters were and are individual characters of a calibre rarely seen these days. They have and had determination, self-will and a strong belief in what is right and what is wrong.

While we celebrate the life and death of people who have the conviction and self-confidence to stand up for what is fair, then all is good in the world. 

When that strength is stifled and the voices suffocated, we must hear alarm bells ring and the church bells tolling the death knell of our civilisation.

 As the sun sets on the generation that brought us freedom, hope, confidence, good education, a belief in God and the belief in justice, I must question where we went wrong? 

I am what is colloquially known as a baby boomer. 

I was born to the heroes and survivors of the Second World War, the polio epidemic and the austerity that came after. 

I was brought up to believe in patriotism and love of one's country, oneself and one's parents.

To be grateful for the life I have enjoyed and squandered in equal measures.

So here is my tribute to my Dad and how, with hindsight, I can honour his memory for being a grumpy old bastard and a man with a shovel. 

And, as my beloved Mr Gormsby said " there is nothing wrong with that. " 

I urge you to watch it - it really is worthwhile _ Monty

My late Dad was, most importantly, A MAN. 

A real man. Not some mumbo jumbo lovey dovey silly spectre of a man. He was a real man.

He was with fault. He was dogmatic, opinionated and incredibly critical. He hated smoking and in his  workplace, no one could smoke.

He despised loud neighbours. One night, I recollect him banging on the door of a neighbour who had loud music playing. The neighbours could not hear him so he simply walked in and said “Call it quits. I can’t hear myself think.”

The young tenant objected to his intrusion and told him that he was trespassing.

Dad said “ If your music wasn’t so loud, I wouldn’t be in your bloody house.”

The tenant said that he was moving away – 10 km away from an argumentative old bastard – and Dad said

“ Good. 10 km? That should be far enough. “To that, he marched off and the music died and the neighbours moved out.

God, I love that man.

I remember when I was about 16 years old. I went to a dance class and it was old fashioned waltzes and foxtrots. There was a young pimply faced chap who had a job and a car. Clean-shaven and thoroughly respectable.  He asked me if he could meet my father. I said NO. But he came up to meet my Dad and attempt to ask me out. Dad greeted him.

With a giant shovel.

Not Shaydees father. This is just a photo I found that seemed rather good.

I have never seen a red Triumph Herald retreat so fast in reverse. Ever. I still have the image in my mind of a man chasing a car down a laneway and then declaring to me “I don’t care what you say, he wore winklepicker shoes. And I do not like pointy shoes. “

And that was an end to it. I never saw that young man again. Even at Dance Class. It was as though he never existed.

Dad put an end to him. As he did, many others.

My father was a good man. My school, when I was a child, caught on fire. Dad was in charge of the only water source in the area. He had no authority to release that water to the Fire Brigade. But he did. And saved our school, as best he could.

You see, Fathers do things without thinking. They react emotionally through love. That is their role.

My father never once reacted with cruelty or unkindness. He always reacted from his heart.

And, at times, with a shovel.

Today, fathers are not allowed to do what they instinctively feel. And that is a tragedy.

To hug, to act and react. They are, after all, men.  

My Dad would probably be arrested for attempting to pummel someone with a shovel because he wore pointy shoes.

He certainly would lose his job for releasing water that was not within his authority to do so.

When men are allowed to be men, protectors and carers, hard workers and simply themselves, people like my Dad are empowering the rest of us.

As a daughter, as a woman, as a free thinker, I want old fashioned men and not these excuses for males who wimp off at the first sign of conflict.

I do not admire a soy boy or a cry baby. I do not admire some bloke that masquerades as a woman and I do not admire some wimpy little idiot telling me that masculinity is toxic.

I admire REAL MEN. 

Much like I admire REAL WOMEN. 

Who marry REAL MEN and bring up REAL CHILDREN in REAL FAMILIES.

People who worship God and decency and kindness and TRUE fellowship.

When people start worshipping money instead of God, it seems to me that something is wrong.

A piece of paper that can buy or trade a deal with the devil?

I think I prefer Dad's  Shovel.

Rest in Peace Dad. God Bless you and the life you gave us.  I still have your little bottle of champagne in the fridge. I have kept it for 6 years. As long as it is there, I know that I have nothing worth celebrating.  When I do pop the cork, I know that the time is right. Until then, I will keep fighting here and being your daughter and supporting your wife, my mother and doing what you always taught us.

Peace, Love and Harmony.  

Even if it takes a shovel to achieve it. 

Love, Shaydee.