I have just spoken with my Mum about my Dad and we have enjoyed a trip down memory lane about Old Times. It is his birthday today and while he is not longer with us, he is still very much part of our lives. As much as he has gone, he is still with us. Everyday. While we, as a family, mourn his passing some years ago, we still celebrate his life.
When it is his birthday or the anniversary of his passing; when I am feeling lonely or in need of guidance or help – I just reach out and lo and behold, a connection happens and I get a FEELING, a wondrous gift… It does not matter who your loved one is – talk with them and share with them. Stay in touch. Keep the lines of communication open .
On my Dad’s important days, I do something I know he would like. It might be eating a “ goodie “ – his term for an indulgence like a creamy doughnut full of real cream and strawberry jam. Later, I must confess, I drink the forbidden fruit of alcohol and overindulge and wake up the next morning telling him it was all his fault…. Strange how he rarely responds to me with an answer on those occasions.…. except to tell me it was my own bloody fault and not to blame him.
The difference between life and death is a millisecond. How can one fraction of a second suddenly dictate that this loving friendship is over? All that has happened is that we have lost the telephone line, the internet or the postal service. We just find a new way of staying in touch.
Incidentally, that photo is not my real Dad!
Don't get me wrong. 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.
Well Dad was no mouse.
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. Please don't. .......but he came up to meet my Dad anyway and attempted to ask me out. Dad greeted him.
With a giant shovel.
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.
When did men turn into social media keyboard warriors and stop being men who defended their countries, their families, and their flags?
When did men stop being men and start being soyboys?
Why did men stop being heroes and become zeroes?
REAL men don't suffer fools, not even gladly or ungladly.
They are the blokes who hoisted the flag at Iwo Jima.They are the men who landed on the beaches of Normandy, suffered in the trenches of the Somme and came home from the horrors of Vietnam, Afghanistan and so many countless " theatres of war. ". Dad was with the occupational forces in Hiroshima when he served in WW II.
For war is theatre and any theatrical performance used to have a hero: the real man.
But, like all theatre, once the performance is over, the players and the audience go home to their " normal lives. "
And our everyday heroes step up to the plate once more.
Our real men go to work to feed their families and they come home to kick a football or throw a ball or give a hug and kiss a wounded warrior who needs some moral support. They take time to look after their troops.
You see, The men like my Dad are real men..... focused and unflinchingly strong. Unapologetically MASCULINE. No soyboy, cry baby, weepy here folks.
Yet we now have crying, sobbing, weak, idiotic sycophantic " men " who look to their " other selves " to find some sort of meaning in their otherwise useless and testosterone-devoid lives.
Who is the man you want at your side? The one, who has your back and looks to the front of the cave to make sure there are no saber-toothed tigers lurking outside – or the one cowering in the corner? .
The Real Man would slay the tiger with his bare hands and sit down afterwards and ask “ what’s for dinner? “
Well, not really, but you get my point.
The Real Man is the embodiment of masculinity. No wonder the Communists saw him and his brethren as the enemy to their foul regime a century ago.
If they could emasculate and disempower the menfolk, they could become the saber-toothed tiger and walk in, select their prey and laugh as the smashed avo eaters and soy boys cowered in the corner and sobbed “ but what about the trees? The planet? “
The key points in their Communist rules for Revolution outlined the removal of guns, removal of morality and Faith; and , most importantly, the installation of FEAR.
They have been most successful, haven’t they? Men and women who fought and died in the defense of our Nations are now mocked, ridiculed, accused of all manner of crimes and the children and young follow the gurus of Green and the Lords of Lawlessness.
A job well done. But…..But.
Real Men are not prepared to abandon their womenfolk, their children, their communities, their Nations. No, they are steadfast.
When I engage on social media; when I read and learn what is REALLY happening in the world, I know absolutely that the Real Men are still there, here and everywhere.
They look like your father, my father, your brother, your cousin, your son or your Grandfather.
They are my Dad.
Your Dad.
Their handsome self and their essence of who they stand or stood for.
They call a spade a spade, not a little digging thing.
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. Probably the worst thing on this planet right now. ...
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.
