Lessons Learnt

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Lessons Learnt

All parents want to teach their children the ways of the world. Guide them through the ambiguities of life showing them with a soft and gentle hand, the lessons that they learnt the hard way. Parents will say things like ‘be careful crossing the road’, ‘remember to say please and thank you’ and ‘follow your dreams’ with the hope that their young will heed their advice. Doing so will hopefully result in their child having the skills to successfully navigate their way through life in a much more secure and painless way. To his credit, Dad was no exception, he did teach me some things.

He taught me how to fight. When I was quite young, I had a bullying issue. In the beginning it wasn’t too serious, just some posturing and the occasional threat. However, over time the threats became real and it often turned physical. To make matters worse the other kids were starting to join in. Once I summoned the courage and told Dad about it, he was visibly saddened. He pulled me aside and showed me how to hold myself in a fight. Told me how to clench my fists, put my guard up and how to throw a punch.

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Just Popping By

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Just Popping By

I loved going for drives with Dad, he would always let me choose the music and never complained about my taste. It’s one of the little things that made him special to me. It made me feel like I was important, no one else let me choose the music.

Dad loved to go camping, and from a young age he encouraged me to develop an interest myself. The long drives up past Ballarat into the Victorian high country allowed for a lot of time to listen to music. Back then he drove around in a yellow tradesman van. It was one with only front seats and a large open space in the back. The windows even had flowered curtains. Similar to his house, his van was a mess. Discarded food wrappers, old drink cans and generally just filled with trash. It always had an interesting musky odour about it, not overpowering, just ever present. But hey, that's what all vans smell like right? Man I was naïve.

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Hoarder

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Hoarder

I realised just how bad Dad's living conditions were about a year after his death. I was talking to a cousin of mine who had recently become a police officer. It’s not often that you get a chance to have a firsthand glimpse into the seedy underbelly of the society you live in. So I jumped at the opportunity, asking for recounts of some of her more memorable highlights on the job.

After describing some interesting car chases and instances in which she had to draw her weapon, she began describing a case where she was called to a disturbance at house in a fairly shady area. The neighbours had heard a questionable noise and were concerned enough to inform the police. My cousin was the one who answered the call and arrived with her partner at the scene.

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A Day In The Life

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A Day In The Life

I always knew that my dad was an addict, but it took me a while to truly understand the difference between my dad and my friends’ dads. However, as I moved from primary school into high school, the differences became more and more apparent.

One of my close friend’s father was a truck driver who drove semitrailers interstate on a regular basis. I remember this friend complaining about how his father was often not at home for long periods, but when he returned they would go to the football or play at the park.

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