Tomorrow is the 17th anniversary of my Dad passing away.
It’s also the 1st anniversary of my Mum & Dad both being gone.
I suspect this will mean the day will have a different effect on me from previous years.
I’ve written previously how it took me 10 years to come to terms with my Dad passing.
And how an event on the 10th anniversary, changed everything for me.
But tomorrow will be different.
I don’t know if that will be in a good or bad way, but it will be different.
It’s strange, but my year is now split into 2 halves.
The half when my parents passed away [the first 6 months] and the half when my parents had their birthdays. [the second 6 months]
That isn’t meant to sound as depressing as it does, it’s just how I now work out where I am in any given year.
Of course there are many other ‘pointers’ … happy, positive, pointers … but that doesn’t take away the sense of utter loss I feel not being able to see or talk to my beloved, wonderful parents. Especially on these days of significance.
But they would not want me to feel depressed, even though it is a sign of how much they mean/meant to me.
Well, maybe my Dad would – but only because he could be a cheeky chap.
So to acknowledge tomorrow – the first time my parents will be together on the anniversary of my Dad’s death – I want to tell a little story of my Dad.
My Dad was a wonderful man, but he had ‘his ways’.
He was the slowest eater in the history of the universe.
He would literally cut his peas in half before eating them. PEAS!
He was also in possession of the most twisted ‘dessert’ creations ever known to man.
Some were tasty, but the fact is, he combined flavours that just sounded wrong together.
He was a kind, generous, intelligent man but there were definitely some ‘quirks’ to him that meant we occasionally clashed.
But despite that, I never wanted for love and support. He made sure I knew how much I meant to him and I will never forget the level of care, compassion and encouragement he – and Mum – gave me.
One day sums it up more than most.
Actually, there’s lots of ‘one days’, I could talk about, but I want to tell you about the time I crashed his car.
So I was 17 and my Dad had a Toyota Celica.
He was very generous in lending me his car, probably more generous than I deserved … though there was the time he rang Paul’s house at 11pm demanding I brought the car back immediately, which was made even more embarrassing by the fact Paul and I had a couple of ‘female friends’ with us, which meant we had to get them a taxi home rather than driving them back ourselves.
Anyway, one day he lent me his car and I drove down to Central Avenue … which was West Bridgford’s ‘high street’.
I can’t remember the reason why, but I do remember looking to my left at something before the terrible sound of crushing metal hit my ears. Yep, I’d hit another car.
Badly.
Of course it was my fault, but what made it worse was the whole community seemed to come out and started shouting at me as if I’d just tried to murder the person in the other car.
Fortunately no one was hurt and even though I was in a daze, I was able to ‘swap details’ with the other driver before the slow drive home.
Dad’s car was in bad shape.
The whole front side was smashed in … which says more about the standard of Toyota’s manufacturing in the 80’s than my driving, as I wasn’t going very fast.
I was badly shaken.
Apart from the fact it was my first crash, it was in my Dad’s car.
I had ruined my Dad’s bloody car.
I slowly drove home and as I pulled into the drive, I could see my Dad was in the front room with a client.
I got out the car, went into the house and knocked on his door.
He obviously hadn’t seen the damage as he called me in to say hello and to meet his client.
I burst into tears. Massive, uncontrollable sobs.
He immediately got up to hug me and asked, “What’s wrong?”.
I told him.
“I’ve had a crash. I’ve smashed your car. I’m so sorry”.
He asked me if I was alright and how it happened, then said we should go see the car.
It was bad. Really bad.
And do you know what he said?
He said I should get back in it and go to Asda to buy some milk.
Instead of being angry, he was concerned that the smash would stop me from wanting to drive ever again.
He wanted me to ‘get back on the horse’ as quickly as possible so I would realise an accident doesn’t mean a disaster.
I still can’t believe his generosity and compassion.
Sure he was upset but he didn’t lose his temper, didn’t tell me I was an idiot [even though I was] … he just focused on ensuring I was OK both at that exact moment and for the future.
Sure, when things had calmed down we talked about what happened and what I had learnt from the experience, but even then, it wasn’t about ‘telling me off’ or limiting my use of the car … it was about ensuring I didn’t do it again because he loved me and didn’t want me to ever get hurt or feel that terrible again.
That was how special he was as a father.
How wonderful he was as a human.
I hope I can be half as considerate to Otis when he does something like that to me.
Dad … I hope you’re holding hands with Mum and laughing.
I love you.
I miss you.
Rx
So a few months ago, I flew Swiss Air for the first time.
To be fair, it was pretty good … but the thing that got me was the poster in Zurich airport before I took off. This poster …
Look, I get Switzerland is full of beautiful scenery.
I get Switzerland is famous for very expensive, highly engineered, watches.
BUT I DON’T WANT TO SEE A PHOTO OF A PLANE THAT LOOKS LIKE IT IS SECONDS FROM CRASH LANDING INTO A DESOLATE MOUNTAIN RANGE.
No bloody wonder their logo looks similar to the bloody Red Cross [yes, I know the real reason, so ssssssh] because based on this poster … they’re saying their pilots fly like fucking lunatics and you may crash and need saving.
From a mountain.
In the snow.
I totally understand most airline ads feature generic photos of a plane in the sky, and showing a plane inches from hitting a mountain peak in the middle of absolutely nowhere definitely differentiates them from the masses, however – and it’s a relatively important ‘however’ – I don’t think it does much for them in terms of audience appeal.
Then it doesn’t do much for promoting the ‘precision’ of their very expensive watches either.
Mind you, given Zurich is so horrendously boring, maybe a plane crash would add some much needed excitement to the country. Maybe.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Culture, Death, RIP, Stubborness
So as we all know Bowie died this week.
Given few people knew he was ill, the news of his death – especially given the release of his latest album and birthday – was particularly shocking.
I loved Bowie.
Not, believe it or not, because he once sang a duet with my favourite band … but because in addition to his music, I loved his commitment to reinvention.
Whereas people like Madonna seem to flock towards whatever trend can help them appear relevant, Bowie did it because he was interested in the unknown.
He never did it in the quest for sales, he did it because he was interested in it … stubborn in his resolve to always do what intrigued him, what he believed in.
Sometimes that incurred the wrath or the laughter of critics – people judging him by their standards, not his – but he didn’t care, because he believed life was about experiences, experimentation and exploration and if people didn’t understand what or why he was doing things, he didn’t really care.
Some may argue you can act that when you are rich, but the fact is he always lived that way.
He never felt he had to convince others of his choices.
He never chased others approval.
In essence, he was the embodiment of ‘his own person’ which is why whatever he did always felt authentic and – to a certain extent – effortless.
Lots of people have written lots of amazing things about him and the response he has received from society – especially in his hometown of Brixton – has been amazing, however if anything highlights how he embraced the future, especially the unknown, the untapped, the unexplored … it’s this comment he made about the music industry back in 2002.
When I look at the ambiguous twaddle so many ‘futurists’ spout, Bowie is articulate, clear and very focused.
You sense that his beliefs were born from serious consideration – never a quest to exercise his ego – which is why he was a refreshing counterpoint to the statements made by so many modern artists today.
Mr Bowie, you have left the World a less interesting place than it was before but we would be in a far worse position had you not been here at all.
The ultimate legacy.
It’s a genuine question … would you trust him?
I don’t know Mr Haman … he popped up on my Linkedin feed a few weeks ago and I’ve been sort of fascinated with him ever since.
I’ m not exactly sure why.
It could be the photo he used.
It could be that he’s given himself a rather fetching ‘middle name’.
It could be that he claims to be the most connected man on Linkedin. In the World.
The reality is I have no idea about his credentials as an innovator, solution provider or trainer … but my question is, if you were looking for an innovator, solution provider or trainer, would this profile actually make you want to know more or run?
That is a genuine question, I’m not judging or being condescending, I’m fascinated by him and would love to know what your first impressions would be or – if you wouldn’t hire him – who do you think would? Thanks.
Hello!!!
Happy New Year.
Did you have a good one?
Did you get loads of presents?
Did you get drunk? Have a snog? Vomit profusely?
For such a crap 2015, I was very fortunate for it to end on a high note … in Australia, with my family, relaxing, catching up with friends and – even more wonderfully – catching up with 2 groups of mates who also happened to be in Oz, the lovely Jonathan and Truus and my beloved Paul and Shelly.
The best compliment I can give my break is that for someone who has found Christmas pretty hard to enjoy ever since my Dad passed away, I had a wonderful time.
Sure, Otis got more presents and much better presents than me … but overall, it was a much needed, special time.
Talking of presents, I think I should explain what the photo accompanying this post is about.
Not just because I accept it looks weird and I need to [badly] justify myself, but to reinforce the fact that while it may be a new year, the old rubbish will still be spouted on this blog.
So back to that photo.
As many of you know, I love my cat Rosie.
Well about 6 months ago, I heard of a company called Cuddle Clones who will make you a – yes, you guessed it – cuddly toy clone version of your pet.
So after sending them a huge amount of photos, dimensions and money … cuddle clone Rosie turned up and I have to say, it’s pretty good.
It’s so good that Jill, Otis and I have all – at some point – looked at it, thinking it’s the real thing.
In fact the only person who isn’t impressed by it is Rosie.
OK, I get that this is all a bit weird.
I even accept that it looks like some sort of taxidermy experiment.
But I’m used to liking things no one else does so your insults will just bounce off me.
The fact is, seeing Otis walk around the house hugging it [or should I say, dragging it around by it’s tail] makes me happy. Not just because it helps justify the stupid amount of money I paid for it, but because it lets him do what Rosie will never let him do.
Their relationship has been really interesting to see evolve.
At first, Rosie was petrified of Otis.
From a household of quiet, Otis turned it into a household of mayhem.
But now, despite Rosie being a little where of him, they are quite fond of each other.
They look at each other and miaow/mutter.
Rosie will go up and sniff him while Otis crawls over to lean on him.
It’s not just sweet, it is – at least for me – a reinforcement that I have my own family.
A group of people [and animals] bonded [in some cases] by blood and [in all cases] love.
We put up with each other. We look out for each other. We take care of each other.
It’s something I wasn’t sure I’d ever have and, if I’m honest, something that is better than I ever could have imagined.
And yes, I appreciate this is quite an emotional ending for a post about an overpriced cuddly replica of my cat.
Which doesn’t bode well for the standard of blog post you can expect to read in 2016, does it?
Mind you, when has it ever been good?
So if you’re a glutton for punishment, I’ll ‘see’ you tomorrow.