Today would have been Dad’s 86th birthday.
That means he’s been gone 26 years.
What’s bizarre is I remember the last birthday he had – his 60th – so clearly.
The photo above is from that day.
Part of my reasons for remembering it is because I flew back from Sydney for it. Part of it is because we had bought him a special armchair that allowed him to get in and out of it with ease. And part of it is because he hardly had time to use it, because within months, he was back in hospital – except this time, it would be his final time.
And yet I look back on that day with love.
Sitting next to him.
Looking at his beloved garden.
Having some-sort of conversation about the plants … even though his strokes had robbed him of his ability to talk – bar individual words. In many ways, that was the cruelest thing of all given he was such a wonderful conversationalist. And yet he had – thanks to his tenacity, Mum’s care and speech therapy – found a way to pick out the most perfect word to express what he wanted to communicate. Including when you wish he hadn’t.
I remember when he was later in hospital and there was a male nurse.
Dad kept looking at him intensely and I asked if he wanted anything, to which he replied, “Hate him” very loudly. I don’t know why he felt so much distain towards this person, but he was not the sort to have such an emotional reaction towards anyone without merit.
Mind you, I also remember when another nurse asked him what night-time drink he wanted and he said, “gin” and then laughed proudly to himself for an age.
That is still one of the best memories from one of the worst times of our life.
But then that was Dad …
His ability to make people feel at ease regardless of the challenge they were experiencing.
I think I’ve written about the time he was driving a friend of mine back to their house and casually asked what his parents did for a living. My friend – we were about 15 at the time – replied that his Father had passed away to which Dad then asked what had happened.
I was fuming and embarrassed and told Dad that on the way home.
And while I knew he wouldn’t want to make anyone feel that way, I was angry he’d asked such a personal question to a friend of mine. And I felt that way right until Benny – my friend – told me a couple of days later how grateful he was my Dad had shown interest in him and his Dad because most people immediately changed the subject or just clammed up the moment they heard his Dad had passed.
This moment made a huge impact on me …
Challenging my perceptions and perspectives on how to communicate and interact with others … ultimately demonstrating the foundation of any relationship of worth – whether for life, work or a moment-in-time – is based on your ability to be conversationally intimate and honest.
Of course, to do that means you have to be authentic and considerate, but being interested in what other people are interested in – as opposed to wanting people to be interested in what you want them to be interested in – is the most powerful way to build understanding between people, even when you come from different worlds or perspectives.
That pretty much sums up my Dad and Mum.
The strength of character they had to be transparent and vulnerable
To enable others to feel at ease with their situation and themselves.
To be open to answers or perspectives that were different to theirs. Or even better, be open to their perspective to be changed because they see what works for someone else, doesn’t mean it has to work for them.
But you can only get to that place by creating the conditions for it.
To allow emotional safety.
It’s why I get so angry when people call emotions, a ‘weakness’.
The reality is, if it’s anything, it’s honesty.
A way to build bridges rather than walls.
Of course that doesn’t mean your view is the only right view. Nor does it mean you can act or react any way you want or choose. But it does mean you feel you can express your truth because you know it will be seen and heard by people who actually want to better understand who you are rather than judge what you do.
I got to experience that.
I got to experience that pretty much every day of my life.
And while I didn’t always get the outcome I hoped for. Or realise how amazing it was to be in a place where I was continually encouraged to express and connect. I now appreciate the power of listening to understand.
That should sound obvious, except it isn’t.
Too many people only listen to win. To find holes to poke, push and provoke.
And that’s led us to where we are … a world of division, arrogance, selfishness and blinkered, one-winner-must-take-all competition.
And yet the irony is, when you listen to understand … you still win.
It opens doors.
It creates relationships.
It allows good things to be born and shared.
I know that sounds hippy-like shit, but it’s true.
It’s the reason why Dad was such an amazing lawyer, because he fought for equality rather than one-sided victory.
Equality of rights … consideration … possibilities.
[And if anyone tried to stop that, he would make them pay. A lot. Haha]
Which explains why certain corporations/CEO’s hated him but their employees/families/unions were massive fans of him.
So even though today is Dad’s birthday, he – and Mum – gave me the greatest gift.
I don’t always live up to it, but I always will measure myself against it.
And I hope I can pass that on to Otis.
A gift from his grandparents … a way for them to be part of his life despite sadly never getting to be in his life.
Oh my god, they’d have absolutely loved to play that role and I’d have utterly adored seeing them live it. But alas, things don’t always go to plan … but they ensured their lessons and love remain and flourish.
And boy, do we ever need that right now.
Which is why, while it is Dad’s birthday, he – and Mum – gave me the greatest of gifts.
So Happy Birthday Dad, I love and miss you so much.
Give Mum a big kiss from me.
Rx