Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Birthday, Daddyhood, Emotion, Family, Friendship, Immaturity, Jill, Jillyism, Love, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents, Paul, Rosie, Shelly
I’m writing this from Berlin where it is already the 15th June.
This is important because today and tomorrow are the birthday’s of 2 of the most important people in my life.
My beloved wife, Jill.
My beloved best mate, Paul.
While I’m sure they’re happy I’m in Europe on their special day, I know I cannot imagine my life with either of them not in it, which is why I want to mark the occasion with this post.
[Which is also cheaper than a present, despite the fact I’m sure being away from them on their birthdays is the best present of all]
Paul has been there since 4 days after I was born.
Causing me trouble, mischief and immense amounts of laughter.
Literally pretty much every memory I have in my life involves him.
Every. Single. One.
From first days at pre-school, school and college.
Concerts, booze and accidents.
Girls, games and gigs.
You name it, we have shared – and been there for each other – at every significant high and low in life.
Whether that’s being a shoulder to cry on or a person to point at and laugh ourselves stupid at.
Plus he is the only other person I knew when I was growing up that had a Philips G7000.
Paul is, quite simply, someone I absolutely and wholeheartedly regard as family.
Truly.
I am a better and happier person for him [and the wonderful Shelly] being in my life.
So to my dear, wonderful idiot of a friend, I wish you an amazingly brilliant and immature birthday tomorrow. May it be filled to the brim with immaturity and stupidity, which – let’s be honest – we both know it will.
And then there’s my Jilly.
My wonderful, kind, considerate, beautiful, funny, smart Jilly.
What she is doing with me is anyone’s guess.
From the moment I met her 14 years ago, she has been the one.
More than that, she has been my support system … holding my hand and giving encouraging words of support as we have embarked on a ridiculous journey together.
Different countries. Different challenges. Different adventures.
She’s never complained.
Never demanded anything.
She’s embraced every situation and made it something we can look back on with happiness.
Even those points where I was convinced I’d led us astray, she has backed us to come out the other side and we have.
She is insanely talented, creative and just plain wonderful.
And while everyone who meets her recognises how special she is, they often misunderstand one thing.
She is strong.
Stronger than most people I know.
Not just because she puts up with me, but because there’s not many people who would move countries to be with someone they had only met a 6 weeks earlier.
But she did.
Because she felt it was worth it.
Which means she felt I was worth it … which is utterly incredible.
I’ve written before about her unbelievable levels of compassion, support and love.
How it took me some time to come to terms with the fact I had met someone who wanted to take away any pain or troubles I had in my life.
Not just say it, but actually want to do it.
And she did and does … whether it’s the way she gently consoled me as I tried to deal with the tragic loss of my Mum or simply being the person I turn to when I feel lost or unsettled.
As much as I always felt my life was pretty great, things became infinitely better when Jill came onto the scene.
Then she raised the game by giving birth to our beloved Otis.
I always knew Jill was going to be an amazing Mum, but she does it in ways that continues to inspire and blow my mind at the same time.
The way she focuses on what he needs not what others say he should need.
The way she is teaching him to be a good person, not just a good boy.
The way she fiercely protects who he is when others are quick to judge.
And the result is an amazing, cheeky, pink-adoring, kind, chinese-speaking, curious, creative, mischievous, broom-sweeping, loving, Bez-dancing little boy who I literally couldn’t love anymore.
Not a single milligram more.
Which ultimately means I couldn’t love Jill anymore.
Not a single bit.
She makes the best days better and the worst days, less dark … whether that’s a well timed moment of love or an act of Jillyism brilliance.
I don’t know what I have done to deserve her.
I don’t know if I will ever be able to describe how much I love her.
I don’t know if I will ever be able to do enough to show how much I adore her.
But I’ll keep trying, because as much as this was an amazing present … she’s the best gift I could ever receive.
Happy birthday my darling Jilly, I love you so much.
Rx
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Confidence, Culture, Dad, Daddyhood, Education, England, Family, Happiness, Innocence, Insight, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents, Relevance, Resonance, Standards, Unexpected Relevance
As I’ve written before, I didn’t go to University. I knew pretty early on that I didn’t want to continue my formal education.
That doesn’t mean I didn’t/don’t like to learn, it just means I find it far more powerful when it’s not in an academic environment.
I still remember telling my parents my decision and being slightly scared.
They desperately wanted me to go so I was worried they would see this as a slight on them – which is absolutely not what it was meant to be.
They asked for my reasons and when I told them, they said that they would support my decision as long as I applied in case I changed my mind.
So I did.
And I got accepted.
But I was still sure not going was the right thing for me, so my parents – while obviously disappointed – supported my decision and never brought it up again.
Looking back now, I feel that must have been very hard for them.
At that point, going to university was the fast track to a career and yet – as another act of their love and confidence in me – they pushed me to follow the things that genuinely interested and excited me and hoped it would all work out.
I’d say it did.
But now I’m a dad and while Otis is only 3, the thought of education looms large.
Would I do the same thing as him?
Of course I want to help equip my son in the best way possible for the life he wants to lead and one of those ways is to provide him with a good education. But the fact is I’m vehemently opposed to private education and while general access schools can be very good, the reality is private tends to offer better opportunities simply because of the funding and the facilities … which leads to an interesting conflict.
What’s best for my son versus what’s true to me?
Given Otis is so young right now, the decision will ultimately be mine and his Mum’s, but once he’s older, what do I do if he chooses a path I feel is not in his best interests.
Sure, it worked out for me, but the World was different back then and then I saw the ‘god’ instagram above – a sentiment that was absolutely reinforced by our recent America In The Raw research – and realised that by the time he has to make some choices, he will be far more aware of what he needs to do to increase his odds of success than his Mum or me.
But then I realised something else …
It’s not just about acknowledging their view of their World will be better than yours, it’s also backing your parenting.
When my Mum and Dad supported my decision, they were ultimately supporting how they raised me.
They believed the values and smarts they’d instilled in me were the right ones to enable me to make the right choices … and while I know they would have been there if it all fell down, that sense of confidence and belief probably enabled me to go to places I might otherwise not have done. Places I might not otherwise have felt I deserved to be.
And that’s why backing your team is everything.
Of course you have to instill values and standards into them, but once that’s done, you have to back them including what they think is right – even if you don’t – because if that doesn’t happen, you’re literally stopping their potential rather than liberating it.
Thank you Mum and Dad. Again.
Filed under: Dad, Daddyhood, Family, Fatherhood, Jill, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents
Today would have been my Mum’s 85th birthday.
Eighty Five.
I would have flown in to see her. Probably, surprise her.
I did that a couple of times.
Once when I was living in Australia and once when I was in Singapore.
And on both occasions – when she went outside supposedly to help my best friend Paul bring something into her house, and when I hid behind a huge bouquet of birthday flowers – the surprise on her face was utterly adorable.
And because of those occasions, I know what would have happened if I surprised her today.
First she would have stopped dead in her tracks … trying to work out how I was in front of her when she thought I was on the other side of the planet.
Then she would have had a huge smile on her face as she walked towards me to give me a huge hug and a big kiss on the cheeks.
Finally she would tell me how happy and surprised she was, before saying she had to go and make up my bed immediately.
And even though it would be her special day, she would want the focus to be on me and we would have a little back-and-forth as I would insist I was there to celebrate her, not the other way round.
And I would win – not because she liked having a fuss being made of her, in fact she hated it – but because she knew I was happy when she let me make a fuss over her and me being happy made her happy too.
Just to be clear, her version of what ‘a fuss’ was, wasn’t a fuss at all.
I’m talking about having dinner together and talking and just enjoying each others company.
And while Mum would love it, I know she’d be thinking she was taking me away from other things I could be doing so I’d have to remind her I was there for her and we would laugh and hold hands and say how lovely it was to be together.
I would give anything to have that happen today.
Especially as this time, I would have Jill and Otis with me.
And that would make her think it was her best birthday ever.
Because she would get to watch Otis run and laugh around her little garden.
And get to hold his little hand while she went around telling him what all the flowers were.
And get to hear him say “thank you” after he’d wolfed down the pasta she would have lovingly made for him.
And while this all happened, I’d see her radiate with energy and love.
Filled with a spirit that only meeting your grandson for the first time can give.
And while she would desperately try to stop herself kissing Otis’ cheeks over and over again for fear of making him uncomfortable, every interaction would provide her with a joy she would not have felt for a very long time.
I wish this was how today played out.
I wish this was not just happening in my mind.
But it is and while I’d prefer the real thing, I am happy I can picture this in such detail.
It makes me still feel close to my beloved Mum.
The kindest, most generous and considerate person I’ve ever met.
And while I know she can not read this, a little part of me wishes she could.
Because I want her to know the love I have for her is as strong as it ever was.
And this is a small way of showing her that.
As will be the little thing I’ll be doing at work today in her honour.
Happy birthday my dearest Mum.
I miss you, love you and hope Dad is giving you an extra hug today.
Filed under: Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Family, Jill, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents
Oh Mum.
How I miss you.
I am in a better place than I was this time last year, but you are always in my thoughts.
I continually tell Jill how much I would have loved you to meet Otis.
He’s such a lovely little boy.
Cheeky but oh-so-sweet.
He can throw a temper tantrum in 0.3 milliseconds, but will always say “thank you” [in a weird Americanesque accent] the moment you do anything for him … from giving him a drink to opening the front door.
I think about what you’d say if you saw him.
How you’d look.
And I know the pride and joy on your face would be both for how wonderful your grandson is and how well you think I – your son – am doing with him.
Of course we both would know so much of it is down to Jill, but if I’m doing anything right [and if you read tomorrow’s post, you’ll realise that is questionable] it is down to the love and support I felt from you and Dad throughout my childhood.
The love and support I still feel, despite you both being gone.
And that’s why I’m wishing you a happy birthday … not just because I love you and I miss you, but because your presence is still with me and always will be, which is probably the best testimony I can give to you as a person and as a parent.
I am honoured that I was able to call you my Mum.
You were an amazing lady and a fabulous Mum in every possible way … even if you never thought you were and would be telling me to stop with all the compliments.
So Happy birthday Mum, tell Dad to give you an extra kiss from me. Love you. Rx
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Culture, Daddyhood, Education, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Innocence, Insight, Jill, Otis, Parents
I cry.
I cry a lot.
I cry at films.
I cry at memories.
I cry at just how much I love Otis.
Now I appreciate that’s not the sort of thing you should admit, but that’s what I want to change.
I get why it happens.
From the moment we are kids, we are told not to cry.
To be fair, it’s less to do with any sense of parental embarrassment and more to do with parents hating seeing their precious child being upset, but in my opinion, it’s still wrong.
But it gets worse.
Especially for little boys.
I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard a Dad tell their little man who has fallen over …
“Big boys don’t cry”.
I totally appreciate they’re not saying it to be mean, but I can’t help but worry for what we are teaching the men of tomorrow.
Especially in America.
I was lucky, I was brought up in a household that didn’t try to hide emotions.
I was taught it was healthy and was encouraged to express how I felt.
Now I know that was pretty rare, but fortunately for everyone else, there was the local pub.
The pub was more than a place for drinking, it was a place for men to express their feelings.
Sure, they did it through banter and jokes, but it was where you could reveal your feelings and fears to other men in an environment that was, ironically, none threatening and none judgemental.
I have no idea if that’s still the case but I know in America it’s not.
Here, you don’t go to a bar to talk, you go to a bar to sit with other men and watch sports.
There appears little outlet for men to express their feelings which means either the pressure of situations add up to unbelievable levels or the response to situations is disproportionate or overly aggressive and confrontational.
OK, so not everyone is like that, but until we teach our children – and especially our little boys – that crying is actually the act of someone strong rather than weak, then we are going to continue stopping people knowing how to navigate the challenges and frustrations that fill our lives. Or said another way, we’ll be stopping our kids from being able to be as good as they can be … which is a crime no parent wants to ever be accused of doing.
Which is another thing we could all learn from the values taught at Otis’ school.