Filed under: America, Attitude & Aptitude, Australia, China, Chinese Culture, Comment, Culture, Dad, Daddyhood, Family, Hong Kong, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents, Paul, Relationships, Rosie, Sentimentality, Shanghai, Singapore
Today would be my Dad’s 82nd birthday.
That means he’s been gone 22 years.
In a few years, I will have lived longer without him in my life than in it.
Yes, I know that he is still in my life, but I just find that fact so hard to deal with.
I live in fear that one day, I will only think of him when a significant date occurs.
That he will become a figure of my past, rather than my present.
Of course I don’t believe that will really happen, but to be coming up to the point where I will have spent more of my life without him in it, is really tough to take.
What’s worse is he died just as my life was getting started.
The only thing he knew – mainly because he and Mum pushed me to continue with my plans, despite his stroke – was that I moved to Australia.
While both my parents missed me so much, they were adamant I had to go.
I had planned it for a long time.
They saw it as an opportunity and an adventure for me.
And they also – and rightfully – knew that if I didn’t go, I’d never go.
Of course there was nothing wrong with where I was.
I loved – and continue to love – Nottingham. But both my parents knew the possibilities for me outside of my home city were probably bigger than were in it, and they just wanted me to have a chance of exploring what it could – regardless what turned out.
That’s unconditional love.
A level of support and encouragement that – now I am a father – takes my breath away.
Oh the things I wish I could talk to my Dad about.
The adventures – good and stupid – I’d love to discuss with him.
I think he would be proud. He might raise his eyebrows at a few things, but I think he would be happy with the choices and decisions I’ve made.
He would love to meet Jill.
He would be delighted to meet Otis.
He would be thrilled to know my friendship with Paul is still rock solid.
He may even be happy to meet Rosie – the most well travelled cat in the universe – despite never really liking cats.
And when I was to tell him that journey to Australia led to me living in countless other countries – including Shanghai – he would be so happy.
He always found China fascinating.
Part of it was because back then, China was still an unknown quantity.
A huge place that was kind-of invisible to the World.
For me to have lived there … had for his grandson to be born there … would be a topic of conversation for years.
And I would love it.
Watching his eyes twinkle with curiosity.
Watching his brow wrinkle as he processed my responses.
Watching his smile as he held Otis and said, “Ni Hao” as if a local.
Oh Dad, I wish you were here.
What I’d give for one more conversation, one more hug.
What happened that night in Hong Kong is still etched in my heart … but I want more.
I’m greedy, but you were gone too soon.
For you, for Mum and for me.
Happy 82nd birthday Dad, I know none of us believed in God, but I do hope one day we can have that conversation.
Love you.
Give Mum a big kiss from me too.
Rx
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Childhood, China, Comment, Confidence, Context, Culture, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fatherhood, Football, Goodbye America, Goodbye China, Grand announcements, Health, Home, Hope, Innocence, Italy, Jill, LaLaLand, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Otis, Parents, Sentimentality, Shanghai, Shelly, WeigelCampbell
So today is June 1.
In 11 days, I wave goodbye to my forties and enter a decade that seems impossible for me to fathom.
50.
FIFTY.
Seriously, how did this happen?
I still remember sitting on the hill outside Erica’s newsagent with my best mate Paul around 1978, when we worked out that in the year 2000, we would be turning 30.
But here we are, 11 days from 50.
[Though it’s 15 days for Paul, who will LOVE those 4 days where he can bang on about how he is a decade younger than me … though he will also moan that my present for him isn’t like the full page newspaper ad I got him when he was 40, but a Forest shirt signed by all the members of the 1980 European Cup team. Asshole. He knows about this present as I bought it for him years ago so I’m not ruining anything for him. But I still have a surprise for him. Oh yes.]
Turning 30 bothered me a bit.
I was totally fine with becoming 40.
But 50!
I’m both bricking it and utterly casual about it.
And while there are some practical reasons for the shitting myself part – health, work, life in general – the fact of the matter is the older I get, the better my life has become.
I totally get the privilege of that statement, I don’t take it for granted at all, but it is definitely true.
Personally, professionally, emotionally …
Sure there have been some bumps along the way – some terribly hard and emotionally destructive ones – but looking at the big picture, the reality is my life has generally been on an upward trajectory.
Now even I know that it can’t keep going like that forever … but it doesn’t mean I have to stop trying.
The fact is, the older you get, the more you discover …
From what you like, what you don’t … to what you didn’t know and what you want to know.
And what makes it even more amazing – and annoying – is that every step you take, in whatever direction, reveals a whole host of other possibilities you would like to explore and investigate.
The problem is time is now officially, not on your side … so there’s a point where you have to accept you won’t get to try, play, experiment with all you want to do, so while that might put some people off, it kind of makes me want to try and pack more in.
And I am … because on top of work, Metallica, the school with Martin, I’ve already agreed to do a couple more projects that are intriguing and – frankly – ridiculous.
But there’s another reason for this attitude and it’s because my Dad died at 60.
Death is something I’ve talked a lot about over the years – mainly due to both my parents passing away.
I’ve talked a lot about the importance of taking about it, but I must admit, I’m scared of it.
I’m in generally good health, but fifty is still 50 and my Dad still died just 10 years on from this age.
Now of course it doesn’t mean I will … and I’ve come to this completely unscientific view that I should live till I’m at least 71 because if you take away my Dad’s age of dying [60]from my Mum’s [83] … that leave 23 years. Halve that … add it to Dad’s age … and voila, I will live till at least 71.
But then that means I only have 21 years left.
TWENTY ONE.
That’s nowhere near enough.
My wonderful little boy is only 5 for fucks sake. 26 is way too young to lose your Dad … hell, that’s even younger than I was when I lost mine.
Years ago, an old boss I looked upto said that if you can’t feasibly double your age, that is when you know you are – at best – middle aged or – at worst – the last stage of your life.
Well I suppose I can still feasibly double my age – even if it’s against the average age of death for a man in the UK [79.2] – but the reality is where I’m going is shorter than where I’ve been.
But shorter doesn’t mean less interesting.
And arguably, I have more exciting things in my life now – both personally and professionally – than I have ever had.
It also helps I am insanely immature with a desire for mischief, experimentation, creativity and adventure.
And I intend to fill it up with even more.
Fortunately I get that from a number of sources.
My wife.
My son.
My job.
My other jobs.
My friends.
My mind.
A while back, Pete said something I found pretty profound.
He said the narrative of strategy tended to focus on the importance of curiosity when discovery is far more valuable for driving the standard of the work you create and the adventure you go on.
Now I’ve written a lot about how I hate when planners talk about curiosity – as if they’re the only people who have it – but I really, really like that idea of the hunger for discovery.
I absolutely have that.
I owe so much of what I have to that.
The countries I’ve lived in. The people I’ve worked with. And most importantly, the family I am fortunate to have.
So while I enter a new decade, I will continue to live like it’s the old one.
Not in terms of dressing like I’m younger than I am – mainly because I have always dressed like I live in 1986 – but with the hunger, ambition and desire I’ve always had.
I genuinely believe my best work is still ahead of me.
Truly believe that.
And the goal of this decade is to achieve some of that while discovering new things that make me believe even better work can still lie in my future.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Dad, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad
Today would have been Mum and Dad’s 56th wedding anniversary.
That’s a photo from their wedding day at the top of this post.
They look so young.
So happy.
A life of adventure ahead of them.
And while they had their ups and downs – some of them insanely challenging due to health, money and family dramas – they stayed strong … they never left me wanting for their love and support and, at the very end, they were possibly even closer than they had ever been.
Of course part of this was because Dad was utterly reliant on Mum after his multiple strokes.
At the beginning that was hard on Mum.
Here was her husband – a proud, eloquent, independent man – suddenly needing her presence, love and support 24/7.
Don’t get me wrong, she loved him, but it was so different to their normal relationship that in some ways, her husband had become her child and that required a huge readjustment for her mentally as well as emotionally.
But there was no question she was not going to look after him.
This was her husband.
Looking after him was what she wanted to do.
It was how she could show her love for him.
Even when it drove her to the point of physical and mental exhaustion and stress.
I remember one day, Mum anxiously told me [I was living in Australia at the time] a Doctor had said she needed rest or she would become seriously ill.
He suggested Dad go into hospital for a few weeks so she could take care of herself.
She immediately said no, but realised that if she got ill, then Dad would be in an even worse position.
It took her days to do it, but finally she gingerly, tenderly and tearfully told Dad what the Doctor had told her.
She was so upset as she didn’t want him to think she was sending him away … but actually wanting to look after him.
And Dad, with tears in his eyes, nodded he understood.
Because he loved his wife.
And while he hated the idea of being away from her, he hated being a burden to her and wanted to help her feel stronger and better.
So they could be together again. Where he felt safest and happiest.
The great irony is that a few days before he was supposed to go into hospital, he ended up there with another stroke …
And never came home.
The end of a 3+ year journey of utter sadness.
One I would not wish on anyone, especially Mum and Dad.
I’m not religious in the slightest, but I have to admit, I really hope they’re together again, holding hands.
Miss them so much.
Happy anniversary Mum and Dad.
Rxxx
____________________________________________________________________
After I typed this I realised I was wrong.
2020 had screwed me so much I had written this 2 months late as Mum and Dad’s wedding anniversary was on March 28.
What the hell?
What makes it worse is that this is the first time of the 14 odd years of this blog, that I’ve screwed it up.
So while all the words are right, my timing – as usual – is a little off.
Love you Mum and Dad.
Rx
The building above is called The Chateau.
But this wasn’t in rural France – oh no – it was in deepest West Bridgford, Nottingham.
It was also a Berni Inn.
For those not of a certain age, a Berni Inn was a restaurant where you could get a steak main with a strawberry and cream dessert for £4.99
Sounds cheap doesn’t it?
Well it was, but they still made it feel like it was posh.
Hence restaurant names like, ‘The Chateau’.
We didn’t go there much.
In fact we didn’t go out for dinner anywhere really – except for the odd birthday.
But that’s not the reason I am writing about it.
It’s because it’s also the last place I ever went out for lunch with Mum and Dad.
I was living in Australia, but had flown back for Mum’s birthday.
Dad had had a stroke, but even though he couldn’t talk well, he was still able to walk – albeit with a wobble and a stick.
To be honest, I don’t remember much about the lunch, but I do remember it was lovely.
A gentle time as a family.
All together.
Enjoying a moment that we probably all secretly knew may not happen again.
There’s some things that stick in my mind …
Getting a taxi to the restaurant as we no longer had a car.
The surreal moment where I had to go to the bathroom with Dad to make sure he was OK [he was], which brought home the severity of his illness to me.
Dad managing to utter the word “knickerbocker” to the waiter/waitress when he was asked if he wanted dessert and he absolutely loved it.
For anyone who saw us that day, they would have just viewed a family – like the countless other families around us – having a nice lunch.
But to us, it was so much more.
A moment of normality at a time our lives were in chaos.
A chance to enjoy the privilege of the mundane.
An opportunity to be a typical family once again.
It was the last time it was to happen for us.
I miss it.
I miss them.
I’m so glad I have a photo to remember the day by.
Filed under: Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Family, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents
Today would have been Mum’s 88th birthday.
Oh how I wish she was here for it.
I’d have gone to pick her up to bring her to our house.
I’d have a chair set up just for her so she could look at the garden.
I can see and hear her now.
Her face lit up, gently shaking her head as she said, “Oh Robert, it’s so beautiful”
We would sit and chat and she would tell me how happy she is that we are now in the same country.
Around 3pm, Otis would come bouncing in the house.
He would see Mum and shout, “Nona!!!” and run into her outstretched arms.
She would envelop him into a big hug and kiss his cheeks and tell him how much she had missed him.
Then they would chat and I’d see Mum’s eyes shine bright while worrying she may be distracting him from things he wanted to do.
But he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but with her. Nattering. Talking. Explaining what he had for lunch at school that day.
Eventually he would get on to Roblox and ask Mum if she would like to play it with him.
Mum would gently explain she doesn’t know how and then he would say she could watch him instead … if she liked.
And she would.
And I’d watch my Mum and my son have the sort of moment together I always dreamt about.
Eventually it would be time for presents and cake.
We would start with the gift Otis got her.
God knows what it would be … maybe a mug that he chose from Sainsbury’s or something and a home made card … and she would treat them as if she had been bathed in jewels.
Eventually it would be time for the cake.
She would tell Jill she shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. Jill would respond by telling her not to be so silly.
And we’d have a load of candles and she would ask Otis to help her blow them out.
Then, as we cut it up, she would ask for a small piece and then proceed to tell us how delicious it was and how wonderful a baker Jill is.
Then ask for a little more.
Because – well – it is her birthday.
And as the day turned to night, the lights in the garden would start to shine and Mum would treat it like it’s an encore performance – marvelling at it’s beauty while I told her that it was because she left me our family home, that we were able to do this.
To have a place that was so perfect for who we are and who we will become.
To tell her to stop worrying that she wasn’t going to leave me much.
Because the love I was given and the encouragement I received was more than I could ever hope for.
But for her and Dad to leave me our family home as well …
Well, that’s an abundance of generosity and love.
And I’d kiss Mum and thank her for everything and say I hoped she understood why I had to sell her house.
There would be a moments pause before she would break into a smile and say, “of course and I am so happy it has helped you have this beautiful home” and I would kiss her cheek and tell her how much I loved her and missed her and how I wished she would stay the night.
And she would look at me.
Right in the eyes.
Her bottom lip would slowly curl into her mouth and I would see her gently biting down on it in an attempt to try and control her emotions.
Her beautiful brown eyes would gently glisten and say everything without speaking a word.
And I would be doing the exact same back to her.
Because we both know she can’t.
That she has to go. To return to Dad.
To hold his hand and feel safe in her other place.
A place I wish I could visit to see the parents I miss so much.
Happy 88th birthday Mum.
I love you so much.
Rx