Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Family, Fatherhood, Fulfillment, Home, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Relationships
Nothing says privileged like an unemployed, 50 year old man moving to a new house in the country.
And I am that privileged prick, because today, we’re doing just that.
Given the terrible times people are going through, I appreciate how shit that sounds … and it is … but it’s also something my wife and I have been working towards for the last 15 years and why I sold the family home I grew up in, loved and inherited when Mum died so we could one day have this moment.
I don’t mean that just in terms of being able to afford the house – though that was a big part of it – but also because it meant my parents could feel they helped their only son create the family environment they always wished for me.
The reality is my Mum – my wonderful, beautiful, kind and compassionate Mum – told me the day before she died, that she wished she could leave more to me.
As I told her, she had given me the most amazing thing … a loving, supportive, encouraging family life and childhood.
When I was young, I didn’t know how special it was … but as I got older, I realised the upbringing I enjoyed with my parents was very different to many.
So to have that AND a house is like winning the jackpot.
I am not sure if Mum ever understood that, but I hope she did.
I hope she also understands that the wonderful family home I lived in for the first 25 years of my life and that she kindly and generously left to me, directly allowed my family to buy the home we’re moving into today.
So she gave me so, so, so much.
Plus the house has a stellar garden which would make Mum and Dad ecstatic … though I’m pretty sure they’d feel less happy about it when they see their son will have inadvertently killed everything within a month.
This is an important move for us.
Previously we knew we were only in places for a period of time, so while we settled there and enjoyed everywhere, there was something that stopped us truly connecting. Even if we bought the place we were living in, we knew we would be gone at some point so it was our temporary house … our temporary home … but this is different.
Not just because it’s in the countryside rather than the city, but because this is where we want our roots to grow. Where we want the walls to hold stories from our past and future. Where we want to be part of – and add to – the local community.
Now this doesn’t mean we will stay here forever, neither does it mean we will never move countries again … but what I can tell you is we buy this house with the view of it being our real family home.
Somewhere for the long term, not the short.
Somewhere we will always return, wherever we go.
Somewhere where Otis can blossom and connect.
And the fact we are moving into it on Jill and my 13th wedding anniversary just makes it feel even more special. At least to us.
Because of this, there will be no more blog posts till next Tuesday … we need to move, unpack and help Otis settle into his village school … another thing he’s never really had a chance to be a part of.
I have loved living in London.
I will always be a city person.
But I’m excited to experience what our first proper home, deep in the countryside, will do for my wonderful family, especially as the first thing my nature loving [and needing] Australian wife said as we got out the car to check the house out for the first time was …
“Listen, it’s so preciously quiet”.
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
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Family, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Parents
Today is the 21st anniversary of Dad dying.
That blows my mind as I remember how that day unfolded so clearly, it could have been yesterday.
The only good thing about all the years that have passed is that I can now remember the good times with him – when he was healthy – rather than just focus on the 3 years he was deeply affected by his stroke.
And because of that, I want to talk about a time I remember vividly with him.
I had done well at school and Mum and Dad said that I could have a toy for all my hard work.
I was pretty good at school but at exam time, I would freak out and basically become paralyzed with fear.
Anyway, Dad took me to Broadmarsh Centre in Nottingham.
Broadmarsh was – and still is – the inferior shopping centre in Nottingham, but it had a dedicated toyshop so off we went.
I was so excited.
I loved going on trips with Dad and to get a gift as well was mind-blowing.
I remember him telling me to look around and see if there was something I liked.
The problem was I liked EVERYTHING, but I knew we didn’t have a lot of money so I tried to choose wisely.
I remember there was a Dinky Toy, Bell Helicopter I liked.
It was orange but the cabin was blue and it looked cool.
I showed it Dad.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
I nodded in wild agreement.
“Well we can get that then …”
And just as we were about to go to the till, my eyes spotted a die-cast Rolls Royce.
This was not a Matchbox car, this was something else.
A ‘to scale’ model of a Roller with doors that opened, a boot and bonnet that opened and a steering wheel that actually turned the wheels.
It was AMAZING.
It was also expensive … I think about £5, which back in the late seventies, was a big amount.
Dad saw me playing with it and asked, “Do you like that more?”
I nodded but felt guilty as I knew it was expensive and didn’t want Dad to spend so much money on me.
I remember him looking at me with his beautiful blue eyes and warm face.
He smiled.
“Well …,” he said, “… you’re looking at me with those moo-cow eyes, and you have done so well at school that maybe we can do it just this once”.
I was flabbergasted.
I was going to get the coolest car I’d ever seen.
I remember being so happy and showing Mum when we got home.
I remember hearing Dad explain to her I’d looked at him with these big ‘moo-cow’ eyes and he couldn’t resist.
I remember how happy they were for making me so happy.
And while it would be easy for them to think getting me a new toy was the reason for my joy – and it certainly contributed to it – the reality is I was happy because my parents were always caring, loving, supporting and encouraging.
The things they sacrificed for me is unbelievable.
Of course I didn’t realize it at the time, but what they did without so I could live with is amazing.
I hope they know that I worked this out.
I hope I told them when they were around.
My childhood was a blueprint for great childhoods.
I never wanted for their love or support.
I never felt they didn’t care or weren’t engaged.
My Mum and Dad were amazing to me … as teachers, carers, providers and inspirers.
Sure we had our moments – often caused by me being a cheeky or mischievous little shit – but even then, I never doubted they cared.
Never doubted they wanted the best for me.
And while Mum and Dad would have preferred it if I’d followed a career in law or medicine or a formal music education … they believed it was more important I lived a life of fulfillment rather than contentment.
It is a lesson I hope to pass on to my son one day.
Their grandson.
Oh how I wish they could have met him.
I don’t have many regrets but that is one of them.
So what I do instead is instill their lessons and love into his life.
So that while he may never meet them, he will always feel their presence.
Dad, I miss you.
I miss you so much.
I would love to tell you and show you so many things.
To see your reaction. To hear your questions.
You may have been gone from my physical life for 21 years, but you are still so deeply entrenched in my life.
It gives me strength when I face challenges.
Support when I feel alone.
Perspective when I get consumed by small things pretending to be big.
I love you.
Give Mum a kiss from me as you hold her hand.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Comment, Culture, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Home, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Nottingham, Otis, Paul, Resonance
So the time has come to close the door on the house I grew up in for one final time.
I’ve written the reasons for why this is happening in the past – as I have the reasons why the house was, and always will be, be so important to me – but it is the beginning of a new chapter for my family and my Mum and Dad would be so happy.
Anyway, we went to visit her one final time.
While the garden remained pretty much as my parents left it – thanks to us having a gardener visit every fortnight for the past 4 years [and we’ve taken a couple of things from there to plant in our new home so we will forever be connected] – going into the actual house was a very different feeling.
Part of it was because there was nothing in it.
No furniture.
No people.
No noise.
And so the overall effect was the house felt smaller … more fragile … and yet, as I walked through each room, there were so many emotions going through me.
As I watched my son run through the place holding his toys, I could see me – probably at his age – doing the same.
I saw where my Raleigh Grifter was waiting for me in 1989, on Christmas day.
I could see where my Dad – and then Mum – would sit in the lounge, on their rocking chair.
I could hear my Dad shouting ‘it’s ready’ from the kitchen our Saturday Beefburger was ready for scoffing down.
I could see my old clock radio when I was in the ‘small bedroom’ and my big stereo when I got ‘upgraded’ to the bigger room.
I could see the bed Mum and Dad slept in … where I would sit by them and chat throughout my time in the house.
Mum and Dad’s bedroom was especially poignant to me.
Regardless what happens in the future, it will always be ‘their room’ as they used for the entire time they were alive [and I was around].
Below is a photo of their empty bedroom that I took.
I’ve superimposed another photo of Otis that I took on the day after Mum died.
He’d just flown with his Mum overnight from Shanghai and he’s lying on the side Mum used to sleep on, looking at a painting of a mother and her child that hung above her bed.
He never got to meet her in person – he was supposed to a couple of weeks later when she recovered from her operation.
Alas it didn’t work out that way which is why this photo is so precious to me and why I feel, in a weird way, they did get to be together – hugging each other tight – if only for a second.
Another thing that got me, was when I went to the garage.
When we were having the house refurbished because we wanted to help a family live in a good area, we wrote a message on the wall about how much that house meant to us.
Well, when we checked at the weekend, we saw the tenants had left their own note and I have to say – it got to me because while my life is moving on, it was built in those 4 walls and I hope it does the same for anyone and everyone who lives there.
Thank you Mum.
Thank you Dad.
Thank you house … you will always be treasured.