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
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: 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