Sunday 7 December 2008

Searching for myself...



(Artwork: Raphael Perez)

As my blogroll suggests there are quite a few blogs I follow regularly. I'm impressed how so many bare their souls with beautifully written posts revealing their inner most thoughts and emotions. Breenlantern is one such blogger who writes vividly. Another fascinating blogger with quite a different style is Kezza. These are just two examples.

The more I read these blogs the more I wonder about my own emotion and passion. A cursory examination of my blog will confirm that I reveal far less of myself than do these passionate men. And it has always been that way.

Before my mother developed Alzheimer's Disease she often commented that I may have inherited her looks but that I am my father's son in character. Sometimes the comment was spoken in jest but as often she was admonishing me for an action or behaviour of which she did not approve.

My father belonged to that stoic generation of men who were quiet and did not show emotion. There was no such thing as a metrosexual in their day. It was very difficult to know what he was thinking deep down. I saw him cry just the once and that was the night when the Police brought me home to my parents after entrapping me at a toilet and, I suppose, the realisation of my sexuality hit him. He never cried again in my presence nor did he mention that night.

I didn't really doubt that he continued to love me, although he didn't state it but I was never certain what it was he was thinking.

In 1974 I was posted to London to work there for two years. Although I had travelled overseas twice previously on holidays, this was to be the first time I had lived away from my parents. They saw me off at the Airport. Within a week of my arrival in London I received a letter from my father. It was the only letter he sent me in my life (other than the briefest notations at the bottom of letters my mother sent). It was a beautiful letter. I had no idea that my father harboured such passion and love for me.

But that was it. He never really opened up to me again except for something he said to me less than a week before his death. He was in hospital and I was helping him from his bed to a chair by the window and he whispered to me "You really do love me". It was said as a statement of surprise. He was dead before the week was over.

And so here I am, my father's son - pragmatic as ever - keeping most of my thoughts to myself. This particular post notwithstanding.

13 comments:

  1. Fathers are a curious species, no? When I left for a year in Europe at age 21, my dad shook my hand. That's it.

    He died very young and we never really knew each other except during my early years.

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  2. All that matters Victor is the knowledge he loved you, he addressed his father as "father", you called him "dad", the generations are changing, if he might have doubted your own love, your actions set him right.

    Love is an action not a spoken thing.

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  3. Seems to be the morning of posts that choke me up. I am both humbled and embarrassed to be mentioned here, but thank you. The silence many of us inherit and perpetuate is deafening to me and I hope by speaking out that maybe, just maybe, someone somewhere will hear the words they need to say but can't. So many others have said things I needed to say at times I could not say them myself...I need to pay it forward. Despite my fears that my posts are just ramblings of a self-absorbed cry-baby, your post has made me feel a little less uncertain about them. Thanks for that. Share what you need to, when you need to. Not everyone needs to reveal everything, and I enjoy what you have to say...enjoy who you are or become who you want to be....either way, I'll stick around!

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  4. It isn't necessary to say everything all the time, in fact sometimes its nice to keep an air of mystery around you, like BreenLantern I often wonder if I'm pushing too hard or saying too much. I know without a doubt though that I couldn't address such a delicate topic as gracefully as you just did. Your emotion and passion are evident in the things you write though, but perhaps as the critical author you're not so able to see them.

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  5. I cannot add to what has been said by the people above but I will say thank you Victor for sharing a part of yourself with the rest of us. :)

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  6. Thanks all for the generous feedback.

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  7. I too feel like my father and I don't really know eachother. It was his 63rd birthday yesterday, we had dinner tonight to celebrate. When I gave him his present, we both looked at each other, unsure whether to hug, and then we shook hands.

    (PS is this post why you've decided to post your profile photo? I would never have guessed you were 59! )

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  8. Evol - I posted my photo previously then chickened out and deleted it. Could still chicken out again.

    Most of my friends believe I look younger than my age but if it so then I cannot credit exercise or good diet. However I have been a lifelong non drinker and non smoker; this may have helped.

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  9. We are of a certain age Victor. Fathers were a bit remote back then. I have had my own experiences along the same lines. Many present day fathers are great in that they connect with their kiddies.

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  10. When I was younger, I use to think that my dad didn't really know me very well at all. Then, a few years ago, when I felt comfortable with my sexuality and decided to come out to the world, I asked my dad to go with me for a walk and I told him I was gay just as we stepped out of the driveway of my parent's home. Not more than ten minutes later, he told me that the most important thing in life is to be happy and that includes finding a partner that I can be happy with. We talked and walked for for hours. It was the first genuine and honest conversation we had ever had with each other and made me realize that kids can be just as bad in under-estimating and misunderstanding their parents.

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  11. Andrew - it does seem more natural for fathers to show their feelings nowadays.

    Radiation - what a wonderful expereince for you. When we are growing up we tend to think that we invented sex and sexuality and that our parents couldn't possibly understand. It is as though children think their parents never experienced sex or sexuality themselves. All part of growing up, I suppose.

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  12. It's good to see that side of you emerge from time to time. It shows me that there is a man of substance behind this blog. Even if he is a stoic one. ;-)

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  13. Thank you for the post, got quite emotional. Yes, it was a different age, the distant past - but so is yesterday. At least you knew he loved you, just had difficulty saying so. He ignored the "bad" things about you, saw you as his son, to love unreservedly. You are blessed.

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