My Father

My father died in 2013, a little bit after his 49th birthday.

He was not the worst father in the world, far from it. But he was not the best either.

Most of my childhood memories of him were of living in fear of the next time I would do something wrong, because my father had a temper. The first time he hit me (and don't mean a spanking - I mean, hit me. Beat me...) was when I was eight years old. It was because of something stupid... I was trying to close the garage door and one of the weights came off its pulley and fell to the floor with a loud smash.

I'll never know what went through his mind as he came rushing out to see what had happened, or why he was in such a mood, but next thing I knew I was hit and fell to the ground. I ran to the living room onto a couch, and covered my head as he kept on hitting me with his hands. I remember peeing myself.

I don't remember how that episode ended but I remember him afterwards, sitting on the ground, holding my shoulders. He said "If that ever happens again, Jody, run, okay? Just run, to your mother, or to Aunty Ilse [our neighbour], anywhere, just run."

_{My father (top), his brother (in red) and their best friend, rocking their mustaches. And me, wearing a helmet. Oh no wait, that's my hair.}

That stuck with me through childhood but I was never able to run. The best I could do was try not do anything to displease him. And well, as a kid, that was difficult. Don't get me wrong, most of the time, it would be a spanking - terrible spankings with a belt - but there were about 4 or 5 more episodes like that one, and many more "less bad" ones, from when I was eight to when I was 12. Then, they got a divorce, and after a year of living with my Dad (he got custody of the two eldest, my brother Reggie and I) we finally went to live with my mother - one of the happiest events of my life.

After that, I saw him only once during high school (a brief episode where he forced my brother and I to stay with him after a two week holiday to visit, since he still had custody). I know now that that was his attempt at rebuilding a relationship with us, but at the time I wanted nothing of it - I missed everything from my life in my high school and was determined to get back. But I couldn't tell my dad this... The fear was still there. So I plotted to try get someone to come pick me up in the middle of the night. My dad found out about it all and let me leave - he was extremely hurt by my deception but I didn't care - in my mind, he had kidnapped me, and I needed to get back to my old life.

_{Father, Mother and me.}

Next, I saw him only after I'd left school. I was desperate - I wasn't making enough money to pay the people I was lodging at, and so he came and picked me up. The situation was really desperate and I just remember answering the door and giving him the biggest hug. We went back and I stayed with him for a few months, along with my brother and stepmother, until I found another job in the city and went back.

And it was in those few months that I really got to know my dad for the first time. I was 18-19 and so approaching adulthood - and could begin to see my dad as not only "father" but also as a person. I was able to have real conversations with him. Understand him better. And yes, somewhere there, he apologised to me for all the years of living in fear of him. We finally developed a half-decent relationship. That was 2003.

I only saw him a few times again, after that. In 2004-5, I would switch between working in Cape Town and returning to stay with my mom whenever I quit. So I saw him on and off then, until in 2005, he got divorced again and I saw him a few days after Father's Day, because I'd bought him a gift and gave it to him as he drove past to wherever he was going. He didn't stop to get out - just a brief thanks and he was gone.

The very last time I saw him was in January 2009. I was living on my grandfather's property in a different part of the country and he came to visit me. I showed him all the work I'd done on the place and we talked a lot, can't remember about what. Then he got into his car and drove off, promising not to be a stranger. I don't remember if we even hugged each other goodbye. A year later, I moved to Brazil and that was it. I never saw him again. In 2013, I got the news from my brother that he had suddenly died. A blood clot in his lung, while recovering from a bout of pneumonia - basically suffocated to death.

Woah... This post has turned out to be much more than I was planning on. I would like to add one more thing...: My childhood memories of him were not all bad.

He was a strict father with a big temper, but ultimately I learned that he was a passionate man with strong emotions which he simply wasn't able to keep in check sometimes. I forgave him for all that in the end. Some good memories are of him carrying me on his shoulders at some misty young age... And buying me model aeroplanes at some point, which he showed me how to build/paint. He was a chef so he would sometimes take us to his big kitchen at the airforce base and we'd be allowed to "steal" ingredients from the huge storerooms. Dates were always my favourite. We moved from Pretoria to the Cape in 1996, by car. I remember the journey well because I had to sit in front with him driving. My brothers and sister were at the back, sleeping, but I was too uncomfortable and cold to sleep... After more than 24 hours of driving, it felt like my dad and I had gone through an arduous, character-building adventure together.

And oh, my favourite one: A year or two before that move, he took us to go see The Lion King. It was the first time I'd gone to a cinema. We loved the whole experience and when we were walking back to the car afterwards, we walked past an old homeless man. My dad stopped and gave us each some money, and told us all to go and give it to the man. I remember clearly how I dropped the coins into his hand, and how he looked at me and nodded a thanks. That stuck with me always.

But okay... I'm going to let you all go now.

Thank you for sharing this with me.
Mandel

P.S. Thank you to @father2b for his Mystery Box contest for which this post is an entry. (Still time to enter!) I would not have written it without the prompt from his "WhaleTalk" interviewee, @raymondspeaks