The news at the moment is woeful. I am filled with a sense of dread and despair. But as I sit here, and ponder the reasons for the insanity that abounds right now, I reflect upon the people in my life who guided me through life.
I thought, very much, over the weekend, about how my parents would’ve reacted when reading the news today, and I lamented the way their emotions would have reflected my own. Not because of the reflection, but because those emotions are stirred up by the news.
I wished for my dad’s warm embrace, when I pored over the stories I was reading, and I realised – I wanted my dad.
I can sit here and join the chorus of activists, and there’s nothing I can say that is going to be more useful than asking you to educate your children, change your mindsets and please, for the sake of me, you and every other person on this planet, have some humanity for each other. It’s not that hard to do, when you realise that each of us, no matter who the hell we are, has a mother and father and we each have a bellybutton. That tells us we came from somewhere. From someone. We were created. Just like every other person on the planet.
Today, instead, I will talk about the men in my life.
I was lucky. I had an incredible father. Partially deaf, hellbent on justice and with a heart bigger than he could hold. He was a cuddle-obsessed, garrulous and hilariously funny character, who believed so much in humanity. He, always, put his love for my mother above all things, and it is through their love that I learnt of life. Their love eked and seeped into the world, and I do not know a single person who came into their lives who was unaffected by it. My parents were, primarily and firstly, human. They were, secondly, husband and wife. They were, thirdly, parents. You might think that’s a bit skew and that’s okay, but if you look at it from my view – I knew my parents not as authority figures first, but human beings first. For that lesson, I am grateful. It meant that I could understand when they felt they had made a mistake, and I learnt humility. I learnt that taking care of each other in love, led you to take care of each other in life. And I learnt that that life has very little to do with what you wear, and everything to do with who you are.
My mum would’ve celebrated her 69th birthday this month. I still will, in a quiet way, toast her and thank her for her life, which gave me mine, which gave my daughter hers. Her role in my life is definitely indelible in every word I say, every thing I do and every time I open my eyes.
But, just for today, this is about my dad.
You see, the thing about dads is that they are seen as the protectors of the family. They are, quite commonly, upheld as the money-makers and the strong men who focus on discipline, direction and the occasional cricket match on the lawn. Yeah, my dad did that. But he did something else too, that I fear many don’t.
Every time he felt sad. Every time he was overwhelmed. Every time he was upset, or rallying against the world. Every time he felt a loss.
He would cry.
He didn’t hide it. He didn’t feel any shame in it. He was not less of a man for it.
When I finished my degree, my dad clapped and cried (in fact, somewhat embarassingly at the time, when I was on stage whilst graduating, my dad yelled “Viva Cathy Viva!”…after which, every other parent felt almost compelled to respond accordingly when their child graduated…it became an almost-competition…much ululation happened that day, and I know my parents started it…they were not one for mild applause). When I announced my pregnancy, he clapped and he cried. When he was diagnosed as having terminal cancer, with a short time left to live, he took my hand, rubbed my protuding pregnant belly and said “lovey, I’m going to let down the team now” and he cried.
Some people have never seen their dads cry. Some people may even read this and think “hah, what a pansy her dad was. He cried in front of his kids. What a terrible example he must’ve been”. I defy you, whoever might think that, to find me one example of his life where he was a pansy, a terrible example or a weak man. Because, as his daughter, I can tell you – he was none of those things.
Some even feared him. So much so that he was declared a ‘security risk’ under the old Apartheid regime and…well, that’s a story for another day but you can read some of the parts of it here.
In my teen years, I loathed my dad. To me, he was the antithesis of everything I desired – He was all about structure, talking about your feelings and being open. As a gawky, mopey adolescent, I was not interested in any of those things. I wish now that I had been better – but I think we all feel that at some point. I know that I caused him to cry so much, because of what I put him through, as a teen, but I know, without a single doubt, that he loved me beyond any scare I may have given him.
I see elements of my own father in the father figures in my life. From my child’s dad, to my boyfriend, to my kid’s grandfather, to my boyfriend’s dad, to my dad-friends, to the fathers within my family. I see elements of my dad the most in my own brother. I have spoken of some of these dads who inspire me before.
All of these people, these wonderful, funny, dedicated dads, all have one thing in common – they are brilliantly, unashamedly and transparently human. I know of their emotions as parents, and as humans. Some of them, I am so far removed geographically from, that I haven’t even laid eyes on them in the past year. But I know them. As humans. Then dads.
What is my point?
My point is that as I read the news, and cry over its contents. As I sit here and ponder where the hell we have all gone wrong, and why we are so very, very screwed up as the human race…
I hope, and hope again, that the fathers out there teach their sons that life has nothing to do with some archaic notion of what men should be like. That power is nothing without the ability to be open. And that crying does not make you weak. It is the emotional honesty that makes you strong.
I wish for my dad, for every child in the world. I wish for dads who cry with glee and weep with sorrow. I wish for every child to have a father who holds their hand and guides them through life, without force but with a gentle lilt in his voice as they say “you can be anything you want to be, but that choice is up to you”. I wish for every child to have a dad who teaches them that it is okay to feel lost, feel the unknown and feel completely bereft. I wish for every child to have a dad who teaches them unbridled joy. I wish for every child to have a dad who does not hurt, but guides. I wish for every child to have a dad who does not demand, but is determined entirely by love.
I wish, for every child, my dad.