Shaping The Man (part 2)

While he stood there in our back yard, during the early evening, with the hose, quietly watering ‘his’ vegetable garden (and admittedly he did do most of the work). It would probably have been a useful time to have sat and listened to him. If I had thought he wanted to say something. I never really had that feeling with my father. There was never a ‘closeness’. And, given there was a certain amount of respectful fear, earned primarily through several ‘confrontations’, there was a difficult personal relationship between myself and him, and other members of the family. And regretfully, the few times we did talk, it was usually to discuss what had been wrong between us and it seemed he could never see what I was referring to. So, I ask myself, now, and even before he passed away, what had created my father, the man I knew? What had made him behave and respond to his children the way he did?

In those few conversations I had with him as an adult, I learnt several things. One, he had never wanted so many children. That was an interesting position for a man who had eight. There were never any real religious convictions to have pressured him, which would have stopped him from taking certain steps. I never saw him as a devout man or even seriously dedicated, except to lawn bowls and the horse racing. In fact he was so dedicated that, it appears, according to my mother, on the day I was born, he arrived at the hospital. He took one look at my mother, who had (according to her), been through a very fast delivery with me. She said, I was in a rush to come into this world and have been in a rush ever since (personally, I just think I set out to do a lot and in many ways I have). However, looking at my mother and then looking at me, his first son after three daughters (you would think a cause for celebration. He definitely was not of European decent), he stated simply, “Well, you look alright, he seems fine, I’m off to a bowls tournament in Palmerston North (a couple of hours to the north) for the weekend”.

This is probably another reason for the total confusion over my place and date of birth. It was after all, a long weekend as it was Easter (only 3 days back then, again, unlike the holidays we have to endure now). In fact it was Easter Friday, the 13^th of April. However, my father didn’t register my birth until his return on the Monday after the weekend, 16^th of April, and he forgot which hospital. Hence I have two birth certificates, one for the 16^th April in one place and one for.. the 16^th of April in another. Does this make me feel special? I don’t think so. The fact that when my brother was born two years later our birthdays again got mixed up and for the next 14 years we celebrated his birthday on mine and mine on his (or usually combined).

(Continued tomorrow)