teammates that day my son had competed
without a trace of urgency. So later that
morning, during a little indoor game we
used to play, I demonstrated (on him) how
you harass a guy who’s in possession. He was
laughing at first but then started to cry and
again I felt like a tyrant fit for public stoning.
I was never one of those dads who would
gleefully tank a contest with their son. I
gather you’re supposed to, but I couldn’t do
it. I figured he would beat me when he was
ready and until then he could aspire to be as
proficient as his old man. Maybe this makes
me a bastard. But I don’t think it did him any
harm or that he holds it against me.
I was a hard marker of his schoolwork
where writing was involved. Were he to
show me an essay that was shallow, clunky
and off-point, they’re the words I would use
to describe it. Harsh? I’m not sure. I didn’t
expect Shakespeare, just evidence of
creative effort.
Encouraging him to believe he was capable
of anything, that the world was his stage,
wasn’t my forte either. In fact, his straight-
faced announcement one night that he was
going to make his living as a singer gave me
one of the heartiest belly-laughs of my life.
My wife smacked me but soon joined in, as did
my son. If you could hear him sing – Simon
Cowell might say he sounds like a rugby
prop fresh from the dentist – you would have
laughed too.
What else? I didn’t teach him nearly
enough skills in carpentry and home
maintenance, mainly because I had so few
to teach. I too often committed what the
University of WA’s Fathering Project calls
“boomeranging” – refocusing a conversation
that was about the child onto you, even if it’s to
deliver a pertinent anecdote. I swore too much
and didn’t commit sufficiently to giving him a
wealth of new and unforgettable experiences,
rather than endless reruns of the stuff that we
both liked well enough.
So there is no shortage of things over
which I could beat myself up. And I’ve been
doing that, now and then, for years. But I’ve
also realised that if you think you’re going to
be the perfect father, a real-life Mike Brady,
you’re headed for a fall. Those times when youmess up – what do they prove? That you’re
a bad dad? I doubt it. More likely they show
you’re human.
Down the track you can ask yourself,
how could I have been such a dope? Or you
can pose a different question: how has my
child turned out? For my part, I look at my son
and see a man who’s gentle and law-abiding,
considerate of his mother, kind to children
and animals, quick to laugh, independent,
socially adept and eminently employable.
Something must have gone right along
the way.
The other night we had a farewell dinner
for him, just his mum, sister and me. I told
him something Darrell Brown had told me- that the question every child needs
answering by their father is, Am I enough?
“Son,” I said, “you’re not just enough. You
are so much more than enough. I could not
be more proud of you.” And in that moment,
everything was all right.
“I WAS NEVER ONE OF THOSE
DADS WHO WOULD GLEEFULLY
TANK A CONTEST WITH HIS SON”
November 2018 109