Thoughts.com Blogs - My Old Man

I get alot of my personality traits from my old man. Which is odd because on the surface I am nothing like him. I get my cuddly side from my mum I guess. The ability to express myself. The absolute last thing my father would have done is cuddle me. And if I had gone to cuddle him, he would have shook me off and called me soft. He did, on many an occassion.

He might seem like an arsehole...like a lousy human being, selfish and hurtful. I can see how he might look that way to people who didn't know him.
But I was a young boy...and here in front of me was a man who was larger than life, loved by the ladies, respected by men, who always had a story to tell, and smelled of cigarettes and whiskey. He was the very epitomy of masculinity, of...of just being a man in charge of his own destiny, I mean he answered to no one. of course I loved him, what boy wouldn't be in awe of that?

Regardless of what he did or said, I wanted to be near him. I learned quick how to do this. My dad loved the horses. Racing in general. Most men do up here. I learned how to place a bet, work out the odds...I was hooked. I placed my first bet when I was four years old, on the Grand National. Cheb finds that shocking, but I don't.
It's my job now but I'm not an idiot. I know how far to go, I am capable of knowing when to stop, and if I have no money spare (with the emphasis on spare) then I don't bet. Simple. Could I stop? Sure, but I don't want to. It's a hobby and a job and I enjoy it.

Anyway...suddenly me and my dad had something to do together and he took me everywhere - to the dogs, the horses, in the bookies, I used to sit in the pub with him, between him and his friends while they drank and watched the races on the little portable TV.

My dad had a million flaws. The worst were that he liked to drink and he was a ladies man in the worst way. He drank and he drank and he cheated on my mum many times.

Eventually when I was 19 they divorced, and he moved in with his other woman. My mum took me and my brother to Yorkshire and she remarried.
We were there six years or so before my mum got a chance with her job to transfer back to Newcastle and having missed the area, she took it.

So there I was...back in town, back in the pub with my dad watching the races. He was still with his new lady (a woman I am very fond of, still see and call my step mum) and he was still a drinker. Everyone knew my dad, he was the life and soul, larger than life. He had a way with the ladies and was one of the lads.

By my early twenties I was deep into the betting scene, and deep into drinking too. I got involved in some crap I'm not proud of. To cut a long story short, when Cheb was turning one, and two, I was on holiday at Her Majesty's pleasure so to speak. Fraud. Two years. Like I said...not proud.

By my mid-twenties I was drinking far too much. I was told if I didnt stop, I would damage my liver beyond repair. I calmed it down. I still drink, but not like that. No more than the average person does.

My dad...never did slow down, never did stop. Eventually, it started to catch up on him. He got ill, started losing his mind to the drink. In the end my step mum couldnt cope, and we had to have him put in a house on the coast where they care for people like that, alcoholics and such. But he just kept walking out and they kept letting him, even though they weren't meant to.

Four years ago we reached a point where no one could take anymore. He didnt know who people were, he was just on an eternal quest for alcohol. It hurt us all. My mum had split with him years before, but much to her annoyance, I dont think she ever stopped loving him. My step mum was devastated to lose the man she had been unable to resist when he had come into the pub where she worked, smiling his big grin, winking at her, flirting with her and charming her. My brother, who had never been close to him anyway disowned him. It was down to me to do something about him, do what I could for him. He had become a danger to himself and talked of suicide and such.

In October of 2004, I had him sectioned. I had to watch while they took him away, kicking and screaming, telling me I was a lousy son, he hated me, he hoped I died and he would never forgive me. Most of what he screamed I cannot repeat.
My mum and step mum had reached all they could cope with, could do no more. My brother still would have nothing to do with him. So I visited him, every day. I sat with him while some days he just told me he didnt know who I was, other days he spat at me how much he despised me for putting him there.

My father died on December 27th 2004, aged 60. I was with him and he died as he lived, kicking and screaming.

Broke my heart.

He was a crap father by all accounts. He cheated on my mum (and for that matter, my step-mum), he drank, he never paid my mum a penny towards our upkeep...and yet I loved him and always will. When people die you only remember the good times, the good things about them. I remember him taking me to the races, the exhilleration of that for a small boy, sitting me on his shoulders so I could see the horses, giving me a little of his winnings, ruffling my hair when he won and I'd picked it, saying something daft like 'that's ma boy!' or 'haway David man, you're a natural!'

He wouldn't allow any harm to come to us, and in his own warped way, he loved everyone is his life.

One things for sure though. I did love him as my dad...but when it comes to my child...I'm gonna look at what my father did for me...and for the most part...I'm gonna do the exact opposite.

I learned so much from him. What to do and what not to do. From him I get my love of the horses/dogs, my enjoyment of socialising and being around people, and - dare I say it? - my love of the ladies. I'll admit, I've always been a terrible flirt, but although I'm still kinda like that, in that I still have an appreciation of women...I don't have the desire towards them I used to. I look at a woman and think 'she's pretty' and I find I am comparing her to Cheb and no one matches up to my lady. I still flirt, but it means nothing and Cheb knows that. I hope she knows that I will never do to her what my father did to my mother and to any woman in his life.

I learned to have respect for people from my dad having no respect for peoples feelings.

I really dont know what else to say right now. Its helped to get all this out and written down (its the first time I've ever done this). I dont know if I will leave it up or delete it, but I guess I'll leave it for now. Just please dont judge him. He did what all of us do...his best. And in alot of ways he fell short, but...he loved me and I loved him.

He was my dad.