I have a feeling your post will help a few people mate. By coincidence I met 'Wacky Jacky' when I was a kid, never forget it.
My Dad worked in the pits from the age of 14 and had to relocate to Stoke in the 60's to keep in work. He moved down with my mam and sisters to an area they didn't know and in his words was an "absolute **** hole" at the time. He worked nearly every day to give us a good life and even when he retired from the pits he still had part time jobs into his 80's. He's 91 now and can't get out much, and I really miss going to Sunderland matches or for a few pints with him and hearing all the old stories. He always has been and always will be my hero, and the best man I've ever known.
I don’t know where to start writing down what I’d say to my hero if I could. I do console myself with the fact I think he knew
I feel the same and even though we worked together for about 25 years I miss him so much he was my hero He taught me so much about life and working at the pit
I believe I have passed his knowledge down to my sons and grandchildren they are confidant because of the way we brought them up
I'd tell him I loved him despite not showing it that we'll. And only now can I properly appreciate everything he did for his family.
I have read this thread over the last couple of days and thought long and hard about posting. I lost my dad when I was 15 some 46 yrs ago now and I still think about him and what he would think of me now. He was a very fit Coldstream guardsman and then a dairyman big strong and athletic. He was suddenly struck down with multiple sclerosis and deteriorated over a few years until he ended up wheelchair bound before sadly passing away in hospital. Watching him go from this big strong man to being totally reliant on others for everything was just awful but I never once heard him complain although it was obvious he was very frustrated at times with the way his life was going. A very strict man who always instilled manners and respect of your elders into both myself and my sisters although I think they got away lighter than I did particularly in his last months when I think he knew his time was limited and he was schooling me to be the man of the house although I didn’t see that at the time. He would be in his late 90s now. The day he passed away was quite sudden and sadly I was on an end of school trip with some mates and out of contact in those days. I remember walking home about 10pm maybe a little later and knew before I got home that something was wrong. I just felt it somehow and all was confirmed when I got home. I’ve never quite forgiven myself for not being there at the end and have tried throughout my life to make him proud of me and I have tried to instil in my kids the values he taught me. So answering the question in the thread I would tell him I love him and say sorry for not being there for him at the end.
As much as me and my dad don’t see eye to eye on some things, I love the bloke to bits. Lucky to have a very good relationship with my parents I’d tell him “told you Wyke would get goals”!! And I have told him
Thanks mate and yes it does actually because it’s something that I have never spoken about hence the days thinking before posting.
All of this has been illuminating for me and posts like yours have given me food for thought. Even at 65 I've never been afraid to face up to ignorant aggressive people and live up to my 'Reiver' heritage. But now, as I can feel my 'power' fading, I wonder if I'll have the courage to leave this world before I become less than the person I see myself as. I don't want my sons, and grandchildren, to see me as a doddering old fool. That may seem pompous, or even barbaric, but I take my heritage seriously. I've lived my life my way, despite much reasonable resistance, and want to die the way I choose. That'll take some doing as the human spirit drives us to cling on no matter what.
You have a long long way to go before you become a doddering old fool as you say. I understand your sentiments but I’m sure your family will think differently and want you around no matter what you may think. As life changes kids get older grandchildren come along and then as they get older I always think I need to be around for this or that the next generation or instalment of family issues. Anyway when times up it’s up and that’s it we won’t know. Take care pal see you soon.
I've read every post, because every dad deserves the respect of having their story told and listened to. Over time I've realised that any bloke who tries their best, whether they go about it the right way or not, is a good dad . My dad is a mag. Born in 1947 in a bit of Newcastle called Arthur's Hill. Apparently it's a stones throw from the ground. We didnt live in the north east. I went to Newcastle and Sunderland to see my relatives. Moved to Australia when I was 5 and lived in Darwin for 3 years. My dad's dad died while I was away. I was gutted. His mam died soon after I got back to Britain . So from about 9 I only ever visited Sunderland. My dad always said he'd make sure I supported Newcastle. Never got round to taking me to a game though. One day, at my mams parents house, there was a big argument. Can't remember what it was about but my dad said it's his biggest ever regret because my uncle said "I'll take the bairn away from this and take him to Roker Park" and from that day on I was Sunderland. My dad's a canny bloke though. Never moaned about it, and he's old school, one of those who would genuinely rather we won than a Southern side (and he married a Mackem so can't be too bigoted!). Used to hit me a fair bit growing up but I've forgiven him. I've got a kid who I've never hit but I know how frustrating it can be and he was a product of his upbringing, his dad was much worse to him. We get on mint now . I respect him, he's great with my little lad (much more loving than I think he was with me) and we love going to England games together, supporting the same side even if only a few days a season is amazing. Holland away watching the u21s, France 2016, amazing memories. He doesn't always show his love but one story sums it up. When we moved to Australia the first day I went to school there some kids were playing teenage mutant ninja turtles. I was 5 and trying to fit in so I joined them. Next thing I know we're called into the head teachers office. We were playing near the roots of a tree. Not allowed apparently but it was my first day and I didn't know. The one and only time I got the cane. ****ing knacked. Went home crying. My mam asked what was wrong and I told her. If I knew the rules and broke them they'd accept any punishment I was given but I didn't, no one had told me . My dad came home and I was scared, thought he'd belt me as well. He told me he loved me and to go to bed. Next day he walked me to school. Walked into the head teachers office and punched him in the face. On his arse with one punch. Amazed he wasn't charged. Grabbed him by the throat and said never to touch his son again unless I deserved it. Maybe not the best example in hindsight but we're all flawed and I loved him for it. I'll be no good when he's gone.
Great post GG. It’s how things happened. Pleased you have a great relationship with your dad. Sounds like a family man. I say to my wife now I think I am better with my grandkids than I was with mine. Different times then different pressures then. Almost like a 2nd chance. Take care and enjoy your times with your dad.
Yeah I think that's what it is mate . As a dad, as I know now, you feel that pressure to bring them up a certain way, to make sure they behave and don't end up throwing their life away. I guess as a grandad the pressure is off, you can just love them, make good any mistakes you made as a dad. My lasses oldest is growing up without a dad though, until I came all he had was his uncle and his grandad so I know how much that can **** a lad up, so I've got a lot more respect for any dad who at least contributed financially and tried to be there emotionally. It's the least you can do as a man, but it's beyond some men. Any dad who genuinely tries is fine by me, it's not easy
Great post GG. As you’ve read my story you’ll know that I was brought up by my grandad. He was hit by his mam and dad. He made the conscious decision not to hit his son and that has travelled down the line to me. That said, to my shame, as a young dad I did smack my son once and I regretted it immediately. Never did it again though and I still carry the guilt of doing it.
my dad was orphaned at 10 the time of world war 2, he had pneumonia for 1 year, stuck in hospital survived the bombings and worked all his life and joked a lot and had many friends, worked in a bakery for 25 years but got out of the noise and heat into 'the fresh air' he lived to 89 years got a urine infection and that did him, was never in hospital either other than appendicitis, always joking and friendly to anyone, i miss him.
Its funny (not in a haha way) how times change. My Dad said he had a few smacks as a kid, and thought it normal. He smacked me once when I was a kid, but I think it hurt him more than it did me...he was so genuinely sorry and upset about it. Now, to my shame, I done the same thing to one of my sons. I gave him a smack on the leg, and left a red hand mark on it. It was instant regret, and like my Dad, i think it hurt me more than him, and to this day I still feel guilty.
I've read the posts about various dads with great interest and not a little jealousy. I was 2nd youngest out of 11 kids. My dad was at best a vacuum in my childhood. I can remember him scrubbing me in the bath (one soaking whilst waiting their turn and another being scrubbed - and I mean scrubbed!) then rinsing me off, wrapping me in a towel before passing me to my mam for her to dry me in front of the fire then rake the metal flea comb across my scalp. I loathed bath night! Another memory of my dad was him taking me and my 14 month older brother down the street to watch our local village cricket team. I was 6 and hadn't the foggiest idea how the game was played, neither did my brother, but dad refused to explain anything to us. We got bored stiff and restless so would play on the non-working ancient tractor they had. Woe betide us if we made any noise though - major slap across the back of your bare leg that would sting like hell and leave a big red mark. I think that was one of the reasons us kids were made to wear shorts. A third memory was being dragged out on hours long walks around the streets where you had to keep up (no hand holding) and shut up (definitely no talking), whilst keeping your eyes on the pavement too see if anyone had dropped anything. I can only ever remember him picking up a few cigarette coupons and a small, gold coloured safety pin. Other than that I mainly remember the rows between him and mam - we would be sent upstairs where we would put our ears to the floor to try and hear what was going on, but the old lath and plaster ceiling was almost soundproof. Until he damaged his neck at the steel works I was quite happy that i hardly saw him at home (i didn't realise he was out chasing other women). Once he finished work due to his neck injury then I still hardly saw him. He was either up in his bedroom or out 'walking'. Now he had served as a wireless op air gunner aboard maritime patrol planes in WW2. Even as a kid I loved war stuff and planes, but dad would rarely talk to me about his time in the RAF nor about the war - even after I had joined the air cadets. I gleaned odd snippets when he talked to my (maternal) uncle, who had been a radar gun layer in the Royal Artillery and been captured by the Japanese when Singapore fell. As I got older I found out how dad used to belt me mam (but that stopped when my eldest brother got to his mid teens) and my antipathy turned to hatred. In all my time as a kid, I must have had fewer than a couple of dozen conversations with dad. He certainly never read any bedtime stories or played games or anything like that. My second oldest brother once told me about the only advice dad he'd ever given him - he was 18 and off out the door for his first pub session when dad caught his arm to stop him, then said - If you're not in bed by 10 then come home! My 3 eldest brothers were my dads when I was growing up.
