The 21st April just gone, was the day 26 years ago, that Dad shuffled from this mortal coil; I wrote the following and thought I’d posted it, but…..?

A few years ago I wrote about Dad on Father’s Dad and read it this morning; the sentiments remain the same although 6 years have passed – click here to read it.

I woke this morning to a lovely message from my dearest cousin Fiona saying she couldn’t believe it had been all these years…. me neither. I chatted to my sister Cheryl this morning and we both commented that often things still happen in our lives where for that moment we think “Can’t wait to tell Mum/Dad”… before the realisation hits as it has so many times; I have got to the stage that when this happens, I often laugh out loud and savour the moment of remembering our dear Mum and Dad.

Dad was ‘a character’. He laughed easily, forgave quickly and was generous to a fault – but, I have learned that there was no fault in it.

Things I have learned of late is that stories are everything. Our legacy is not left in monuments, plaques, awards or accolades, but in the moments we made someone feel just that little better because of something we did. Most people will not remember what you did, but, they will always remember the way you made them feel.

My Dad’s legacy is that he made people feel better, worthwhile and cared about. This legacy continues as each of us that knew him have the privilege of passing on that feeling; we just have to choose to do it each time we can, as Dad did.

I was often frustrated by Dad’s generosity and forgiveness. It takes a lifetime to understand what is truely worthwhile and although Dad’s life was cut short he did live that lifetime of being who he was. So, I thought I’d just write a few stories about Dad that I have told many times but never written down; if you know these stories and they sound different to the one I told you, know I also have Dad’s flair for poetic license!

I was once driving home from Adelaide and I saw our old Holden passing me going the opposite direction packed to the gunnels, inside and on the roof rack. When I got home I asked Dad if he had sold the Holden and he said yes. ‘A real nice local bloke, he gave me $50.00 deposit and is paying the rest off, each pay day. He was doing it a bit hard.” I told him what I had seen and he just shrugged his shoulders – we never saw the car again and he never saw another cent. Funny part is, I know, he didn’t really mind.

Dad build the quarry up at Loch Luna on Sugarloaf Hill. He slogged building it, mostly by hand and ingenuity with not two cents to rub together. I still travel there today and remember the old fashioned clutch driven ‘steam shovel’ that all us kids loved. Dad had a big offer for the quarry when he was going to retire – in those days it would have set Mum and Dad up for a nice retirement. Dad however had a young fella working for him who he thought needed a break so vendor financed the quarry to him, on a handshake, for a 5th of the money Dad had been offered. Dad saw one $5,000 payment and that was it…. again he never saw another sent.

When I was younger I was frustrated by these, and many other stories. As I have grown older and had time to look back, and perhaps experience more life, I have no frustration, just pride.

I try to live my life, and have for some time, on ‘my mantras’ – I used to say “I will be” before each one, but realised that was just another excuse not to do them until everything was right, and everything is never just right – I now say ‘I am’ because it is who I am, and strive for, each moment:

I am peaceful, I am patient, I am grateful, I am forgiving, I am kind, I don’t judge….

I have just come to the realisation, in writing this, that I say these words daily, yet, Dad lived them daily. If asked he probably couldn’t or wouldn’t have put them into words: he was just Dad, Lindsay, Uncle Lindz… he was just a down to earth, humble, generous bloke who had a laugh along the way…. and lived his mantras.

I have striven all my life to not be ‘poor’ like Mum and Dad; I wanted money, fame, power and all the fancy trappings. I wanted to be rich. Again, another, all of my life realisation: Mum and Dad, were never poor; they were some of the riches people I have ever known, in words that I don’t even have.

Dad was not a religious man, but he often accompanied Mum to Church (we all know he slept most of the time and mumbled the hymns!) ….. he was always one of the first to volunteer to cook the barbecue or ferry people around in the back of his truck.

I am not a ‘religious’ man either, I believe God and I are mates, as I believe Dad had that same sort of relationship too – no pomp, no pious bullshit, acts not words and mostly a heart of gold which looked after the other guy first. I spend a little time each morning reading something positive; today the universe brought me one just for Dad.

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves.” Philippians 2:3

My Dad, was a character, but more than that, he was a man of character.

We were lucky that Dad and Mum chose Chris, Cheryl and I.

PS: One final story. When they opened the new Berri Council library, Dad was asked to attend as the Citizen of the Year. So, the first thing he does when he walks in the brand new library is light up one of his Viscount Red cigarettes and proceed to smoke throughout the entire building and flick the ash into the palm of his other hand. The looks on the faces of the Council members and Library staff who were giving him the tour was gold!! – Dad didn’t notice….!?