My Father's Day is Every Day...In My Heart

How cute is he? I just couldn't resist getting this old photo framed many years ago...and I was particularly thrilled to find this beautiful oval frame. It was as though it 'aged' itself instantly to enhance the dear photo.

My Dad was born into a proud family of butchers. His father owned a shop in Rundle Street (the main street in the city of Adelaide, capital of South Australia) - and also four more in the near suburbs of Adelaide. Each of these shops were careful investments, with the view in mind that they would be run by each of his four sons.

Inexplicably, only one son was able to pursue the career of his dreams in management of large non-butchering related business (and he was not the eldest, as one might have imagined, but right in the middle of the family). The other three, however, didn't get the luxury of choice - and fitted themselves into the pattern created by an incredibly strong and forceful man.

Don't misunderstand. My Grandfather was a pillar of the community - local, business and sporting - highly respected and admired in all circles. It's just that in those days, the expectation was for a son to follow in his father's footsteps, and put his own dreams aside.

I don't believe this was the school uniform - but I DO believe it was probably their Sunday best - for going to Church in, no doubt.

I also DO believe their school uniform would have been fairly similar - short pants suits, dazzlingly white shirts, and never forget the sturdy leather lace-up boots.

I don't know anything about my Dad scholastically - but judging by his beautiful (adult) handwriting, and brilliant skills with figures and all manner of accounting and book-keeping, I would have to assume he 'shone', and made his mother and father proud. On the other hand, he had quite large footsteps to follow in, namely those of his father and his elder brother.

**My Dad is the one standing on the left.
The story goes that nothing was ever too much trouble for him to do for someone else.
His wife certainly knew this - and his children, including me, 'the baby' of the family.
No wonder his Mother would often say - "Wally was always such a willing boy."

My Mum and Dad were first introduced by Dad's cousin and Mum's sister (who would themselves marry later). He was 17 and she was only 15 and it was love at first sight - and indeed 'first love' for them both - neither had a previous boyfriend or girlfriend.

They married on 27th June,1931 - my Dad, Walter 21, and my Mum, Winifred 19 - at the Church of Christ, in Adelaide, South Australia. Their marriage ended with his death...41 years later.

Their love was great, their devotion total, their caring for each other's well-being exceptional.
Their union produced 5 children, Bob, Barry, Jennifer, Dean and myself.
Also, 11 grandchildren and 17 great-grandchildren in their lifetime.

From here on, I can talk actual memories, although I guess the earliest were mostly to do with just 'knowing' how totally loved and treasured I was by my Dad (not to mention my Mum, of course!)

And yes - I know what you are going to say - you have seen this photo before on another of my lenses. Ah, what can I say? I just love it, that's all.

Yes, I know...I know! You've seen this one before, as well.

Tough! These were the first three men in my life...and each one will hold a special place in my heart forever.

You know, almost every time I look at it, I think I see some new detail I hadn't noticed before. Like I was thinking about the double breasted suits on both Barry and my Dad - and Bob in his single breasted sportscoat with knitted vest under - but still white shirt and tie under that! He was the 'trendy' young bachelor of the time - the first one working, and making his own choices about clothing, cars and girlfriends!

And despite the fact that none of his sons would follow in his footsteps as a Butcher, my Dad was eternally proud and supportive of his boys, and whatever path they chose to walk.

...were busily posing for photos!

I don't have a photo of the Father of this bride - who is my sister Jenny, but my Dad's pride was immense, and his happiness bitter-sweet - as he 'gave away' his first daughter.

(A strange little twist, another 10 years later, it would be me as the bride, and Jenny's daughter, Julie, who would be my flowergirl)

PS: Photo is really bad...it's in a shiny glass frame, and I can take it without the flare, but not without the wobble. I'll keep working on this!)

NOW you can get the feeling of how proud my Dad was of his girls.

He was always the strong, silent type who let the rest of us all chatter and giggle (the females, that is), and he'd just sit back and listen and nod and smile....always smile.

Mum and I had been through all the 'terrible teen' years of battling over almost anything and everything...but my most memorable 'telling-off' was by my mild-mannered and spoken Dad. It was after one of the verbal 'mini-wars' Mum and I had...and Dad came into my bedroom and sat beside me on my bed where I sat, crying. And he put his arm around me, and quietly and gently chastised me, and made me feel SO small, as he told me that he had just come from Mum, who was in her bedroom, also crying...and that all she was trying to do was protect me - BECAUSE she loved me so much, as he did. And couldn't I find a way to apologise to her and 'make up' somehow, because this was no good for any of us.

Well, of course, I really sobbed then...and he held me...and I did apologise, and it was all 'blue skies' again...thanks to my Dad, and his love for us both.

But on this special day, all this was behind us and Dad kept us all 'cool' as things went wrong - and then right - and then so right, that it was all quite magnificent. (Thinking of the Rudyard Kipling poem - 'IF........you can keep your head when all around are losing theirs.........then you will be a Man, my son'). This was The Man in our family.

Now THIS was certainly a bitter-sweet moment for my Dad. So proud...so glad...so sad....all of that and more!

A few nights before our wedding, Dad had driven us to the Church for a 'rehearsal'. Now, that part went well. But, on the way home, another car 'ran' the red light at an intersection, and if Dad had not braked incredibly fast and hard - and swerved at the same time, there would have been a completely different story to tell - or maybe no story at all.

Nobody was harmed - even though our flowergirl, my treasured niece Julie, was thrown forward between the front bucket seats. Thankfully, I somehow caught her before she hit the gearstick or the dashboard, and all was well...except she cried loudly with shock and fear.

How proudly he walked me into the Church on this day, with his grand-daughter Julie, in front of us. (She is the little 'angel' checking my dress out in the photo. Her 'halo' was a circle of tiniest Cecil Brunner rosebuds - truly exquisite).

And how thankful my Dad was, at the end of this day, when my brand-new husband and I left our reception - (quite a few hours after this photo) - that everything had evolved brilliantly; better than anyone could have expected. Now there was the minor detail of paying for it!

My Dad had the time of his life - giving me the Day of My Life.