Hello everyone. Today I d like today blog about my dad.  I intend to do one about all he members of my very small family, but I thought Id kick off with my dad. 

My dad has always been quite a complex character, one that has taken many years to understand. Although I am getting to the stage now where I understand him more and more as my character moulds partially to his.  He has always been such a gentle man even though his frame is huge and he is a very tall man, very imposing, he scares a lot of people, but I have never seen my dad rise to anything close to anger really.  He is quite incredible like that and I admire those qualities a great deal, that serene calmness.  I guess he’s just born to be very gentle man. He always avoids conflicts if there has been family conflicts about. He prefers just to stay out of the way, which is his way of dealing with things.  It isn’t always the right way, but I understand why he does it because in the long run it leas to a lot less hassle, something I have learned over the years. .

Yum just having a halls soother, It is very nice, I do enjoy them even though I don’t really have a sore throat, they are nice and soothing and they might just reduce this horrible windy acid. A bit of a vain hope, but I can believe it in my own way. Anyways back to my Dad. He has always been very guarded with his emotions. This I also understand as he is sort of a product of his generation really and to an extent (no offence to anyone) but his location. Growing up in a tough area of the North - Castletown, Sunderland. Well he grew up in lots of places really (such as Fencehouses) which are fairly grim. I am sure most men from those days weren’t encouraged to talk about their emotions, which is in complete contrast to me who has been brought up with the idea of expressing your emotions. But it is all so different with me because I am an incredibly emotional man.  That might sound poofy to admit but I am. Feelings are very important to me and telling people about my feelings is very important to me and also I can cry at the drop of a hat at the most ridiculous things, for example the Star Trek episode the other day, or even just articles in papers or if something just catches me off I just start crying. Certainly a week doesn’t go by without me crying at some point.   Much more than that normally, I’d hesitate to say every day but certainly very regularly and sometimes I can just get going again and again and again. I am a bit of a drip to be quite frank, but then we are all built differently.So my dad has always been very guarded but that doesn’t mean I haven’t known how much he loves me – at any point of my life, even when I was very young and my dad didn’t want to be around young children and he worked away most of the time, at one time doing a few stints out in Kuwait. I used to miss him terribly. It was less of an issue when he worked away just during the week as obviously I would always see him at weekends but as I say it has never been an issue that he hasn’t loved us or anything. I have known without question that he has always loved me and my sister deeply - I don’t know how but maybe you just pick up these things, He is certainly never cold, just avoids getting too emotional, which now I am of an age and I talk to my dad a lot more than I had done previously (due to me suffering this cancer) I do understand why he does what he does. He told me it is because he doesn’t want to lose control of his emotions. He is scared of it and once he starts, he may drop to bits and so (not drop to bit but you know what I mean) it might all come gushing out.

Some of the happiest times of my life have been spent with my Dad and that is without doubt.  I used to regularly go away with my Dad and he was part of a North East boat fishing club and they would have holidays to south west Scotland.

…..shes tuned the hoover on for fuck sake!!

which is a beautiful area. I have such amazing memories. Well firstly the times when I have just been sat out on my Dads boat. It is only a 20ft fishing boat, it’s not like a yacht or anything. It’s just been me or him, (me AND him) and the sound of the water clip clopping on the boat on a beautiful sunny day.  I cherish those times so much, the way we could just sit in silence and be totally happy with that and just taking in the nature of it all. He has always loved nature, he has always expressed an interest in nature and all facets of that area and I guess I get some of that from my dad and our boat trips. He used to teach me certain things and I used to love having a cup of tea out of the thermos and having ham sandwiches and sharing a kitkat and having the indignity of peeing over the side. The tea was always stirred with his filling knife which had been given a wipe on his smock - I think if my mam could have seen things like that it would have been a bit of an eye opener. We had such great times out there and he was always so patient with me when he was asking me to do things, whereas some of his fishing friends (when I went out with them) could get a bit annoyed when I didn’t understand that they wanted some rope tying off in some place or stuff. I just used to love those times and I am pretty sure that we both did.  And as time went on he gave me more and more responsibility. I used to drive the boat a lot and I was given anchor pulling duties, which I really enjoyed. My Dad would maneouvre the boat to trip the anchor and it needed to be pulled in straight away otherwise it would re-anchor itself and I would have to fly though pulling the rope in. I really felt like we were a team. I could never put a worm on my hook though as I cant bear ragworms. They are the most scary horrible creatures in the world, (well that may be a but far actually but they are awful, creepy, they look like something from Star trek) but that wasn’t the only reason - I didn’t want to thread something live onto a hook. Also I couldn’t kill fish, so that was almost always left to my dad with his rounders bat, although I always got covered with post- death shit. I certainly could never gut the fish and had to avoid that whenever my dad did that because the sights and smells of that were truly repellent   As an aside I always remember bringing a bag of fish home one day when he was living (one of the many times he was separated from my Mam) in a house off Sea Road and he hadn’t had time to gut the fish at sea and so he got it done at home, but obviously you don’t want fish guts in your bin as you can obviously imagine the smell they create, especially in the middle of summer while waiting for the bin man to take your bin away at some point, so he popped all the guts in a carrier bag and sent me and my sister out to put these carrier bags in the public bins in Sea road, which we duly did We felt sorry for the road sweeper who we actually know, as he resided in the foal school  nearby, he had his base of operations there. I always felt a bit guilty about that but it was like water off a ducks back to my Dad. Imagine that, going round pulling a bag of guts out of the bin – oh dear he would have just had to put them in his bins until they were taken away, which would have created an ungodly smell .  Anyway back to where I was. They were superb times, all the fantastic wonders of nature he exposed me to on the boat. He really opened my eyes and showed me what was out there and just how wonderful it could be. He has been a true inspiration in that sense. But I loved coming back and going to the club house where he would have a drink with all his friends (who are very nice people) while the kids would play. We weren’t allowed in the main bar, there was a sub bar that we had to sit in which had a pool table in so we would often play pool but he would come and have a game with me quite regularly while I was hounding him for money for the arcade that was populated by machines from the dark ages. But still it was good fun and it had the 2p gambling machines, not the pull handle ones, the proper electronic ones – 2p a go, even the jackpot really wasn’t worth winning. I used to find it very amusing seeing my dad come in drunk to the caravan where he would always be a good laugh - a few beers inside his and he’s rolling. With there being cost cutting going on we had to share bedrooms and there was about five or six fishing club people staying in the caravan at the same time. So me and my Dad slept in the same bed in the double room which was a little odd, not least because my dad snores horrifically and getting to sleep during that was quite a difficult task.  But all during the days were fantastic, even the days when the weather was too rough or the winds were too high. We used to drive around and go to the Mull of Gallaway and all these different places, often with one of his friends – Brian, who is still a good friend to him today, probably is his best and closest friend and I understand why. Brian is a lovely man who has been very, very nice to me and all the time I was growing up.  I remember him saying last time we went up there, just the other year (me and the missus) how he thought it was wonderful how I’d come out (I was allowed to drink in the main bar at this point) of my shell so much and how I was less shy than I was as a child and how I’d done well for myself and things like that.  He is a very nice man. And so I was often driving around with Brian and my Dad. Brian was a pipe smoker and lit his pipe constantly, even when the weather was rubbish and we had to have the windows closed it didn’t stop him lighting up his pipe and flooding the whole car, yet I did actually enjoy the smell of the pipe. I hate cigarettes and cigars -I never used to hate cigars, but that changed for various reasons – nothing sinister it’s just boring. But pipe smoking I have never tired of, I adore it.  We used to go to so many places and because it’s such a nature filled area it was great to explore and it was always interesting coming in from a days fishing going through the ritual of getting the boats out of the water and getting them up the beach – very hard work, but the sense of achievement once you’d done it was very good. I was nearly always left to haul the boat while they went to collect trailers, sometimes to a mile away and because the tide went out very far I used to get quite worried at times if the sea was rougher trying to hold onto a boat. Sometimes I was given a few peoples boats to hang onto which was a tremendous responsibility for someone to give a kid to look after their £15-£20k boat while they went and got trailers. In later years my dad even let me drive the car with the boat on the back (only on the beach!). It was such an adventure when you’re young although I was such a bad driver with the trailer because you need to know how to reverse and things and that was quite hard. My dad having a decent job, he always had decent cars – (yes he had four wheel drives obviously because he had a purpose for it) and so I never quite got the hang of that but driving in a straight line and doing big circles with the trailers was fine and it felt amazing that my Dad trusted me with his really posh car. I just felt proud as punch as a kid driving this huge vehicle that was ridiculously big for me and by far the most expensive object I had been given. A car I could have totally messed things up and crashed  – pretty hard on an empty beach but I still could have, but he trusted me as he always has really. He has always trusted me and relied on me when getting in the boat when its been a bit tricky and dangerous There have been times when I’ve been worried about my dad because he’s put himself in sort of perilous situations and I’ve never admitted this, but I did worry about him. You’d be driving up the beach (I wouldn’t - my Dad would), him in his bare feet, me often in waders, often in bare feet as well and there was a real sense of achievement of almost against all the odds getting the boat on the trailers. Then there would be a celebratory pint in the pub (not for me as I was a child), but for the others, which was great. Often in a pub that would let me in because they wouldn’t use the camp site club all the time. 

There has always been a tremendous amount of security when being around my Dad. Even though I’ve never seen him raise to anger, never mind violence to any description, but just his sheer size and bulk makes you feel safe. I remember telling him recently something me and my sister had been discussing about when we were growing up. We were in separate bedrooms and my mam would be in one and during the week when my dad was away we both used to get really scared when we went to the toilet just across the hall because we imagined things walking up the stairs,  as you could see over the bannister down the stairs. I used to imagine a skeleton, she used to imagine an intruder which shows the difference in our imaginations I guess.  But we’d always run to the toilet and run back again. When I’ve explained this to my mam she said it was because she was a bit scared herself being home alone but when my dad was there, there was suddenly no problem. It was like ‘my Dads here so of course there are no skeletons’. I could just walk to the toilet and happily walk back. That was always the case when my Dad was home from work, it always felt like there was nothing to fear. That was very comforting in my childhood and it’s never really changed, I suppose it’s still the same to this day.

He has always been a person to inspire confidence. It feels good just being around my Dad. You see the way people look at him and they are scared stiff. The amount of times people have commented to my mam about him. But you know the secret that he’s the most gentle man on the planet, but he still has that scary demeanour to other people, (until they know him obviously) and that makes you feel safe. I guess that’s why of late when my Dad comes to visit he’s been much more open to hugs and things and a lot more open to emotion in general. He just gives the best hugs.  I’m still dwarfed by him even though I am a fully grown man - I am dwarfed in all dimensions. When he gives me a big bear hug I’ve said before in my blog you could drop an atom bomb and I’d survive with my Dad hugging me, nothing can touch me with my Dad hugging me like that. He just holds so tight and gives you a hug that just feels so safe and so loving and that’s very important. It makes me feel almost childlike again when he visits and he first arrives and gives me a hug and when he leaves he gives me a hug. Last time when he went to leave, he gave me a huge hug and we didn’t let go for ages and ages.  I know as time wore on he was welling up so I let him go as I knew he wouldn’t have wanted to get emotional. I’m very conscious of bearing that in mind with my dad.

In later years we developed a close bond as soon as I was old enough to go the pub. Naturally what else would a father want with his son, I know I’d certainly like that. My Dad has always been a very big pub man and he’s a great character in the pub, always funny, always a very, very good laugh. He’s got a great sense of humour. As I got older, into my 20’s he’d seek my company more and more in the pub and I his. My parents have moved to Chester-le-Street now, whereas I grew up in Fulwell, Roker, Seaburn, Whitburn all those sorts of places.  We’d always go to the Market Tavern - this was in the days when it was run well and it was really popular. I’ve heard things have changed now, but it used to have a great atmosphere so we just used to sit – he’d have his Boddingtons, I’d have my Guinness and we’d talk all night about MAN stuff. We were never short of conversation, it was so natural with my Dad, we had a great laugh together, a great chat and some great nights - just me and my dad. He drinks at quite a pace so it is quite hard work keeping up with him, but you want to keep up with him as you want to feel that you’re part of his group, you don’t want to feel “oh dear, I’ve fallen behind, how shameful”. And then we’d go and get a pizza from Bridgend Kebabs and he’d get a taxi home (because my parents had permanently separated at this time) and I’d go back to my Mam’s house. Even when I was home for two weeks at Christmastime we’d still go to the pub every night that both of us were free – most nights.  Every night “fancy a pint?” and after having a lovely tea made by my Mam I’d get myself all ready and then see him in the pub.  You’d think over such an extended time we’d run out of things to talk about, but he’s just like a really good mate that you can just sit and talk and talk and talk. That brought me very close to my Dad, very close indeed. I feel I truly understand him as a person and appreciate him ever more -certainly his personality, which I obviously did before but when your exposed to all the facets like that it’s great. Even the nights when we’d both end up shit faced it was always a really good laugh but interesting as well. Again, memories I treasure. I wish I could go to the pub, have a few pints and sit with my dad, but this thing’s killed my liver. I’ve got no interest in drinking really. I haven’t drunk for months and months now and whenever I’ve tried I don’t really have a taste for it anymore. I got drunk on half a G&T last time (not drunk but tipsy).  I feel that’s a big shame because id really like those times back, but I can’t and that upsets me. Time for a pause….

Ive sorted myself out now.

I suppose I should finish with how he’s changed during this illness of mine. He obviously hates seeing me this way, but I have really appreciated the opportunity to really share some true feelings with my Dad. He’s opened himself to talking (I’ve only just found out that it’s mostly to me he talks like this) and it’s made for a different experience with my Dad and one I’ve really enjoyed. We’ve had a chance to say things to each-other and stuff like that. My Dad has said some wonderful things and I know how hard it is for him to do that sort of thing. When I’ve phoned him, I’ve had chats with him about various things, stuff like ‘what it is like to go through this?’ He likes to know and understand but I’m very conscious of pushing him too far and he might get upset and so I know how to break away to save him any kind of embarrassment. It’s been a fabulous time, obviously a heartbreaking time, but a fabulous time in so many respects.  Hearing these things from my Dad has really made a massive difference to me. When he tells me how proud he is of me (even though I’ve always known he was proud of me) to hear him say it (even in a text message) is huge. All I’ve ever wanted is my big placid dad whom I admire so much with his intelligence and everything else (because he is a very intelligent man) to be proud of me.  He has done well for himself. He’s a System Analyst type (freelance) and was all the time we were growing up, so he earns a good wage. There were never security issues on that front growing up, we’ve never been rich but we’ve always been very comfortable.  He’s made something of himself, he came from Castletown but he’s done good, so to have him proud of me is hugely important to me.    I feel privileged to be told these things by my Dad, so I have my Dark Friend to thank for some things. So to finish, I wish to relate a story my Mam told me. When she told one of her friends that she was going out with Mike Kerton the friend laughed and said “Pumper Kerton? You’re going out with Pumper Kerton?” My mam said “what?” My Mam was quite shocked by this coming from a prudish rich background , the woman went on to tell the story – apparently he is known as Pumper Kerton because he and his dad could fart up every step of the stairs, which I think is a fantastic claim to fame. One to be proud of.  Obviously I follow in his footsteps where wind is concerned . Mind you my Mam has always been windy as well. Yes so I have followed in his footsteps there.

So I’ll leave it there, and I’ll sign off with “I love you Dad”.

 My mam and dad vistited boxing day. We had a great time on the first night and were due for a cracking day out the next day.  I had booked a meal at a lovely pub and everything.  But then I had a big huge vomit in the morning. this left me feeling appaling because I totally emptied and therefore had absolutely no energy because there was nothing in my guts and you know when you feel like that the last thing you want to do is eat to get more fuel.  I needed to go to bed but I was so weak there was no way I could make it there. My big old dad carried me through like a wounded soldier and set me into bed He went to walk away and I weakly muttered “ Dad can you sit with me” He replied with “ of course son” he sat on the edge of the bed I grabbed his hand, his oh so huge hand and he held it and squeezed it and stroked it with his other hand. He did this as I drifted to sleep but not before I so weakly whispered “ I love you dad so much and I always have “ He told me he loved me and continued stroking my hand until I was fast asleep. My Mam said he was really chuffed that I asked him and I am glad too. Because it felt great. My thin in comparison tiny hand nestled in his two plate sized hands -  beautiful.  He cared for me so much the rest of their stay as I rested my feet on him and he rubbed my feet to keep them warm.  My feet get so cold with the narrow veins caused by the chemo.  It was a fantastic visit despite plans not working out accordingly and it made me tearful when he texted to let me know he had had a wonderful time and he couldn’t wait to see me again soon.