David - 73

It is my first memory.  

My 1yr old brother and I being bathed by my mother in an old tin washtub in front of a warm coal fire. Memorable for the golden glow of the fire while we splashed and played in the water. My father came home from work and immediately proceeded to slap me around the head - for getting water on the floor. An indelible experience for a 2 yr old that would become a regular occurrence through my childhood.

Growing up in Liverpool, England in the 1950’s I believe it was fairly common for children to be physically assaulted by their fathers. My father would often hit me on the head in public and no one appeared to think it out of place. It was also common for fathers not to talk with their children. My father and I never had a personal conversation of any depth or consequence.

What was the purpose of this distance and brutishness? I’ve struggled throughout my life to understand why my father singled me out for aggressive correction as my brother was never assaulted.

Because I was the eldest? Because I had a very gentle and soft appearance as a child (so did my brother)? Because I was extremely shy? Perhaps the rebel in me showed itself early in some way? I came to believe that my father didn’t like me. This lack of love and approval had a considerable impact on me resulting in a diminished sense of self worth and confidence. These were significant impediments for most of my early adult life.

At twelve I had my final beating. Throwing stones outside our house I had just hit a passing car after my father had told me to desist. He proceeded to drag me to my bedroom and for what seemed like minutes pummeled my head with his clenched fists. That was the end of it - did he frighten himself with the intensity and severity of his final act of violence? Something changed for him but unfortunately the damage was done. My father passed away when I was twenty. I was never able to talk with him as an adult.

Consequently I have gone through my life with little respect or love for this man.

Until last year.

At 72 I had started watching the English Premier League soccer and, of course, my home team, Liverpool. My father would take me to games when I was 7-10 yrs old. We would stand in the same place every game in the famous Kop stand. As I’m watching the pregame intro to one of the games the camera happens to zoom in on the very spot were my father and I would stand. The purpose of the close-up was a huge banner being held by fans showing the silhouette of the back of a father holding the hand of his child.

Tears came to my eyes with this moment of grace. Here I was at 72 having a realization that, yes, my father took me to many Liverpool games with him. He made a point of taking me to my paternal grandmother’s home next to the Anfield stadium before each game and I developed a strong bond with her because of these visits. And, of course, some of my strongest childhood memories were of being in the midst of a cheering Liverpool crowd of 50,000.

That day I was flooded with other memories of my father taking time with me. From teaching me to fly-fish, to helping me make my first model aero plane and showing me how to build a radio.

I both apologized to and forgave my dad that afternoon.

I now finally have a new relationship with him even though he hasn’t been in my life for 50 years. I realize that he did love and care for me. I’m sure he did his best for his family living within the customs of his generation.

I had spent my whole life basically dissing this person for the abuse he had wrought. Then, through this revelation I had the further realization that I had lived my life very much a victim. More often than not choosing to be the injured son.

Sometimes it takes a lifetime to understand the complex nature of our familial relationships and I’m now thankful I’m finally able to see my father in a more positive light.

Music - David’s music choice during our photo session was Loscil.