Spilling my Guts
Anyway, during the course we did a unit on our parents. It essentially said we owed everything to them: literally we wouldn't be on Earth if it weren't for them. Of course our relationship with our parents, for most of us, also tends to be one of the most screwed up of them all. I listened intently. It all made good sense: yes, we had to tell them we love them - unconditionally - for who they were, not for who we wanted them to be. Yadda, yadda. (Editor's note: this *cannot* excuse their reading the Daily Mail - there must be some limits, obvs.) Yup, I got it all. Fine, next point?
Then up came the assignment. Gosh, we actually had to go and call them and tell them that we loved them. Eww - I mean, seriously? Of course my parents knew I loved them. It's part of the deal that everyone knows that, but most people don't say it, right? I mean, c'mon.
Peter is ultimately a good boy, though, so off he trotted with - some apprehension - to do the exercise. Who should answer the phone - not Mutti, but my Father. He immediately said "Do you want to speak to your Mother?" I always did, let's face it: interactions with Dad were generally restricted to a "How are you? Fine". He was an army man, for god's sake!
But I replied "No, Dad, I'd like to talk to you." I proceeded to tell him over the space of 15 minutes what he meant to me. I've no idea where it all came from. I said that actually he was the one who encouraged me the most at school, not my mother. He had bought me Lady Bird history books (Queen Victoria was my fave by the way: she rocked!). He had taught me how to swim, how to tie my laces, how to read a clock. He had given me £10 per O level and £100 per A level passed; and we weren't that well off. I said that I thought he unfairly put himself down, and that I always related to him as being incredibly bright. I wouldn't have got into Cambridge without his encouragement, or had the job I now did. I went on and on. I told him I loved him - straight out, just like that.
Fine, Noted
At the end of the call, Dad simply said "Fine, noted.... Your mother and I are off with the caravan at the weekend to the New Forest..." I felt my blood pressure rising. I'd just spilled me sodding guts (and I always wear nice shoes: messy :s ) and his reaction was "Fine, noted?" Couldn't he show some emotion back for once and tell me he loved me or something similar? Hadn't I just pressed the magic button to change and deepen our relationship forever? FFS.
Then I stopped myself. Hmm, wasn't there something about loving them unconditionally? Not for how I wanted him to react or to be? The penny dropped. I tried to listen to what he was saying; I actually did listen and had a nice conversation about the caravan and about the dog. It wasn't what I had wanted, but it was actually lovely.
In March 2000 I paid for both of my parents to come over Bermuda where I was living and working on a case. We had the most fabulous time: it was perfect. I could now afford to return a favour and show them a great time for once. Mutti hadn't wanted to go up the lighthouse: my Father said "no come on, we'll never know if we'll be back." 2 weeks later Dad was out training for the London Marathon: running was what he lived for. He had run 5 marathons in one year alone. I was sitting in my office in Hamilton when I got the call from my brother Alan: Dad had a massive heart-attack and died before the ambulance arrived, aged 60.
That Conversation
In the time that followed we obviously talked about things amongst the family. I asked Mutti if Dad had ever mentioned the conversation we'd had. She looked at me and said "I knew your father since 1963. I saw him cry twice: once when Davy [our collie] died; and once when he came off that call with you." Do you have any idea how precious that fact is to me?
I had told him I loved him all because of some ghastly American self-development course. I would have left it unsaid in that terribly English way, and never have got the chance. But I'd done it - and - I will have that knowledge with me forever. I've since done the same with Mutti, and continue to do so.
Do something amazing tonight. Don't just read this and think "Aww isn't that sweet" or alternatively "Oooh that Peter's a soft head". Phone up your parents if you're lucky to have them. Particularly if it's awkward and this is the type of thing you'd never do. Tell them you love them and why. Please don't put it off.
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| Dad running the Berlin Marathon, 1999 |
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