The milestones of my boys – reaching 2 years and 6 months respectively, recently – has of course, as these things go, turned my mind to my own father.  He passed away when I was in my late teens, as I’ve written before, both here and at another blog.  What I’ve been realising lately though, is that he belongs to a different era now.  His time has passed and the social markers make the gap more distinct.

Dad died in 1998, when I was 16.  He was only 35, having been just 19 when I was born.  In theory, we should be growing old together and swapping notes on similar sorts of things. But we aren’t.  And there are a lot of things that have happened since he died.  I’ve put together this little list in the past half an hour, just off the top of my head.  Makes me realise how long ago it actually was, that we said goodbye to him.  When Dad died in March 1998:

• Adelaide had only won their first premiership
• Essendon, Brisbane and Geelong had not started their AFL dynasties
• John Howard had only won 1 election
• Jeff Kennett was still Premier of Victoria, and John Brumby was most recently an election loser
• Bill Clinton was US President
• The World Trade Center towers were the pride of America
• Discmans were what the cool kids had
• Trains had some empty standing room in peak hour
• Hair product was not yet a man’s grooming essential
• The Australian cricket team were about to shit all over the rest of the world for a good five years
• Mobile phones were still a novelty.

And that’s just off the top of my head!

It really has been a long time since my father had a pulse, and the social markers become more pronounced, and more numerate, with each passing year.

Every morning and every night, my baby is among my first and last thoughts. I wonder at what they will look like, which attributes they will have of mine and which of their mother. I guess at what their interests will be and I have imaginary conversations with them, at different stages in their life. It’s really quite sappy, but I can’t wait to have a child and a friend at the same time.

The anticipation has of course made me wonder how my father was when he learned I was on the way.

I miss my father, and mourn the Poppy he will never be

The circumstances are a little different though – he was 19, I’m 26; he wasn’t married, I am; he was a shop assistant at a car parts dealership, I’m a marketing professional at a financial services organisation that handles $2.5B; and his father, the new grandfather, was alive and mine and my baby’s isn’t.

My meandering thoughts have made me remember a whole host of things about my dad. Like the time my mother was in hospital with my youngest (at the time) brother, and Dad, me and my next brother hired a movie each and bought bags of lollies from the supermarket. We watched and gorged and we drank spiders.

I also remember when Mum wasn’t home for dinner one night and Dad cooked us boys steak, chips and eggs. It was a treat to have all ‘fatty’ foods and no vegies.

I certainly didn’t want in the parental department after Dad’s death though; my mother did the work and played the role of both parents really. We are incredibly close and I have loads and loads of wonderful memories with her. But she isn’t a father of a boy, and that’s different.

No matter what sex our baby is, I am supremely confident I will help it makes its way in the world and give it every opportunity to be happy. I do wonder whether it is possible to love an unborn child too much, cause that’s where I think I am sometimes!

Regardless, love, support and plenty of cuddles will be a staple offering from this father. Perhaps with chips and eggs sometimes too.