Who was your hero?

Morning, I have sent off Version 1 of the book to some trusted friends for some constructive feedback, one is a successful published author, the other is the queen of grammar and the other is just a good friend. I have been reassured that version 1 is always shit and will always require more work, so, for now, I am just cracking on with the book. I have gotten to the part when I really did start being a rebellious little shit, just before turning into the teenager from Hell, Christ my mother deserves a medal!

Anyways, got no time for chatting about other shit going off in me life, so thought I would share the latest excerpt from my book…

Chapter 6 – settling into the new routine

I always sensed from mom that she would have easily preferred it if dad had just dropped off the radar, the face of the earth and stopped seeing us kids all together! Dealing with the constant let downs, Dad was a constant reminder of her past, that would come back to haunt her. Dad would let us down a lot and according to mom this happened frequently, its funny isn’t it, I don’t have any memories of this but its something mom painfully recalls, in particular there was one time, when me and my sister had been waiting on the corner of our street, we were stood waiting in the pissing rain, we were stood there piss wet through and after a while she had come out to us to tell us to come inside as it looked like Dad wouldn’t be coming. We both flatly refused, indignant about the suggestion that he wouldn’t be coming and refused to come back inside, just on the off chance that he did turn up, I mean ‘how would he feel if he did arrive and we weren’t there? He would think we didn’t care? He would stop coming? So we stood outside for a while longer, until we realized that he wouldn’t be coming or couldn’t come!  perhaps something had happened? He might be tied up with work? The car might have broken? He might be ill? There had to be a reason, didn’t there? I could always find an excuse for dad, there was always had to be a reason, right? Whereas with mom, I found it a lot harder to excuse her behavior or attitude away, even when she was trying to comfort me, I always felt that deep down that she was pleased that he hadn’t turned up, or let us down because that way life would be so much easier if Dad wasn’t in the picture.

That day, for example, mom recalls the moment we finally came indoors, out of the rain we were sad and disappointed with dad that he hadn’t turned up, but any anger I might have felt should have been saved for dad, was always reserved for mom, I could never express my hurt or anger toward Dad I would never have had the courage to tell him what I really thought of him, so mom would always be the second best option. I could feel myself changing and almost losing my innocence.

It was around that age the innocence that I felt living my old life at Woodseats felt like it had been a bubble a dream and us moving to a new life, new area, the bubble had popped, fucking exploded and it was slipping away, my environment had changed, my friendships were changing, my home life had changed, I was changing and I didn’t like it,  behind closed doors, alone in my thoughts I would often feel scared, alone, but I would never ever have shared those thoughts I had with ANYONE, because to admit that I was scared would be admitting I was weak. 

As our teenage years went by, my sister developed more of a nonchalant attitude towards dad and his constant let downs, it never seemed to bother her like it did me, she started to almost become desensitised accepting of  the fact that Dad would let us down and she just seemed to get on with life, whereas for me, Dad was still my hero, he was still my dad.

My dad, he would always be going somewhere, he had a purpose about him, an avid darts player he would always be off out playing a darts tournament at the pub. Growing up there were darts trophies all over the house, proud pictures of dad with Eric Bristow, Dad seemed elusive, unique, unlike the other dads I knew or had seen growing up. All the other dads ate a family meal with their families, or played with their kids in the park, or did normal dad things. I would go to friends houses and their dads would be having conversations with my friends about how their day went at school, taking an interest in where they would be going out to play all the boring stuff. 

Dad always drove a nice car, I remember once him having a Mercedes convertible. Dad didn’t do rules, he did what he wanted, when he wanted, he said what he wanted, even if it wasn’t always nice or people didn’t like what he had to say, when he talked, people listened. Dad was somebody I remember one of many times when friends parents would require if I had a father called Frank, Frank Ford? And it turned out they already knew him or had heard of him “yeh that’s my dad” I would secretly think to myself, one time after admitting to a friends father who my dad was, she wasn’t allowed to play to hang around with me? I never understood why though? Well, her loss! 

Dad didn’t live near us, but he could normally be found drinking in one of the local pubs around the estate. It seemed like everyone knew dad, dad was everyones mate no one had a bad word to say about dad, well apart from mom or my nan, but they were just bitter weren’t they Mom must have been weak or not up to scratch! Why else would dad have gone with another woman? Even after all the hours of mom grooming dad, preening him before he went out on a night out, dad still found someone else didn’t he? As for Nan never liked Dad anyway, I have always known that, I did used to wondered if she was just jealous of mom after all

I realised at around the tender age of 12 I wanted to be like dad…

The story continues…