Sons and Fathers

Sunday before last was Father’s Day, and it caused me to consider the father-son relationships in my life.

It comes naturally to love unconditionally one’s children. However, to like one’s children and to wish to spend time with them in their older years isn’t always a given

My father, born in the Edwardian age, was forty-eight years old when I came into the world. As I grew up, the difference in our ages did make a difference. Especially as in his late fifties, my father’s health wasn’t the best. I was fourteen when he had his first heart attack.

My father and I got on. But at a distance. We went to football together. He taught me to cook. And I loved to listen to the countless stream of stories in his repertoire. He lived a life of rich tapestry.

I left home at seventeen. Not because I was unhappy. Living in the northeast of the nineteen-seventies it was for work. Being two hundred and fifty miles away from ‘home’ and with little opportunity to return frequently, the father-son relationship was through letters. I much enjoyed reading these and writing in return. But they aren’t the same as conversation. It’s difficult to fully understand a person, their feelings, motivations etc. only through the written word. I’d just turned twenty-one when my father died. I loved him and admired him. I know he was proud of me. But I don’t feel I got to meet the man my father really was.

It was only long after his death that I discovered the sacrifices he made to keep his young family (a two and eight-year-old) together after the premature death of his first wife. Many men of the late nineteen-forties might have let the state take responsibility for their children. Not their and my father. He sacrificed his career to save his family. Eventually, he found the money to employ a woman to help with the children. That woman would become his second wife and my mother.

I was in my late twenties when my own son was born. He is now in his late thirties, and I am lucky in that we get on so well. I write lucky, as I don’t believe it’s due to my excellent parenting skills. I know many better parents who do not have the good fortune of close friendships with their older children.

Many who read this may not believe it, but I can’t recall us ever having fallen out. We share the same sense of humour (much to the dismay of our respective wives), social views, political outlook, and sporting interests. Our taste in literature and music differ, and I’m a planner. He certainly isn’t. But contrasts add richness to any relationship.

Once, on a long country walk, I regaled him with the story of the Glorious Revolution while wearing a large rhubarb leaf on my head to ward off the rain. And because he loves me, he feigned interest in my monologue while trying not to notice the large rhubarb leaf. His story of that walk has now become a much-retold family anecdote.

We’ve visited foreign climes together, bumped into the King of Spain, President of Portugal and flown back from a EUFA Final with the then England manager.

We’ve shared more than a few beers together. Once together locked accidentally in a pub (that was an exciting afternoon) and joined each other’s stag dos. In the case of my son’s, I consumed more Slovakian beer, over an Easter weekend, than some do in a lifetime.

We once travelled all the way from London to Newcastle to visit an exhibition on the history of Newcastle United (another shared passion). Then losing all track of time in conversation over a beer, we arrived at the exhibition just as it closed!

We’ve shared marathon pool tournaments. On one holiday, my son eventually ran out the winner thirty-seven frames to thirty-six. It’s a long time since I beat him at a game of pool.

He’s been at two of my weddings and me one of his (I hope the only one). He’s been my best man, and we’ve both given extemporised speeches at these respective events.

I much admire my son. I admire his work ethic, his talent, and his abilities as a father (far, far better than mine). I obviously love him and am proud of him. Most of all I like him. I like his company, his conversation, and his life view.

I think his grandfather would too