THE LOWDOWN: Oh my papa

Oh, my papa, to me he was so wonderful, oh, my papa, to me he was so good. No one could be, so gentle and so lovable, oh, my papa, he always understood – Paul Burkhard.The big problem with column-writing is getting it all in. In other areas, that isn’t a problem. At least, it has never been for me. Far from it.So when the lovely Sherie Holder asked me to write a piece on Father’s Day for Sunday, the memories came flooding back, only there wasn’t space for them all. Hence I’m throwing in a few more today, fathering being an important and much misunderstood profession.There were eight of us Vaucluse Hoads – Ted, John, Tony, George, Anne, Joe, Bill and me – as I learned to recite at an early age. By the time they got down to me, our parents had had enough of detailed parenting and we were largely self-regulating.And even more so after Mummy died when I was 13. Daddy, in my opinion, was the ideal father. Never once did he or anybody else ask if I had done my homework, how were things at school, what time did I get in last night.Each of us was given the opportunity to stand on our own two feet and develop into whatever we wanted to be, good or bad. I am no fan of hands-on parenting where children are trained like dogs to be little replicas and even their future careers and mates are chosen for them.Daddy led by example. Working alongside him, we learned how to fix things, tell the truth, respect people, never want anything that we couldn’t pay for cash, keep material possessions to a minimum, enjoy life and love women. Above all, we learned to use our tools to best advantage: “Make every inch of your saw-blade count. Long strokes. No jucksing.”The thought had never occurred to me that the blissful pleasures of early marriage could result in me being a father. That didn’t fit in with milking cows, playing in a band.Alas, fate decreed otherwise. The little tent we were living in offered little room to manoeuvre and none to retreat. Daughter number one was soon on the way.Next the mother-in-law came to spend a few days and insisted on sleeping with her daughter in our bed. I was sleeping on a mattress on the living room floor when said daughter came to say goodnight. Unfortunately the goodnight was too far advanced before we realised the family planning was under the mattress, right under the mother-in-law. We couldn’t risk waking her. What should we do? “Sink the Bismarck!” hissed my bride in a quiet but insistent tone. This is a phrase she sometimes used in place of if-you-stop-now-I’ll-kill-you-I-swear-it. So said, so done, and daughter number two was launched. And so on.Raising children doesn’t cost a lot if you have a source of milk and, like us, grew a patch of pumpkins. Diapers in those days were old flour bags.I figured part of the father’s role was to get the children a good education. To this end I fried strips of pork for them on Saturday mornings and we would have a regular pork-out. They all sailed into Harrison College with no coaching or extra lessons.The other big advantage my children had was no TV in the home. With no idiot box to distract them, they became avid readers, invented their own pastimes, interacted as a family.It makes me mad to hear everyone blaming “the parents” nowadays. Many of us sacrificed everything for our children. It makes not the slightest difference. After two years in secondary school, peer pressure turns them into alien beings over whom you have little control. Your best hope is to keep the lines of communication open until they return to earth.Nowadays the girls and I have a wonderful relationship. They come visiting, take care of the old man, cut his hair, administer skin care, soothe his troubles.Better yet, they’ve brought me the best gift of all – grandchildren. When the three urchins give me a make-over I often wind up looking like Michael Jackson or the new 2010 Market Vendor. Not that you could tell the difference.