
Today, 25 years after his death I am wondering why my father never told us anything much about the war. I wonder how he felt as a 17 year old leaving his family; I wonder whether he got homesick; I wonder if he felt scared; I wonder what he thought when he heard bombs for the first time; I wonder if he ever thought he was going to die? These are questions that I wished I could have asked him. It has also go me thinking about how little I really knew about him. It does seem rather odd that it has taken me 25 years to come to this realisation.
Perhaps the experiences he had and the atrocities he witnessed played a big part in shaping him into the man he became? When my children ask me what sort of man he was – I don’t know what to say. He was an astute businessman; a good provider; stoic and resourceful. However as to what made him laugh or what made him cry or what were the best experiences and memories of his life – I honestly don’t know.
So today when I think about Anzac day – I think about how war robbed my father (and other men like him) of not only his youth but his emotions and feelings. I also wish I could have taken the time to have asked more questions because maybe then I might have got to know the “man” and not just the “father”. It also makes me appreciate how important it is to truly connect with those around me and not be left wondering "who" they actually are.
Good News of the Day: Another day off tomorrow - hopefully the sun will come out so I can brushcut the remaining paddock.
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