FATHER ABSENCE: By Nick Theophilou Many fathers minimize their relationship with their sons. They do so by being absent from their lives. This defined my relationship with my father. It was so important to feel my father's presence around me. The closest I remember being to him was when I was about five years old. We would go to Rockley Road park and sit on one of the benches facing Toorak Road. On his lap, inside his cardigan, we watched the peak hour traffic go by. At other times, on waking I would go to his room and squeeze into his bed, snuggling close to him. His body seemed to envelop me. I felt safe in my cocoon of contented silence. And oh yes, a few times he gave me a dink on his bicycle all the way up Toorak and Burwood Roads to family friends in Nunawading. I was on the handle bars watching the trees, the hills and the sky. As usual, not a word would pass between us. At times like these it was truly enough for me just to be with him. Being next to him gave me a feeling of oneness, that's the best way I can explain it. I felt that way with Mum too, but with Dad it was different. Unlike her, he had this heavy, brooding, masculine energy. I needed that too. My father worked thirteen out of fourteen days a fortnight, twelve hours a day. A booking clerk at the local station. I drove passed it the other day. Hasn't changed much. More than once I would ride my bicycle through peak hour traffic, making any excuse to see him. It was usually for an "adult reason", like thanking him for one thing or another. I felt I had to behave like an adult, believing this was the only way I could impress him. On my arrival he would sternly order me back home, saying it was dangerous and not to do it again. I didn't have the words to say, "I miss you Dad". I wanted him to know that. I wanted him to say something kind and understanding to me. He had always showed he loved me by doing things for me or with me. But sometimes these weren't enough. I wanted him to tell me he loved me. I don't remember him ever telling me that. What is included or excluded between a father and his son can be profound. I am now forty three and blessed with Kate, my fifteen year old daughter. I experience the same difficulties with her as my father did with me. To say, 'I love you, Kate' is so hard. Such simple words, so difficult to say. Like father, like son. When I do, she is at times shy, dismissive or thanks me, just like an adult. Like father, like son, like daughter. I know she wants to hear it though, so I keep trying. People tell me it takes practice.
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