5. “All Right, My Boy”
“All Right, My Boy”
“Why… ?” was one question my father never asked me. If I decided I wanted to do something, he would think a little while and say: “All right, my boy”. And that was it.
When I was fourteen, Dad had just started smoking again after having ‘given it up’ for about six months. I said, “I will start smoking as well, and that will make two of us”. Now, I had smoked off and on — whenever I could get a cigarette or some tobacco to roll — since I was about six when I had my first puff in the woods with my brother and another friend. Dad, of course, never knew about this — or at least I didn’t think he knew — so I was a bit surprised when he said, “All right, my boy”.
That was the first time I can remember that he said that, but it set the pattern, and I understood that he was letting me take responsibility for my own actions. I suppose I could have just done what I wanted to do without asking him or saying anything, and he would not have stopped me unless he could see that it was very, very harmful or dangerous. For those occasions he had a way of saying ‘No’ without taking responsibility away from me. (Note that in those days cigarette smoking was not linked to lung cancer and other ailments).
I hated school. I would gladly have stopped after the eighth year when I was fifteen, and taken up an apprenticeship, but then Mum was still in the house and I would not have dared suggest it to her. When I passed the tenth grade, I said to Dad, “I’m not going further. I’m going to find a job,” and he said: “All right, my boy”. As it turned out, I had done rather better than I thought I would, and the Educational Authority gave me a boarding bursary for the next year. It would have been like throwing money away not to go, so I said to Dad: “I think I’ll go back to school”. He said “All right, my boy”.
I completed my schooling and went to College, but flunked out after six months. I got work with a Government department, but I had a run-in with the Engineer in charge, and walked out suddenly. After languishing at home for a while, wondering what to do, I said to Dad: “I’m going to the coast, and I’m going to find a job on a ship, and I’m going to travel around for a while.” You guessed it — Dad said: “All right, my boy”.
I never got to sea, because while waiting for a lift in a town I passed through on the way, I saw the Bank accross the road and thought to myself: “Why not work in the Bank?” I went across, and was immediately given a short written test to make sure I could write and do sums, after which the official said “We’ll let you know in a couple of days, but you have managed the test and I think you have the job”. I found a lift back to Dad’s house and told him, “I’m not going to sea. I’m waiting to hear from the Bank.” He said, “All right, my boy”.
It was not that Dad didn’t care. He cared deeply, but — as I realised later — he wasn’t inclined to try to control anything he had no control over, and who ever has real control over another free human being, over his thoughts, his likes, his dislikes, his fears, his aspirations? I always appreciated it that Dad trusted me, but I only understood his attitude when he was on his death bed. I had just been transferred to a city a thousand miles away when I got the news that Dad had collapsed and was in hospital. The company advanced me the money and I flew back to his bedside. After the third day of visiting him in hospital, Dad said to me: “My boy, I’m finished. Go back to your family and your work, and don’t worry about me.” Reluctantly I went, hoping to prepare a place for him to come and stay with us, but three days later I received news that he had died.
Only in later years did I understand that in his last words to me, he was also saying to himself, “All right, Bert, you’ve had your time. You can go now.” That was just like him. He had no control over his situation, so he didn’t fuss or question it. Even at the end, he didn’t ask ‘Why?’.
The End.
