The Countdown......Peter Blaydon

Distance trained so far........(87.5 miles)

I'm not embarrassed to admit that I am a big fan of the BBC dramatisation of 'Pride and Prejudice'. There, I've said it. Granted I don't get damp over Colin Firth diving into a lake and looking a bit...damp, but the romantic in me loves the storyline; except for the end when everybody dies of typhoid (I may be kidding, but on the off chance that someone reading this does not know the story, I don't want to spoil it any more than I already have...anyway.....back to the point).
One particular line which has stayed with me from that series (and I assume the book although I have not read it) is not one which immediately springs to mind. It occurs when Darcy is relating the true course of events and dealings between his family and Mr nastyboy Wycombe......

'my own, excellent father died five years ago........'

When I first heard it, the line struck me; it struck me on each of the subsequent 300 DVD viewings of the series, and it stays with me. 'My own, excellent father....' what a brilliant four words. Words which sadly not all of us are able to truthfully utter, but words that mean so much to me as my late father was indeed excellent. So excellent that I am running the Great Manchester 10k in his name.

I have found myself doing the write-something-then-delete-it routine several times at this point (I have even previously deleted the 'write-something-then-delete-it' line!) as it is difficult to know how to talk about the man, the gentleman, the father. Do I talk about generalities, when he and Mum managed to raise six extremely accomplished, respected and ultimately 'good' children? Or about history, how money was on more than one occasion extremely tight, so much so that they regularly had to hide from the coal man as they did not have the money to pay him? No, a blog is personal; therefore the stories must be my own...........in no particular order.......


Walking
Dad and I used to spend quite a bit of time walking (church, football, shopping; you name it). As carless parents (that's CARless!), we relied totally on public transport and shanks' pony; and boy could Dad shift when he walked. He had a stride which I think all of his children have inherited; purposeful, long and quick. Unfortunately for a boy in single figures it resulted in having to break into the occasional skip in order to keep up. It certainly kept me fit!
As the years drew on, I started to 'catch-up'. By the time I was in my mid-teens I must have been matching his pace. I say 'must have' as I didn't even notice it; however I did notice when I was out with Dad, and found myself ahead, with him struggling to keep up.
I guess the reaction to this evolution of a father-child relationship is an indicator as to the nature of the relationship itself. Do I take great delight at making him struggle the way he did me when I was little? Nope, not in the slightest. I distinctly recall feeling sad at first, at the dashing of the illusion of the omnipotence (yes, I had to look it up) of my Dad; but as it turned out it was one of the best things that could have happened, as you know what I did...?......I slowed down......and you know what slowing down gave me?.....more time to talk to my Dad. We gave up on the idea of reaching the destination quickly (wherever we were going wasn't going anywhere) and just enjoyed the journey (something which to this day I still try to do!). At the time I did not realise I would be looking back on such moments with so much gratitude.

A-levels
I have to confess that sixth form came as a bit of a shock to me. After the endless feeling of the GCSE's I felt a rest was in order; a rest which extended through the majority of the A-levels I was studying; and their exams! As a result I didn't do as well as was forecasted, and didn't manage to achieve the requested grades needed for my 'first choice' course at Nottingham University. UMIST at Manchester however were happy to have me. This left me in somewhat of a quandary, as my heart was set on Nottingham. Ever since I went to my brother's (not the exploding shorts brother, another one!) graduation, it was a done deal. I was prepared to re-take my exams and apply again for Nottingham the next year, but really did not know how to broach the subject with Dad. With an offer already on the table from Manchester I felt sure he would go loopy if told I wanted to turn it down. I was ready for a battle......
'Dad, it's like this; I've got an offer from UMIST, but I really want to go to Nottingham University, and there is a chance I won't make it as my grades aren't quite good enough'
'Ok, so what do you want to do?'
'To be honest, if I don't get in to Nottingham this year, I would rather re-take my exams and go next year than go to UMIST'
'And that's what you really want to do?'
'Yep'
'Okay, if that's what you want, then that's what you'll do'........
.....and that was that.
I misjudged my Dad that day; expecting a roasting when all I got was support, not to mention an allowance to decide my future for myself. He could have lectured me on letting my grades slip, he could have had a pop at me for turning down a concrete offer for a university place from somewhere else. He did nothing of the sort. I think that may have been the first moment I started thinking of our father-son relationship as 'man to man'; and I got a first inkling of the sort of man he was. After all the fuss, Nottingham Uni still offered me the place, and off I went.

The Man
I am a human being (honest!) living in this world, and as a result am victim to the same problems and issues which befall our species. Whether they be relating to work, to the future, to responsibilities, to family, to money, to health, to.........(the list is endless) they come at us in their droves; and what have I learned from all these issues? Simple; life is hard!!!!! Don't get me wrong, life can be wonderful too; and beautiful but the wonderfulness and beauty is found amid - at times - a lot of struggle; and navigating through these pitfalls is a job and a half!
So that is the concern of a single man; now marry me, give me six kids and a big house (big mortgage) to stick them all in, ask me to look after them all and the next time you see me I will be huddled in the corner of my bedroom, in the dark, staring blankly into space, rocking back and forth while reciting the word 'niddle' very quietly to myself. I have no idea how he managed, but at times he must have been in a constant state of worry.
A lot of people admire their parents when they are young; looking up at them in a 'WOW, look at them!' sort of way; and I was no exception; but for me the respect and admiration - now that I know what it is like to be an adult in this world - continues to grow long after their parenting roles have ceased. Like I said, I have no idea how Dad managed (oh, and did I tell you that he almost lost a son to heart problems and another to leukaemia, and another son died when only a baby?) but he did. Not only that Dad, you did a fantastic job!

Saint?
Now, before the pedestal gets too high let me categorically state that an amazing Dad though he certainly is; he could also at times be a bit of a cock! While never a violent man, he was not immune to losing his temper (followed almost immediately by regretting it, something usually announced by him whistling when he walked back into the room; very comical!). I think it came from a difficulty in handling negative emotions. A feeling of stress, of frustration, of embarrassment, of worry (of which there was plenty), of confusion, of tiredness, and of course of anger would push him into 'shouty-dad' mode. I guess it was the only way he knew of dealing. The irony is that I am convinced some of his outbursts were due to a desire for good (go figure!). When we all had a get-together at the house (Christmas, bonfire night, Easter....) Dad wanted everything to be perfect; whether it was decorations, presents, food, or just all round organisation I am sure he had an image in his head of the way it should all go; and how everyone would enjoy themselves. The trouble was that regardless of how hard he tried, it would rarely be the way he saw it in his head; it is the perfectionist in him (is it any wonder he was a draughtsman by trade?!). I could see that it frustrated him, and we all know what frustration leads to...! This particular trait is one which I have inherited, and seeing it in Dad has certainly encouraged me to adopt a more flexible approach at times when I am the host with the most, and keep my cool when things start to go 'off-plan'!  
So he's human after all, with human frailties. I am however pleased to report that the bouts of shouty Dad (shouty bouts?) were the exception rather than the rule, and whilst I would not necessarily make him St Peter (anyway, I think that name has already been taken), the memories of laughy-Dad and smiley-Dad were far greater in number.

Regrets?
I am in a privileged position in that I do not have any strong feelings of regret when it comes to my Dad. There are very few 'if-only's which I can recount, and virtually no 'I wish I had's. I believe I was a good son, I spent whatever time I could with him through his life, I helped look after him when he was sick, and I said goodbye to him when he died. I don't mean it to sound dismissive - and it certainly doesn't mean that I am fine about Dad not being here any more, and that I wouldn't give anything to chat with him again - but surely if we can truthfully say that, any more expectations we put on ourselves are harsh? I do have one regret though; and although it would certainly be slotted into the 'harsh' category, it stays with me (and this is something I truthfully have never told anyone before).
On a school night back in the day (did I really say that??!) I was usually in bed by about half past ten (honest!). This invariably consisted of a groggy Adrian, staggering upstairs already half asleep and trying not to lose that slightly inebriated feeling. Clothes were off - and scattered - as quickly as possible, and I would be away with the fairies as soon as my head hit the pillow. When I hit my teens, Dad would take to coming into my room and tidying my clothes. Despite my drowsy and occasional unconscious state; while Dad occupied himself by doing this, he would actually decide to start a conversation with me!
As I look back on those nights, there was almost something wistful about him doing that; maybe a desire to connect with a maturing son whose days of living in the house were numbered; but to me at the time, it just seemed weird and dare I say inconvenient. I couldn't help thinking that he had had all evening to talk to me, and he chooses now, just as I am dropping off, to do it!
Try as I may, I cannot recall any of the conversations we had (although I can recall most of my responses were variants of the syllable 'UH'), in fact I would probably struggle to remember them the morning after they took place! I know that I didn't really do anything wrong - and as regrets go, it is far from a devastating one - but if I had my time again (and with the mind and experience of a man in his 30's) I would have done it differently. How much value would I put right now on one more conversation with my Dad.......?

The Promise
I remember when Dad became particularly ill - and it became clear that our time with him was limited - I visited him in hospital with my Mum. When we first arrived he was having a nap, but opened his eyes soon after we sat down. The angle at which Mum and I were sitting was such that Dad could not see me; but as I loomed up from behind Mum with a smile on my face, his face lit up. That one, non-verbal communication said all it needed to for me. He looked me straight in the eye and said 'you're always smiling; it's something I've always loved about you!'
When I said goodbye to him, I made him a promise that whatever happened, I was going to keep smiling. I am pleased to report that for the most part, it is a promise I have kept, and will continue to keep.

Like I said; there is no way I can sum up any man in the space of a few words, least of all my Dad. Looking through the above words it frustrates me that I cannot do a better job of it. To many he was an ordinary man, but to us few he was a gentleman, a gentle man, and an extraordinary father. Dad, this run is for you............

(By the way; if you are thinking that the woman behind the man is getting a bit of a raw deal here, she certainly merits equal credit for all the above. Play your cards right and there will be a future post about her!)