My Father's Son

My Father's Son

My Dad, his name is Ray. He is an older looking, slightly overweight
man who wears glasses that shade over in the sunlight. You may have
passed my father in the street. He is an average guy. You probably
wouldn't remember him. But many others would. Whether they know his
name or his face, many people will always know my Dad.

In his life my father has seen things that no person should ever have
to live. He has seen lives taken before his eyes, he has held people as
they have died. Some friends. Some strangers. My father has seen these
things. My father has helped thousands of people in his lifetime. Yet
no-one will ever hear about it.

When my father was still a teenager, at a time when the biggest
catastrophe in my life had been being dumped by a girlfriend, he joined
the army, responding to call to fight in Vietnam. My Dad was at a
refuelling post, 1 Petroleum Company. He never really says a lot about
it. I once asked him, when I was eleven if he'd ever killed anyone. My
Dad looked uncomfortable.
'What do you want me to say?' He said. This is probably the most I
have ever spoken to him about his time in Vietnam. That, and the times
he spent playing American sports with the troops. Grid Iron.
Basketball. My Dad served for one year in a reality that no books will
ever be able explain, no movie will ever capture. Nothing could show
another person how it is to live in fear every minute of everyday.
Nothing could explain the things they saw. Maybe it's best that nothing
ever does. Those men you see marching down the street together. Nothing
will make you feel the stories their eyes have witnessed.

When he returned, my father became a railway policeman. He was very
successful at this job. This was also around the time he met my mother.
Eventually Mum made him quit after he was sent to get a group of drunk
guys off a city train at night. My Dad onto five guys. They bashed him,
held him down on the floor, sat on his back, bent each of his fingers
back till they broke. One by one. That was when Mum said it was time to
quit.

My Dad went on to become an ambulance officer. Again, a life where he
would see things that no person should ever have to witness. My father
wanted to help people. This has always been his way. He saved thousands
of people as an ambulance officer, many lives that have him to thank
for his existence. He saw violence that cannot be justified, things
that people have done to others. In this time, my father effected more
lives than most of us will ever have contact with. My father headed the
ambulance helicopter project, with the help of a friend of his who was
a pilot, a service that is now commonplace. My Dad battled for this
service to be created for ambulance use. Though you'll probably never
hear about that either.

After years of this, my father moved on to become a real estate agent.
Then a vending machine repeair man. He would take us on road trips with
him and we'd stay in hotels across the state. Then he became a real
estate agent again. But in this time my Dad became frustrated by his
inability to handle the stresses of normal life. He was frustrated
because he never had a problem with anything before. I know this is how
he felt, because he is me. My Dad struggled with stress problems, with
handling the pressure of supporting for the family and getting ahead.
My father contemplated suicide. I heard him crying one time. My Dad
never cries. He's build up anger over the simplest of things. He'd
wander through the house in the night because he had a nightmare. The
things he's seen in his life. No should have to live them.

He started seeing doctors who made him re-live the things that haunted
him. My Dad started taking tablets from a little blue pill box that had
each day marked and sectioned off. He stopped being so stressed about
things, and though he was up and down for some time, my father
continued to work in community groups, organising a rural ambulance
service unit. This unit has already saved many lives in the region. And
my Dad was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. My father
went onto a full pension.

After a payout, my father bought a new house in the country. He rides
around the large block on his ride on lawn mower with it's little
trailer on the back, planting plants along the fence line. He gives his
opinion for free on the latest news stories to anyone who will listen.
He organises reunions of veterans who have all shared the same
experiences. None of them ever really say too much though. They just
know. My Dad, he's retired now, but he has a mind that will never rest,
and he is always helping with something. And my Mum is always there
with him. Always has been. Through everything.

My Dad. He has experienced things in his lifetime that most wouldn't
if they lived three times over. My father. Many people in this world
today know his name in the back of their mind. Maybe he saved their
life. Maybe he helped them in some way. He is a young soldier in
Vietnam, a skinny ambo in the midst of an accident, a real estate agent
in a dark suit, a local council representative at the opening of a new
building, a proud father standing behind his son in a graduation photo,
a parent arguing for his boy in a supermarket.

This is my Dad. His name is Ray. I am proud to be my father's son.