Ravings for Remedies

I’ve just watched one of our all-time favourite films for the ‘nth’ time with my wife: Big Fish.  It always leaves me with a lasting impression of hope for family and whilst I think about my relationship with my father, it is as complex as the protagonist(s).  I can see many similarities with my father in this film.  He imparted stories to my siblings like old friends, but had not directly to me.  Maybe he doesn’t think I’d find them interesting or is it just that we don’t connect in the same manner?

While others I knew had already made their mark and were heading toward their cyclic-life, it was apparent that I was only starting out.  This could have caused anguish for my father who wondered why I was not moving into life as expected and thus became frustrated.  Both my older and younger brothers are financially successful and have families of their own; I feel a little behind by this measure.

He always seemed bothered to help, like I was detracting him from what he really wanted to be doing.  For example, I’d had an car accident some years ago.  The other driver involved was an eighteen year old kid who’d just received his P-plate and on his maiden voyage, ran a red-light.  I hadn’t seen him at all, as he was in the windscreen-arch (-) as I started to complete my turning circle.  The first acknowledgement of his existence was the look of horror on his face at the crumpled-up impact of my car into his drivers-side door.  He looked directly into my eyes at that crucial point before his car spun around, hit the curb, rolled once and landed on it’s wheels again.  I was stunned for longer than I even knew, but somehow moved the car off the road, opened the door and ran as fast as I could toward the P-platers car in a desperate hope that he was alive.  All I could think about was that I’d killed someone and the horrible feeling that ensued.  However, accidental it may have been, he was just a kid and had at least ten more years of living before he reached my experience.

I’d never been more relieved when I saw that he was alright, but had blood running down his face.  Once he told me his mum’s number, I called to inform that I’d hit her sons car, then called an ambulance and the police.  I was shaking when she arrived and expected to be king-hit.  She actually embraced me as well as her son and asked if I were okay.  I felt so muddled with shock, but called my father to tell him about it and asked if he could pick me up (you always call your parents first).  He did not respond in a manner of typical fatherly concern, he was angry.  It seemed unbelievably misguided to be more concerned about my car.  ‘Fuck the car, dad!’  At the very least some inquisition, but he filled me with such emotional confusion I just hung up on him.  Following that, every number I called resulted in the ‘I’m too busy’ remark.

The person who came to my aid was someone who had proven themselves trustworthy countless times.  And if he is reading this now, he knows the importance of trust and honour, for those qualities are akin to him.  He arrived within fifteen minutes of the call I’d made, with a bottle of water and genuine concern.  Told me to sit down, drink the bottle and relax.  I was overwhelmed at his mateship, but also with the total absence of affection from my own father when compared with the P-plater’s motherly concern.

Okay, maybe there isn’t a huge correlation between my father and the protagonist in Big Fish.  However, there are many and varied examples of the difference in behaviour and action when compared with my siblings over scenarios that warrant fatherly attention.  But that doesn’t mean to say that I cannot still desire it, like we all do at some point that feels like we’re missing something from our lives.  I want to be recognised in my fathers eyes as someone worthy to be concerned about, nothing more.