The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

Dad loved Westerns, as do I, one of the many things we had in common. The title of this blog was one he particularly enjoyed.

 Some of you reading the previous blog may remark, that is not the way you recall or experienced  him and may suspect I am being harsh in my telling of the story. One thing I think all who knew him would agree on one thing, A saint in the traditional understanding of that phrase he was not. 

He was mischievous and full of naughty fun, in most part. However I see him without rose tinted glasses and from my own unique experience of him, just like myself and other humans he certainly had elements of the Good, Bad and Ugly. 

I have even found that within the family we may recall or experienced him differently, and we may even wonder if we grew up in the same house, when some of these memories seem stark. I have a theory that these variances have to do with a few factors.  

One, I was the first born, and often the expectations we place on on our eldest is higher than the younger siblings.  I acknowledge that I pretty much did the same with my Son. Secondly I was not only the eldest but a Son, dads are tougher on Sons than daughters because we want to in some way fashion a man in them. Again I recognize that I acted in a similar way. These two factors produce more exacting expectations and so I experienced dad as such, and finally I although like a small replica of my Father was different on so many levels that conflict was invitiable some where along the line. 

Therefore I do have good memories, many of them, plus some bad, and few ugly. As previously stated we were very similar in character and nature, and we had some pretty exciting adventures together.  Such as river rafting down the Crocodile River on a man made raft. 

We worked together in his company, and spent many hours grafting in all sorts of places. Sleeping over on site, and traveling in the car, enjoying meals and each others company.  I could spend hours recalling trying to watch TV once dad had fallen asleep, that I had to turn the volume to full blast in a futile attempt to drown the sound of his snores. I loved my Father and still do, I will cherish his memory forever.

So when I write about his failings it's balanced with a deep affection for him, yet he was not perfect. The wounds he gave were as a result of him being human and just as broken as I am, except I have the advantage of being self aware of how I have received them, and by writing honestly about them somehow find a way to deal with them before God. 

It's not my intention to make him bad, nor do I lay the blame on him for the stuff that has happened to me, but I have a deeper insight into my own psyche and why and what has driven my addictive and compulsive behaviors. And hence I am writing my story in this blog, so in future I may mention parts of my story that may offend some memories of my parents and up bringing that may clash with other may, have but this is from my perspective which may differ sharply from yours. No offence is meant, I am trying to just be open and honest and express my stuggles and how God my Father is bringing me on Journey of healing.