My dad is the personification of the adage, “You do you.” He could not care less what you think of him. Not one iota. In fact, it’s almost as though he enjoys provoking a reaction out of others with his non-conforming ways.
When I spent time with him earlier this year, he joined me on an afternoon walk wearing his wife’s pastel pink slides over his sports socks because he couldn’t find his sneakers. They were at least two sizes too small, but he didn’t care, he was comfortable. His clothing choice was equally nonchalant: trackies littered with pilling and a hoodie that had also seen better days.
Dad is a man who cares deeply about many things. Aligning himself with the herd just isn’t one of them. Mum tells me how, when I was a baby, he’d carry me on his shoulders to walk to the bakery in the mornings when he wasn’t on day shift. When my sister came along less than two years later, he’d do the same with her and take me by the hand and off we’d go. For his affectionate trouble, he was teased mercilessly by neighbours and family members (except for my mum, who thought this was adorable).
It was early 1980s in Central Queensland, and there was plenty of name-calling going around. A new father taking delight in being playful with his offspring was simply not done, and any behaviour perceived as ‘effeminate’ had to be called out. For his hands-on parenting, his workmates, neighbours and sometimes even his own family members would call him a ‘poof’. Did he care? Not one bit. And so we got to enjoy a dad who played with us and had fun doing so. His shift work in the nearby coal mine meant he was around at odd hours, so playtime wasn’t regular or consistent. But when he was there, he was there.
Time and again, I watched the insults slide off his back like Teflon
Dad taught me plenty as I observed his behaviour in those Queensland days. Time and again, I watched the insults slide off his back like Teflon. Unsurprisingly, his anti-peer pressure stance started way back. When he was a teenager, my dad didn’t care for smoking or drinking. In the late 1960s and 70s, these two activities were as common as breathing for most people. But he didn’t like either of them, so he never bothered partaking. My father has always been forward-looking. Focused on building the future, and ensuring it’s nice and secure. To indulge in any addictive substances was to go against this foundational value. He couldn’t stomach what he saw as a complete waste of money.
He also had a strong sense of belonging. He came from a community of Serbian immigrants who stuck together and supported each other on arrival to Australia. When my grandfather, the first of his family of six, arrived in Sydney by boat, he was picked up by a relative and driven to accommodation where he was safe and well looked after. Soon after, he found a job with the help of others who were already established here. My dad, 16, was the next to arrive. My grandfather had arranged a mechanic’s apprenticeship for him, which he started within a fortnight of disembarking in Sydney.
I think that’s why I too never cared to follow the herd. I knew where I belonged. I wasn’t a lost soul seeking a tribe. But I also never cared to conform within my own community. Dad’s ideal path for my life would have seen me marrying a good Serbian boy with whom I would have children. But I never wanted those things, so I took a different path — choosing instead to follow my own heart’s call.
I said it was okay if he didn’t understand me. I still had to live life my own way
My resistance confounded my dad. One day, he told me that he didn’t understand me. By that stage, I had released myself from needing his approval, so I said it was okay if he didn’t understand me. I still had to live life my own way, not according to what he thought was best for me. We agreed it was indeed okay because we love each other, and off I went. And I had him to thank for showing me how to stand firm in my own beliefs.
The more I grow into adulthood, the more I realise the depth of satisfaction that lies in clarifying my values, and then living by them in thought and action. What anyone else thinks of my choices is their business and no concern of mine.
I thank my dad for teaching me by example to have the courage of my convictions and to align myself with my values — even when they are different to his.
