Taking the plunge...

I realise I haven't finished telling my story, but I just had to mention this. I rang my mother tonight and asked her for everything she knew about my father. It was precious little, as it turned out. Traceline like to have a date of birth, but she can't even remember that.

Going on what little information she had, I've filled out Traceline's online form, paid my £75 via PayPal, and await a result. They reckon they can do it in 1-5 working days, though some have found it takes nearer six weeks.

Ulp.

My Story, Part VII

Bill Oddie's mother was committed to a mental hospital for most of his childhood. He only had dim recollections of exactly what happened to her, which were filled in by family and friends during the course of the programme. His story can be read in outline here.

It was a sad and moving programme, but what really made me sit up and take note was the fact that Oddie has recently suffered two breakdowns. In counselling, it became apparent that issues with his mother were likely to be a contributory factor, having lain dormant for some years. Part of his motivation to make the programme was to deal with those issues.

Well, what about me? Admittedly, I had suffered no trauma when young concerning my father. The fact it was upsetting me so much now gave me pause, though. Was I heading for a breakdown too?

Despite having all the reasons in the world to have brought the matter up with my mother - she and I were watching it, and it could have been such a good way in to the whole issue - I didn't.

Coming to terms with fatherlessness

This article recommends telling your absent father, whether in person or role-play, how you feel about him - to mourn and grieve him.

Can't help thinking that is what I need to do. Perhaps to do that first, before trying to get in touch with him.

My Story, Part VI

I was very emotionally rattled and stirred up by this little incident. I guess it always takes you by surprise when a child manages to seemingly be perceptive beyond their years.

Initially I tried to pay no attention to the whole business. After all, I had done that fairly effectively before. Nevertheless, it quietly ate away at me.

I found myself becoming upset for no real reason, and feeling sad if I had nothing to occupy myself with. I'm not a naturally morose or pessimistic character, but that was what I was turning into.

I steeled myself for talking to my mother about it. Having asked her about it when I was twelve, I knew some of the details. Not the most important one though - his name.

We went to visit my parents for the weekend. This would be the ideal time to speak to her.

While we were there, we were watching TV and the programme Who Do You Think You Are? was on, featuring Bill Oddie. He is famous for being one of the Goodies but is better known now for his nature programmes.

...to be continued...

My Story Pt V

I have a small daughter, to whom I read regularly. She loves books, and so do I.

We were reading The Gruffalo's Child, and the closing scene has a picture of the Gruffalo, the Gruffalo's Child, and a mouse.

My daughter looked at the picture, pointed at the mouse and said, "Where's his daddy?"

"Well, I don't know, the book doesn't say, we don't find out."

"Where's YOUR daddy?"

"Er...well, I don't know love."

"Oh well, we'll have to ask mum then."

It was like a dagger through my heart.

I'm not sure I can even say why really. Fatherhood did not seem to me to be complicated by having had no father of my own. I had a reasonable idea of what dads did, after all. And it didn't seem to throw up any issues of my own background.

Until now.

It became evident I needed to do something about it. But what?

My Story Pt IV

I barely considered not having a father for most of my life, over thirty years. Except once.

When I was about twelve, and out for a walk with my mother, I asked her about my father. She told me, seemingly without qualms. I don't really remember much about what she said, though I do recall she didn't portray him as flawless.

I had no interest in meeting him, no desire to trace my root like that. I used to watch programmes about meeting your birth parents or other long-lost members of your family with some interest but no feeling I would ever want to do it myself. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Until about five months ago.

My Story Pt III

Through most of my time at school, not having a father did not seem to make an enormous amount of difference. I felt loved and looked after by my mother and grandmother, who I still call "my parents".

At the age of sixteen I became a Christian, and became very friendly with a Christian teacher at my school, who encouraged me to trust Jesus Christ and obey him with my whole life. I tried to spend an awful lot of time with him. On reflection, he was another "father figure". I'm impressed at his great patience with me hanging around all the time and having meals with him and the family.

It's when I started going out with my now wife that another father figure came into my life, my now father-in-law. I really enjoyed talking to him about all sorts and everything, and although I can't say we did lots of matey "bonding" stuff (neither of us are like that) I think we have become close.

The experiences of others

I've been trying to track down some resources online to help me come to terms with my father.

The first real parallel I've found was in this blog. Tom Coates tells a remarkably honest story, and is far braver than I by attaching his name to it.

He used Traceline to help get in touch with his own father. His experiences of the Salvation Army's service put him right off, but Traceline sounds effective and rather more detached. Besides, the Salvation Army seems not to want to be involved with "fathers of children born outside marriage", though their website seems unclear. Guess I ought to ring them.

I'm still hoping to find the experience of others online.

My Story Pt II

Starting school seemed to prompt my mother into saying, "If anyone asks you about your dad, tell them that he's a policeman and works away a lot." It hadn't even occurred to me that it might be a problem.

Not having a father around was unusual in early '70s working-class northern Britain, and I suppose I was aware of that. Then again, I didn't see it as a problem, and neither did anyone else I knew at school. At the same time, I didn't know anyone who seemed to be in that position themselves, except for one girl. She lived in a rather grand house with a single mum. I was under the impression she was unmarried too, though I have no idea what had happened to the bloke.

I think on one occasion I used the "copper" cover-up line, though I felt it was unnecessary at the time. I was saying it to please my mother, really.

Besides, I did not miss having a father at all, at least not consciously. However, my first male teacher at primary school did have quite an effect on me.

Mr Shenley had a beard, attempted to teach me the most awful copperplate-style handwriting, and was a laugh. He was keen on putting on productions and persuaded me to appear in Joan Aiken's Winterthing as Jakin. I thought he was great, even when he forced us into doing Scottish country dancing to Jimmy Shand LPs.

In retrospect, he was probably my first crack at finding a father figure. He certainly was, apart from family, the first man I ever got to know in any meaningful way.