Gratitude

I’m just back from Adelaide, where I spent a few days with my Dad. I lucked out. I got a great family. My parents always shared their opinions, but never assumed I would adopt them, never told me what to do. It was my passport to a journey of positive risk taking. My safety net was the myriad family voices, soft and strong, meshed and whispering ‘You can do it, you can do it, there’s no failure only learning. You can do it’

My Dad has always been rather cautious, a deep thoughtful man who considers every aspect of a problem before making a decision. He is shy, observant and very wise. He is softly spoken and doesn’t like conflict. When I was thirteen he saw in me the same shyness, soft spoken withdrawing nature, and he asked me to do something for him, something he just didn’t have in him but if he could change anything about himself , this was the thing he would have changed. He asked me to find my voice, to speak for him. He asked me to enter a speaking competition and wrote my first speech for me. Having signed me up and given me his version of the speech, he set me free. He put me out in the woolshed paddock to practice, having me project my voice above the sound of bleating sheep. I scared the heck out of him. I tore up his speech and found my own words, my own voice.

Last weekend, at 84 and the oldest surviving sibling of 9, my Dad spoke at his sisters 80th birthday. He is still so softly spoken that the party was stilled to silence to hear him. He said how he would rather have catered the party than have to speak. But speak he did, taking the risk surrounded by family and modelling what he dreamed for me 40 years ago.

Breakfasting here this morning I am infused with gratitude. I lucked out.