FATHERS DAY MY DAD

HERE, IN 1927 DAD LOOKS LIKE THE TYPICAL YOUNG BANKER OR CIVIL SERVANT

WHICH HE WAS NOT, HE ALWAYS WORKED IN BLUE COLLAR OCCUPATIONS

There are no more pleasing words to a father's ears than the proud announcement "This is my Dad!" Well, "This is MY Dad!"

To-day , Fathers Day, I remember and honour my own dear Dad John Joseph ("Jack") DIXON.Sent to work at age 11 years in a metal foundry, he had a pretty tough life. Dad died on 12th May, 1992, just three weeks short of his 85th Birthday. He had survived the death of my Mother by almost 21 years .

His life experience together with his local social network, made him a lifelong Labor Party voter. He persevered in this even after he said he was convinced that the Labor Party was riddled with Communists whom he despised - he just could not bring himself to desert the "working class party". And in fact he did see the world and the nation in those Victorian era Class terms.

My Dad was born a Catholic and educated in a Convent School, but for long periods did not practise his religion. Yet when his "kind eyes"won the heart of Miss Elsie Georgina Beckmann a petite and beautiful,modest girl from a devout Evangelical Protestant family , he required that they be properly married in the Catholic Church. Miss Beckmann was instructed in the Faith and duly became a Catholic, and they were married in 1927.

To-day's cynicism might suggest that he was being hypocritical. But in those days people were honest about doing wrong  - he knew it was wrong not to practise his religion, but he also knew that there are absolutes of such importance that you don't abuse them : he would not betray his Religion, even if he did not practise it - that Truth was bound to him for life.

When I was born, Dad was 32 years old ,he was never unkind to me, but not outgoing or physically demonstrative of his love. ( The Poet James Macauley writes powerfully of his own Father's inability to physically express any affection.) He worked on the construction of the great Garden Island Graving Dock, for the Navy. This was a protected employment category, which stopped him being sent on labour battalions to Darwin when he received the call-up. He could not be in the regular forces because of faulty eyesight resulting from an accident at the Foundry when he was about 13 yrs old.

JOHN JOSEPH DIXON (L of Photo) around 1911
WITH HIS MOTHER, ALBERT (R)
AND BABY BROTHER BILL WHOM DAD GREATLY ADMIRED

As I grew up, all my interests were largely alien to my Dad except Politics, and even then we were on opposite sides of the fence! Only after many years did  I hear that Dad was very proud of my progress in Banking  and in other areas and used to regale his regular drinking mates at the hotel in Lidcombe with my latest efforts. We almost never got to talk at any length on any subject , conversation being limited to brief exchanges of statements never pressed too far lest the heavy crunch of disagreement should wreck things.

Dad was remarkable for his ability to tackle any manual task with great skil, even the trads of carpentry, roofing, painting, and even (shhhhhh don't tell ) electrician and plumbing. he had a formidable collection of tools of all sorts for tasks both small and large.

In my twenties and thirties , I could perceive all my Father's faults with clinical efficiency, whilst making every allowance for any tendency  to deficiency on my own part. As the years went by my Dad evolved, particularly after he came to see the devastating effect of his faults on my Mum's fragile mental health following a Hysterectomy. He came to see in time, how cruel was the effect of stubborn,sullen silences - sometimes lasting 3 days - over some exaggerated "offence", on someone so vulnerable. He was transformed.

He also returned to the practise of the Faith which was very pleasing to see and took great delight in his three grandchildren, Marianne, Justine and Matthew and never ceased urging me to look after my wife!

But still he could not freely and easily communicate either emotions or ideas.Whether or not this disability stemmed from the treatment he received from his brutish and drunkard Father, I cannot say for sure, but if I were a betting man......

My Dad in 1947 aged 40 yrs.

Dad's later years were plagued by troubles with his heart - suffering from an "enlarged heart"which caused recurring build-ups of fluid around the heart, these required repeated hospitalisation to relieve them but there could be no cure.

In fact he had just successfully completed one such routine, and was about to be released, when he suffered a heart attack and died. The Catholic Chaplain to the Auburn Hospital where Dad died was quickly on the spot to minister to  his poor body and pray for his soul. His name was Father Stephen Swift and I was most impressed by the card he left endorsed with all that needed to be done to ensure a proper Catholic burial - for he knew nothing of the family.

We were living in Brisbane at the time and I received a call from my Brother Pat telling me of Dad's death and saying that the Hospital  wanted to perform an autopsy. I was on the first plane down next morning and went straight to see the Doctor in Charge -  a young Asian gent. He was prompt to offer condolences and almost as prompt to proffer a form authorising an autopsy for signature. When I objected that they clearly knew the cause of death, and that  this was unnecessary, the form quickly disappeared into the pocket of his white coat. I informed him that after the long periods of my Dad's health problems, I did not want his body used for training purposes. This is a matter which I believe the Hospital handled very badly to say the least.

My Dad in later life. His left eye had been lost to Glaucoma in 1957 and replaced by a glass eye.
He never once complained about the inconveniences and problems of orientation this necessarily involved.

So John Joseph "Jack"Dixon I love you dearly and hope we have the opportunity to understand each other far better in Paradise.My prayers for the repose of your soul and of Mum's are daily made.

FATHERS DAY

For Fathers’ Day

Fathers‘ Day calls up a number of thoughts and this photo, which is one of my favourites, can serve as a hub for them.

It has, I suppose, never been easy to be a Father (or a Mother for that matter). But in these cynical, politically correct times, in the death grip of American left liberalism which has spawned radical feminism as well as environmentalism, multiculturalism and a grab bag of other –isms, it is hard enough being a man, let alone a Father.

Sure, for the sake of commercialism, Fathers have been emphasised over these days running up to tomorrow, but there is no depth or conviction about it.

But it is a grand thing to be a Father and even a Grandfather! I speak from experience.  The earliest years of a child’s life are wonderful despite the stresses and cares, the dirty nappies and the occasional smile that gives way to a projectile output. The consolations of the responsive love and joy of one’s own little child are immeasurable. 

 Despite the fact that many children still feel the natural need to distance themselves from their parents as they struggle through the pre-occupations of finding themselves in their teens and coming to terms with puberty, they generally reach the stage where they can relax and regard their parents quite comfortably. There is an immense fulfilment, pride and satisfaction in seeing the achievements of anyone we love – but in the case of our children and grandchildren, it produces a special inner glow.

It is true that there is the down side:  the problems of illness – suffering and risk are hard to endure and the failures and occasional, even fundamental faults they might display. But the anxious prayers of a loving parent are a special privilege to offer up. They also provide opportunities to look at ourselves afresh and consider our own faults and failures.

So, as Fathers’ Day 2017 is about to dawn –THANK YOU TO : my own late dear Dad and those who went before him ( at least one not so nice) and to my dear wife who made it possible and to Maz and Jut and Matt who have given this Father so much to be grateful for. And thank you also to ( in order of appearance) Stephen Dixon ( see photo asleep on his Fathers tummy),  Josephine Dixon, Emily Whiting, Gabrielle Dixon, Christopher Whiting, Anastasia Dixon and, last but not least, Daniel Whiting, all of whom have re-juvenated their Grandparents and none more than this Grandfather!!

It will be a Happy Fathers’ Day for me and I wish my dear son Matt a Happy Fathers‘ Day 1,000 Kms to the North in God’s own country!