I am not my father

When most little boys start out in life's adventure many of us have looked up to and been taught and learnt from our dad's.  They tend to lay the foundations alongside our mum's to our first path in life, and are our role models. Well it started like that for me when I was young enough to remember, my dad was, to me, Superdad.

This is where it quickly changed and from a young age I was determined that everything wrong about my dad, would make me become everything he failed to become.  Now I look back and about the only good thing I remember was him popping me on his shoulders when I was tired.  My dad had a very big reputation in the 60's and 70's as being a hard-nut, gambler and crook.  This reputation followed him about so much that I had other children including my own little friends being told stories about him.  In the street I often heard whispers, "that's Ron Marquick's son, best leave him alone".

Now to some it may sound good having such a formidable figure of a dad, but not to me.  From a very young age I quickly understood where my mums unhappiness came from and at nights when laid in bed hearing her screaming, yes this was my dad hitting my mum, I even witnessed the poor woman being dragged across the landing by her hair.  She was always accused of having affairs with everybody from Terry the postman to Martin the Martian.  He timed her every movement, clocked her to and from the shops, and also kept note of every penny so she had to explain every bit of money spent.

My thoughts were why could this arsehole and control freak, who was doing this to my mum not get off his own idol backside and do these things?. No, I am sure the smug fat man got kicks from this.  Anyway back to me.  It became very apparent because I had not become a mini him, that I was deemed a failure in his eyes.  Did he come to a parents evening? No.  Did he attend a sports day? No.  All he ever uttered in between putting me down was how I was a girl and a pansy, and why was I not a fighter, a boxer, a trouble maker?

I had a brain and I knew right from wrong.  As I got older I tried to take some pressure away from my mums own personal torture.  When he was in a mood,  which was most nights I would back chat him to try and get him to focus on me instead of my mum.  This worked and even though I would never be a match for my father, my mum, although worried downstairs was getting some respite.  He wore me down in arguments even when I was right I was always wrong (if this makes sense).

Then on top of this would come my few beatings.  He once smacked me so hard across my legs it marked me very badly, so I showed him, I put shorts on and went to play with my friends outside.  Now his reputation was being tarnished by a boy, yes I had started to become a genius in mind games.

Some of you may wonder why my mum did not leave and take us with her.  Well in those days she would have lived in fear knowing that he would have hunted her down.  I would not like to think what he would have done to her. I also remember taking many trips home in police cars when aged between 4-8 years old as he would go places, mainly the social office, just looking to kick off, resulting in chairs and tables flung about in anger and police being called.

My Dad had to stop work in the late 70's early 80's due to falling down stairs whilst working as a taxi driver, back then you only had to sneeze to become disabled (in the dodgy way) and get away with it.  This is why I got hacked off that he had no interest in me or my schooling when I was young, but in hindsight it was nice not having him involved as it probably would have ruined me.

In the 60's he spent time inside for fraud yet again a big boast from him, even claiming he was in the scrubs at the same time as the Krays.  As I was growing up I was desperate to work and to make something of my life.  I left school when I was 14 years old as I was offered a part time job in the local cash and carry in Oxford.  Wow, a job, I truly was impressed at earning £56 a week, but every week whilst living at home I was forced into paying it all into the house, simply to feed us and also fund my dad's fag and gambling habit.

When I turned 18 I was offered full time worked and grabbed this with both hands.  By this time I was getting wiser, so when I got paid cash in a wage packet I would gently open and slide some money out.  I would never show him my wage slips and sure enough I started to get money hidden and actually for me. The only problem I had was buying stuff and hiding it.  Then came the going out with my friends to get drunk, my solution was to pretend to be at a mates all night drinking can's, again this worked.

I also remember our yearly family holidays and looking back at them they were quite awful.  My mum could not avoid the beatings and the arguing and neither could I avoid arguments with my dad.  We would spend half the holiday parked outside the bookies or at least half sat in the caravan listening to him watching racing, generally losing, then just wanting to kick off.

I could write and write and write but I think you get a picture of what a monster my dad was.  What has come out of this for me is that I respect women and hate hearing of any violence towards them.  I have a massive protective sheet around Karen and Issy.  I believe I am a fantastic husband and dad and I take time and interest in what my family do and I am very proud of my children's achievements.

Mine and my mums bond is fantastic, my dad passed away 14 years ago and my mum has since met a fabulous man who has gone on to become her husband and I can only thank him for putting happiness, belief, trust and respect and most of all love back into my mums life.  Sometimes I well up and cry at the thought of what my dad did, but that's in the past and this is now, we are all enjoying life as best we can and long may it continue.

Cherish what you have.  If you have found somebody you truly love then treat them with love and respect.  Don't be shy to hold hands, cuddle and kiss.  Even with children you can keep that flame, even though a tired one, brightly burning by just showing each other that you care.  Look back to the start of your journey together when you also had those butterflies, believe me when you are with the right person they never go away.

I still pop up in goosebumps on my arms with the simplest of things, a hair stroke a neck tickle etc, so be strong in life be yourself and most of all love what you have.

Thanks for reading it means so much to me. Gary x

Why won't he Sleep?

Well this post is focusing on the struggles for Karen and I and also for Samuel regarding his bedtime.

As in previous posts you will be aware of Samuel's 22q11 deletion syndrome and so this leads me to a more in depth insight into another challenge we have - bedtime.

Usually we start to approach bedtime by Karen asking Samuel to get himself ready, this is usually about 8:30pm which is a reasonable bedtime considering his disability and his massive need for at least 10 hours sleep.  Karen by this time has done special time and calm down time with Samuel, after Oliver and Isabella's have gone to bed.  Then at 8.30 Samuel is asked to pop his pull up pants on (another condition associated with 22q11 is bed wetting).

After a few cave boy style grunts in which boy child demands mum goes up with him and finally striking up a deal to pop up in 5 minutes he starts moving like a snail in reverse, and slower than a Stannah stair lift he eventually lands safely in planet bedroom.  Barely 3 minutes elapses and Samuel seems to come down quicker than a cat on a hot tin roof, with battering ram style he falls through the door, "mum mum" he bellows, "you said you were coming up".  Karen, to avoid in house riot takes Samuel back upstairs and does the goodnight routine again.

After 5-15 minutes we hear the pitter patter (thud thud) of the boy child.  We now know he is on the warpath to destruct the adults evening, which in Samuel's eyes seems to be a new covert mission.  So the fun begins (sarcasm).  Karen asks Samuel to go back to bed, "no" comes the reply, Samuel you need to go to bed, no he replies again, so the consequences kick in, Samuel if you do not go to bed then you have lost tomorrow's use of your netbook, still a refusal and this continues until we need a removal firm in as he has had everything confiscated for the following day.  At that point he would go upstairs, putting all the lights on, and sit there until eventually falling asleep.

We have scrambled, argued, agreed, disagreed, asked him, shouted at him and slowly but surely we noticed bedtime was getting worse.  Then came the massive dip, we had run out of so many ideas we asked Samuel what would keep him in bed and calm him and help him sleep.  Samuel's answer like a mad scientist but a sane one in the working had said a DVD please mummy, well puppy dog eyes and a flag of surrender from us we agreed, we wanted to try anything, so after the film had finished Karen went to turn the film off and so our new fun began.

Samuel came trotting down after 5 minutes and said he could not sleep and would not leave the front room unless mum went and curled up in bed with him.  Obviously mum refused.  We have 2 toddlers that nod by themselves so mum was not making a rod for her own back.  Samuel responded in gladiator style "then you shall not move me, I will fight till the end", and fight the little groat did.  We asked several times for him to return to his bed and got told no deal each time, this led us to try the silent treatment, which resulted in Samuel going hypo and noisy causing noise and chaos for 3-4 hours.

After we finally admitted defeat we decided to go to bed ourselves at midnight and sure enough cave boy scurried upstairs and into bed, after we had closed our door he was up and flicked his light on until I got up at 3 to go to the toilet.  This happened night after night and the demands got more and more, we were just at a total loss as how to deal with this and the later Samuel stays up it makes it an awful atmosphere in the morning as he refuses to get up and is angry and very aggressive.

Finally we had a date with the sleep clinic as we were at breaking point.  We needed help and like every good parent knows asking for help is a sign of strength and togetherness.  We did not want to keep going how we were, I must add in that one night Samuel had punched me in the mouth so yes it really had got that bad.

Our appointment arrived and Karen went to see Mr Sleep Doctor, he has agreed to come and survey things and see if we can some how arrive at a plan of action.  We hope so, we need it as does Samuel as the stress at times is so hard and Samuel will eventually become ill because of severe lack of sleep.

So I have added another chapter of Samuel's constant struggle with a disability that so few people know about or have any answers to. We as parents must keep plodding along and doing what we do best, that is never giving up on Samuel and always fighting to raise a tiny bit of awareness.

Thank you so much for reading it means the world to me..... Gary