Photo by Ian Wetherill on Unsplash
We often like to reflect on the past and look at our own achievements with pride and joy. We would think about all the effort that went into it and the money spent to get where we are today.
On other days we might think of the "not so good" times. And we might wonder what could have been if we did something in another way or maybe if we wouldn't have done it at all...
But all of this is "me" and "I"... If it wasn't for "me" that project would have been a disaster. "I" was so good at that, etc., etc...
Do we ever stop to wonder who had such an impact on "me" to become who and what I am today?
And I want to get one thing out of the way right from the beginning...and that is the fact that I am not talking about money. I am not referring to how wealthy we have become financially or about our lack of finances. I am talking about who we become as individuals...who did I become as an individual.
And I think that is actually a good point to start off with.
With my post today I want to pay tribute to my father.
And the point I referred to, I think is a good place to start when I speak about my father.
One of the first lessons he taught me, is to never judge a person by his appearance, his possessions, or bank account.
He always told me that you can find a man with millions in the bank, but if he is an evil man, he will be evil and rude irrespective of how much money he has.
Yet, to the contrary, you can find a man who barely has a penny to his name, but if he is a good, honorable man at heart, he will be an aristocrat. You will be able to trust him and rely on him.
That, pretty much, is a good starting point to describe the type of man he was. He treated everybody alike. He would never regard anybody as being better than the next person.
And if he could sense that he was dealing with a bad character, he would just rather avoid him and not mix with him. Yet, he would still not be rude though. He would just remain silent and go his own way.
Even though he was a physically strong man, he was always an even-tempered, soft-spoken gentleman.
In all the years I have had the privilege to know him and spend time with him, I have never heard him raise his voice to anybody.
Yet, he was no walk-over. Everybody loved him, but also had great respect for him. His "yes" was simply yes, and his "no" was simply no. And that would be the end of it.
He would never get involved in any form of argument either. He was always willing to listen to the other person's point of view. If you could convince him that you have a valid point, he would give you credit for it. But if he did not agree, or if he felt the other person was in the wrong, he would calmly make his statement accordingly and it was done.
If you wanted to argue with him, he would calmly sit or stand there until you are done, and then just turn around and walk away. Or if he was busy doing something, he would just carry on doing what he was busy with. But he simply would not get involved in your argument. Once he has given you his point of view, he has said what he wanted to say and it was done.
My father was also a very thorough man. In my personal opinion, he was a perfectionist. Whatever he did, he did it to the best of his ability. And believe me, when he did something, he would make a study of it and then do it right, or he didn't do it at all. If it wasn't right he would keep on doing it until he got it right. There was no "almost right". It was right or it wasn't. And if it wasn't right, you could see him getting frustrated, but he wouldn't get moody about it.
This kind of commitment, dedication, self-discipline, combined with patience, enabled him to build his own house of his dream with his own two hands. It was a huge 5 bedroom house on a 5-acre property.
Unfortunately, I do not have photos that I can quickly lay my hands on, as it is all packed away since our last move. But the place is still standing today in all its glory, just as he has built it. I just checked on Google maps now, and yes, it is exactly as he has built it. I wish I could show you some photos of the place. I don't think Google would appreciate it if I show their image, so I'll dig to find my own photos from the past and see if I can get them to show here.
My father always supported me in whatever I did. And if I did something wrong, he would, in his calm way, point it out to me. And believe me, I listened. Not because I was scared of him. But because I had such respect for him and I valued his opinion so much, I just couldn't stand the idea of disappointing my father.
He always had time to listen in times when I would be facing challenges. No matter what, good or bad, I knew he would always be there.
You might be wondering what triggered me to write this post today.
Well, it was this quote:
While there's life, there's hope. ~ Marcus Tullius
Yes, I came across this quote today, and it brought back memories.
In 1973, I was a 13-year old boy at school, when I got the news.
My father was in a horrible car accident. He was still alive, but he was in a critical condition.
A woman didn't stop at a stop sign. According to all the evidence on the scene, she must have been driving at a very high speed when she smashed into my father's vehicle.
In those days, it wasn't required by law to wear seatbelts. As a matter of fact, many cars didn't even have seatbelts.
My father was flung from his vehicle, but his ankles got trapped in the pedals, and he was dragged next to the vehicle while the vehicle was spinning until it came to a standstill.
My father suffered serious brain injuries. The part of his brain that controlled his balance, was swollen twice its original size.
When we (me and my mother) arrived at the hospital, the only thing the specialists and surgeons could say to us, was "he is breathing. That means he is alive now and that is all we can work with". Not very comforting.
My father remained in a deep coma, with absolutely zero movement for three days. After three days we started noticing small movements like the slight twitching of his fingers, but he remained in the coma for another 10 days.
After coming out of the coma, we were informed that he would never be the man he was before the accident. They said my father would be like a vegetable. He would never be able to do anything for himself ever again.
Yet, my father got out of hospital after several months, and although not a full recovery, but I would say about an 80% recovery.
Although his eyesight was affected and his balance wasn't as good as it should have been, he made a recovery and became fully independent, and lived a full life.
The specialists were dumbfounded. They couldn't believe the extent to which my father recovered. All they could say was that he was a very strong man when the accident happened, and he obviously was a very determined man with a strong fighting spirit and will to live. And then, of course, let's not forget the Grace of God.
He was spared another 18 years for us to enjoy his company. He was able to see me getting married and enjoyed seeing both his granddaughters from me and my wife before he finally left us in 1991 due to an unexpected heart attack.
My father was born in 1919 on the "Dorsland Trek" while in Angola. The Dorsland Trek then went down south and they settled in Southwest Africa, known today as Namibia. My father was a boy of 9 years old when they reached Namibia.
He then grew up on a farm in Namibia and came down to South Africa.
He decided to settle in South Africa after meeting my mother and getting married to her.
He then became a qualified architect and he also qualified himself as a translator. His skills in languages landed him a job in the national translating buro of the then South African Railway Services. He worked himself up to the position of 2nd in Command in the buro and was about to be promoted to the head (chief) of the buro when the accident happened. He wasn't able to return to work and fulfill that final dream.
