My story (4)

(first posted 18th March 2009)

Chapter 4- Absent Father
Sport is one of my greatest passions aside from my writing, and sport played an important role in my writing. Growing up in New Zealand I’d picked up a keen interest in sport especially with rugby union, cricket, rugby league, basketball and ice hockey. Just as the dogs filled the missing fatherly figure in our family, my desire and great interest in sports also filled the absent gap. When my father Andrew was around and messing in our lives, it put the family on unstable ground.
Mum, my sister and I lived in constant fear of him, his bad temper, verbal tirades and threatening violence was a constant vibe in our life and public embarrassments at restaurants and family-friend gatherings was a regular occurrence.
Andrew See was the only son and youngest child with three elder sisters. As the only son his parents spoilt him and allowed him to get away with anything and everything, there was a lack of discipline in the household and therefore Andrew believed that was the way a family was run. He caused trouble and his parents covered up for him. He was regularly causing trouble with the law, being at the wrong place at the wrong time and the centre of attention. He also had a serious drinking problem heavily addicted to alcohol. There was never a time when he didn’t have a beer in hand. When there was no drink in his system he was fine, once the drink was in, his normal behaviour was turned on its head.
Another problem he had, holding onto the past. Before mum filed for divorce he used the marriage to her as the punching bag. He blamed us for trying him down too early and denying him the opportunity to explore further in his life. I don’t believe for one second that he missed out on opportunities in his life, he already wasted it all on his own without anyone’s help without having any direction in his life. But, regardless of that all the emotional baggage he carried with us, the family was his favoured scapegoat.
He was not a tall or intimidating figure with regards to his statue but with that emotional baggage and his addiction along with the out of control character and his stature grew into a force.
One late night in ’95 with mum at work in the hospital Andrew came over, looking a mess, there was menace in his eyes, and his breath drenched in alcohol. He demanded to be let in the house.
‘Where is your mother?’
‘She’s not here she’s at work.’ My sister said.
‘Let me in.’ He demanded.
‘No.’
‘I want to talk to your mother, let me in.’ 
‘I told you she’s at work.’
He refused to budge repeating over and over again he wanted to speak with mum. We didn’t want to cause a scene and finally allowed him inside. He stormed in through to the lounge and plodded himself on the couch his face set. Expressionless. Thunderous black. Deborah and I did our best to talk him out of whatever it was that he wanted from us, only for him to ignore our pleas.
‘Dad, please let it go.’
‘She doesn’t want to talk to you.’
He continued to ignore us and sat in the dark and the tension grew. By the time mum returned home, in a rush that’s when the fierce conversations started then soon turned into a full-fledged blow out argument. All I heard was the stamping of feet, slam on bedroom doors, the coffee table thrown upside down and a glass smashed in the kitchen sink.
Somewhere in all the shouting Deborah and I were herded outside with him, and scene only worsened as he now ranted about never seeing us enough, that we didn’t care and accused mum of brainwashing us. Heated words were exchanged in between all the hysterics of crying until i plucked the courage to say;
‘I don’t ever want to see you again. Stay away from us.’
He lost his cool then and went wild. He kicked the lavender bush at the side, mum tried to pacify him but to no avail. He was too riled up and took his anger out on the rubbish bin. Mum had called a family friend to help out, only for Uncle John to hide out in the basement with a pool cue stick.
Then, Andrew turned his anger on the front door of the house. Our house was situated on a slight slope from the road, he readied himself at t he top ran down, and took strike at t he door. Kicking at it repeatedly until the latch and wood holding the door together finally gave way and broke. The sight was a shattering blow, whatever goodness I thought he had was gone, he destroyed a safe haven a place of sanctity and I held a promise to this day to never forgive and never forget.