My father was, at times, a bit of a tyrant. He usually ruled his large household with an iron fist. However, occasionally his sensitive side was revealed and despite his autocratic nature he developed a strong connection with his children.
On one occasion, approximately forty years ago, just after I had left my local country high school I attended a party with my younger brother Peter. After a few hours at the gathering, with a reasonable amount of social lubricant consumed by those present, my brother asked me to hand over the keys to my father’s beloved Holden ute. Feeling quite relaxed at the time I relinquished my grip on the keys so Peter could take the vehicle for a spin with my classmate, another Peter.
Thus the die was cast, the two Peters set off on a joy ride whilst I continued to enjoy the lagers that were flowing.
A couple of hours later, another classmate informed me that the Peters had had an accident. The vehicle was severely damaged but the lads involved were OK, albeit somewhat shaken.
Subsequently, a posse of young men set off in a convoy of cars to inspect the damage. We discovered, after traveling for fifteen minutes on a gravel road, the Ute wrong side up on the side of the road. With the combined strength of ten or so young lads we returned the vehicle to its wheels and then proceeded to go to the nearest farmhouse to gather a few litres of engine oil. To our surprise the vehicle started immediately. Peter and I, after thanking the group of lads, proceeded to drive back to our parents place. I travelled the fifty kilometres with my neck tilted on a sharp angle. Peter did not suffer that inconvenience because I was in the driving position and was the one who had to be able to view the road.
Upon arriving at our destination I realized that my sore neck was now of little concern being dwarfed by the prospect of fronting up to our father. I told Peter that I was not willing to sleep on this; that we must fess up to Dad immediately. So I knocked on our parent’s bedroom door and took responsibility for the damage. My father quickly retorted, “It’s bloody lucky you weren’t drunk otherwise you may have killed yourself.” And from that moment on, despite his possible temptation to do so, the incident was never raised again.
I expect our father realized that we were ashamed enough, so he never shamed or punished us. Subsequently, our respect for him grew. Good relationships are sometimes forged through difficult situations handled well. Often in my work I encourage couples to resist the temptation to shame each other in their frustrations. Possibly of even more importance, it is crucial that our teachers and parents are aware of the damage that is done in shaming our children in their crucial formative years.
Patrick Moloney 28/12/18