Oxford

Day out in Oxford today, bloody freezing temperatures, -3 all the way down and it must've been colder than that with the wind.  

We arranged to meet up with Uncle John, I wish I'd taken my microphone. It was lovely sitting in Starbucks listening to him and mum tell stories.  John kept putting on a thick Yorkshire accent and doing impressions of 'Norm' - a guy who never had a puncture, always a pumpture . . .'cause you pump it up'.   Brilliant.  It reminded me slightly of the scene in Mary Poppins where they are all laughing and they float up to the ceiling, the jokes were kind of similar. 

It was sad to see John with Tilly, he is like mum, can make kids laugh and entertain them.  I remember many times being excited that John was coming, lots of thumb disappearing gags and knee bouncing.   He has two granddaughters but doesn't see them anymore, and hasn't for years. Such a shame, they grow up so quickly and I think it is a crime if people are stopped from seeing their grandparents.  If adults have a gripe that is one thing but don't neglect your children's rights to know their relatives.  I'm not sure what happened but there comes a time to bite the bullet and sort it out, if not for your children for your own conscience.   I did that with Pat.  When I made contact with him, it was purely for selfish reasons.  It wasn't that I was desperate to see him or have a father figure in my life but something that Simon had said to me about his own father.  He didn't get the chance to say certain things and was sad about that.  One of the main reasons for me contacting Pat was to make peace, to know that I'd done all I could to set the record straight and sound anything happen I would not feel guilty or wonder 'what if'?'.   We have a contact relationship but it is very sparce, a parcel here and there a birthday card and that is about it.  At some point soon I will take Matilda to see him, if not just for her to have a photo of her and her grandfather - what right have I to stop her from having that chance, that photo? 

Daddy time

I have been at work again today, on a Sunday! Yet another day taken away from me spending time with Matilda but a wonderful opportunity for Richard to spend more time with her and gain more confidence as he is brilliant with her. Over the last few weeks, we have changed the routine as it was taking me so long to get to and from nursery, so Richard now takes her and picks her up. This has been great as I have seen him just grow in confidence with her. Spending a whole day with her is lovely and I'm pleased Richard has done it, done it really well and most importantly really enjoyed himself. It is a beautiful thing watching them together so bonded.

The same could not be said for me and my own father. Don't get me wrong, this is no sob story, in fact my immediate family history has always been seen by me as a bit of joke or a good dinner party story. "Did you know I am the daughter of a Catholic Priest?" Always an interesting show stopper really, I quite enjoy watching people's faces as they suddenly stop, not knowing whether to laugh, if I'm joking or carefully treading an imaginary path to unpick evidence to see if I am scarred by such a sordid past. No I'm not. My mum had an affair with the local priest, she was already married with four children and fled down south, married him hastily and had me a few months after. This could have been fairly romantic I suppose but the tables soon turned for her and he walked out and left us for another woman on my fifth birthday. Anyway, long story short; after my mother's breakdown and a custody ruling which meant I had to see him every Saturday for seven years before I rebelled, I stopped seeing him when I was about 14. Given all of the above I think I've turned out considerably well balanced.

After I left Uni, I wrote a letter to him. I was curious, what did he think of me? Did he ever think about me? It wasn't something I was pining for, a relationship with him. I don't really know him.
I wrote him a letter stating that I wanted nothing from him, just to let him know where I was, that I didn't want to go over who did what and who should take the blame. I've had so much of that from mum and I'm not interested. As an adult I realise that people fuck up, people make mistakes and sometimes don't always make the best decisions, there is no guide book for life. Well I was shocked when he wrote back. I remember falling to the floor in floods of tears as I realised the letter was him.  That was back in 2000. Since then I have had fairly consistent contact with Elodie, my half sister and some brief contact with Damien but very sparce contact with Pat. My and Elodie's contact heightened before our wedding, a difficult choice as I wanted her to share my day but didn't mention it at all as I knew that they could not attend the wedding. Mum was there and it would have screwed up her day and mine, it wouldn't have been my about my wedding it would ahve been about them, me and the rest of my family. It was best for them not to know, so that is what we did. I later sent them a picture and carefully crafted letters to Pat and one to Elodie.

I let them know with everyone else when I was pregnant. Now this was slightly different from marriage. I was making Pat a grandfather. I didn't get much of a response, a brief email. These things don't bother me much. I'm just fascinated to think what he really thinks, I get some very kind and bland mails but nothing that gives his game away. I'm never sure if it is because I laid down the law so clearly in that first contact letter, and I call him Pat. Maybe I've set the tone, he is not my dad. He is my father. The two are totally different. A dad is loving, caring and shares a life with their offspring, a father is purely functional, a giver of life.

Since Matilda has been born, he has sent her a few outfits. Each time she has a change up in size we receive a unceremonious parcel with some new outfits for her. That is as much as he has shown an interest in his first grandchild. I have sent a link to photos of her to him but with no response.

My reason for blogging this today is that I have received an email from Pat, out of the blue today. A reply, 4 months late to my last mail thanking him for the last set of clothes for her.

PAT
"That was it!!! hope you're all ok.. autumnn selection to arrive, hopefully, soon......when are you next in the south??"

MY ORIGINAL MAIL: On 13 Jun 2008, at 13:30

"Thank you very much for the parcel for my birthday. The little outfit for Matilda is lovely and perfect for a hot summer - which I hope comes back, it would be typical if that was it!
Hope you are all well. You must be pleased for Damien and his degree.
Lotsa love
Shiv, Rich and Tilly."

Well I'm not sure what to think. I'm agog.  Does sending me a parcel of clothes every three months suffice?  I've had more information in text messages from service providers or spam.  I would rather have an email with contact, some human interaction.  I am not someone to be bought.