THE ABSENT FATHER?

by David Hague

Once upon a time there was a woman called Lesley. She grew up with her mother, and twin brother and sister. Mother was an independent lady, hard and crisp on the outside, yet sloppy in the middle - a bit like an overcooked rhubarb crumble. What about Lesley's brother and sister? Well, salt and pepper is what she called them. A bit strange you're thinking? They called Lesley vinegar, so I guess that evens things out a bit. The three of them got on OK I suppose, occasionally coming together tidily in the cruet, but more often scattered around the table, always just that bit beyond reach. So much for salt and pepper; who were Lesley's closest friends? There were two characters whom she loved dearly; always there to cuddle and comfort her. They never argued with Lesley; they never criticised her or laughed at her hairstyle. Their names? George and Mildred. George was an overweight, one-eyed tabby cat, and Mildred a crossbred Spaniel and Airedale Terrier, who always sniffed visitors in embarrassing places. There's somebody missing in Lesley's network of relationships, I hear you saying. What about her father? Well, I am sorry to say, that Lesley grew up without her father. In fact, she never knew who her father was.

Over the years, Lesley had built up a picture of her father. There were no photos of him in the house, but bit-by-bit she built up a picture of what he was like. Not so much his appearance, but his character. Distant, angry, looking for fault, never satisfied, vindictive..... I could say more, but you get the drift, I'm sure. Just occasionally, Lesley would glimpse a far back watery glimmer in her mother's eye, a softer light and a reminder of something different to the controlled unseeing blink, that shuts out the pain.

It wasn't until Lesley was about eight that she realised her father was not dead, but that he and her mother had gone different ways, when she was a baby. It was some years after she left home, that Lesley discovered her father lived in the next town, not far from the college she attended to train as a secretary. After some careful research, Lesley tracked down the street and the house where her father lived. She would sometimes go by on the bus, and stare in a long-sighted way, trying to pierce the net curtains with x-ray vision to get a glimpse of him. What was her father really like? She asked many people about him and received many conflicting opinions.

One day, Lesley sat next to her mother, who seemed to be miles away. "Penny for your thoughts, mum", Lesley said. "I was thinking about your father", her mother replied. "I don't want to hear a thing about him, said Lesley, desperately hoping her mother would let her into her thoughts. And she was not disappointed. Indeed, far from being disappointed, Lesley's ears and eyes opened wider and wider as the story unfolded. There isn't enough time to go into it now, but suffice to say the situation was quite the opposite of what Lesley had imagined. Lesley's mother revealed how it had been her, who had not worked at the relationship; always too busy to go out for walks, or sit down and have a meaningful chat with Lesley's father. Always too tired to listen to what he had to say, or find out what really mattered to him. It was Lesley's mother, who had asked her father to leave. He hadn't wanted to go, but in the end, all his attempts to communicate with Lesley's mother had been rejected, and finally it was she who had left him. "Even now he longs for us to get back together", said Lesley's mum.

From that day on, Lesley increased in her desire to get to see her father. Somehow, this quest had a different perspective. Before her mother's revelation, Lesley had felt a great gulf between her and her father, because of her perception of him. Now it was the other way round. She was beginning to see her father in a new light, and now she felt a long way from him, rather than he a long way from her, if you see what I mean. Lesley started to reflect on her own thoughts and feelings, and great guilt overcame her. She had built up great anger and resentment about her father over the years. His name had been a swear word on her lips. Her thoughts were even worse. She had yelled at him for not being there for her, yet she had also called on his name to help her too. Lesley felt dirty, dishonest and devoid of all worth.

She would go and stare at her father's house from a distance, hiding behind the bus shelter. She longed to go and knock on the door, but she could not summon up the courage. In any case, how could she look him in the eye, knowing all that she had thought and said. What would he say to her? - probably he'd yell at her and tell her to get out. Now she was beginning to realise the truth about her father, you would have thought Lesley would have started to feel better. But she felt worse. In fact, she stopped going to stare at her father's house, and went to the pub nearby instead. She couldn't eat, and then she'd eat too much to compensate. One night, staring down into the tepid grey water of the downstairs toilet bowl, she yelled, "Lord, help me!", and doubled the depth of the water with her tears.

The next day a most mysterious thing happened. Just as she left work, Lesley caught sight of a small child from the corner of her eye. The child was laughing and dancing, jumping hopscotch like from paving stone to paving stone. All of a sudden the child grasped Lesley's hand, and gently pulled her along. Lesley did not know what to think; it was like she wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time. She could hardly stand up. She thought everyone would look at her and laugh, as she too hopscotched down the road, led by the child. But they didn't laugh. Eventually they stopped on a hill in the park. Lesley looked down at the child, but nobody was there. The child had disappeared. Where the child had come from or gone to, Lesley never did find out. It was like the child was a gust of wind, and who knows where the wind starts and ends? Lesley looked up, and sitting on a nearby bench was a most intriguing man. He looked as young as her nephew and as old as her grandfather, all at the same time. Innocent wisdom and gentle magnificence with all seeing eyes. I suppose the man must have just turned thirty. With awesome innocence he invited Lesley to sit by him on the bench. He said nothing for a while and then pulled out a package wrapped in cling film and two cartons of Ribena. Unwrapping the cling film, the man offered Lesley a sandwich. Seeing the questioning look in her eye, he broke the silence with three memorable words: "prawn and mayonnaise". Lesley couldn't remember how long they spoke for, but it was as short as a second and long as the night all at the same time.

Lesley would go every day to the park bench, hoping the man would be there. To her delight he would turn up regular as clockwork, each day with his cling-filmed sandwiches and cartons of drink. If you asked Lesley to describe his physical appearance, she would be hard-pressed to describe the main features. The nearest she can get to it, is that he looked a bit like a vicar, but he couldn't have been, because he was so real and normal. And his body, well, it was like he was solid and transparent all at the same time. I'd love to be able to tell you all that the man discussed with Lesley, but that would fill up every blank cassette tape in Woolworth's. One thing I know she'd like me to tell you is his story about a cross. Two simple rough pieces of wood on which a man was executed, a man in his early 30's. Lesley remembered a talk she'd heard once before in a church about this, but it had sounded really foolish at the time. Now it made sense, and she felt strangely clean. All her guilt began to evaporate, and day-by-day she regained her confidence and felt less and less the need to drink too much and started to eat properly.

One day in January, one of those depressing grey days when the sky touches the ground and it is neither warm nor cold, the man on the park bench got up and started to walk. He headed off at quite a pace. Lesley got up and followed him. They headed off together, and just as they arrived at the bus stop at the edge of the park, what can only be described as a miracle occurred: a bus arrived on time. Then the second miracle followed in seconds: the driver smiled, willingly gave change for the ticket, and wished them a safe and happy ride.

Twenty minutes later, the bus arrived at the stop close to Lesley's father's house. Still following the man, she found herself at the front door. To Lesley's amazement, he simply pushed he door and it swung open. Before she could ask, he said "I can come in here whenever I like". In a few heart-stopping paces Lesley found herself in the living room, and there sitting in an enormous armchair was her father. Lesley felt a panic rising within her, all the shameful thoughts and attitudes breaking to the surface as fast as Lesley tried to push them down again. She glared at her father from under her eyelashes, and noticed that he wasn't looking at her, but at the man. The man was on the right hand side of the armchair, pouring a thick black liquid into the wastepaper basket. As the final drops of the liquid descended, Lesley's father gradually began to turn his head, and his eyes met Lesley's. Love poured from his eyes, which reached down into the depths of her very being.

"You may not know me" he said, "but I know everything about you ..." [1]

"For you were made in my image ....." [2]

"You are my offspring ...." [3]

"I have been misrepresented by those who don't know me...." [4]

"I am not distant and angry, but am the complete expression of love ...." [5]

"And it is my desire to lavish my love on you, simply because you are my child and I am your father." [6]

"Daddy", yelled Lesley, and she rushed into his open arms.

David Hague

© St. Peter's Church, Stevenage 2003

[1] Psalm 139:1

[2] Geneses 1:27

[3] Acts 17:28

[4] John 8:41-44

[5] 1 John 4:16

[6] 1John 3:1