So here’s the deal, after the last couple of posts I’ve realised a few things. Firstly it would seem that I spend quite a bit of time in Dundee and that’s maybe coming across as me not really wanting to be in Aberdeen and escaping it as soon as I can. That could not be any further from the truth. Dunders isn’t a distraction for me, Dunders is an absolute pleasure now. I get to spend good time with good people and I get to miss Mal which is actually a brilliant feeling, it reminds me he’s forever my lobster.

Secondly I realised that my mum has access to this blog. If she reads it I hope it gives her a bit of perspective on just how small a part of my childhood my brother actually played and how little the bastards actions should mean to her now. That kinda led to my third realisation. I’ve spoken a lot about my dad but not that much about my mum and the two really do go hand in hand (no pun intended!). I feel like I need to address that but if I’m going to talk about the two biggest influences in my life I kinda need to backtrack a little.

When we were kids growing up in their household I was unashamedly a daddy’s boy whereas my brother gravitated towards my mum. Not for any other reason than he was first on the scene and he came along at a really difficult time for her, kinda commandeered her focus as babies tend to do and carried her through a really tough period in her life. My link to my dad always has been and always will be cars. I’ve already said that he has had physical limitations from before I was born and a lot of our connection came through me being the fetcher of the jacks and spanners and the holder of the torch as and when their taxis broke down and needed repairs. That extended to scrabbling through scrapyards where he couldn’t or going into car part stores where he couldn’t: Brian the gopher (go for…geddit!). Anyway, all good fun. When my sister came along she kinda usurped both of us boys (as girls tend to do) and became the apple of my dad’s eye.

Cow.

As a unit mum and dad were just your average working class couple, lived your average working class life and had the average working class arguments. Nothing out of the ordinary but in my eyes they were. I already said how as a nipper I naively saw my friends’ families as different, usually a little better as I explained here. I knew quite young that mum and dad weren’t the most demonstrative of people, not cloyingly affectionate but not clinically cold either. It wasn’t quite Flowers In The Attic nor was it The Darling Buds Of May but we always knew we were loved even if it just wasn’t said a lot. Something my whole family are actually pretty guilty of. That aside we were generally pretty happy.

As the years progressed and I found the freedom of a car, financial independence (kinda) and began to find my own feet I’m not ashamed to admit that I began to emotionally distance myself from everyone around me and unfortunately that included my mum and dad. I still lived under their roof and I still helped out as and when needed but we didn’t really talk in any depth, of course we didn’t. I was keeping more secrets than a Conservative Government and silence meant safety but it also meant lies. White lies of who I was seeing, where I was going and what I was doing but lies nonetheless.

Looking back I think they knew full well that I was being less than honest, certainly my mum did, she’s not daft. But they never pushed it, just left me to get on with things probably knowing full well that I would come round when I was good and ready. I think I might have too but as is usually the case life tends to get in the way and just at the point I was drumming up the courage to be honest, at least regarding my sexuality my mum fell ill. Really ill.

And once again that conversation was put on the back burner. It wasn’t important anymore. Right then what was important was them. You see mum’s always been very strong willed, very practical and quite a dominant force within the family (as most mums are) and here she was literally battling for her life. Her and my dad needed support, needed looking after. All of a sudden I began to feel the shift.

Those of you of a certain age will understand this. There comes a point in your relationship with your folks where the balance of care begins to tip and all of a sudden you’re reverse parents. Maybe not literally but certainly mentally. For whatever reason you become acutely aware of their mortality, their fragility and their vulnerabilities. No matter how physically or mentally well they are, how fiercely independent or stubbornly self-reliant they are something will happen that shines a light on the fact that while you’ve been getting older, so have they. While you have been becoming stronger and more independent they have begun to become less so and the balance shifts.

So you start to worry no matter how hard you try to not.  Can they get out and about? Is the weather too bad to drive in? Are they okay financially? Are they lonely? Can they just generally manage? Then it becomes What if he falls over again? What if she gets unwell again? What if…..? It’s pointless but you can’t help yourself. Your mind runs away with itself and before you know where you are you’ve got one in an oxygen tent turning blue and the other in traction with broken hips. You see your parents age in front of your very eyes and your brain goes from 0-100 in a split second and there is absolutely nothing you can do to slow it down because you knew this day was looming.

You see over the last maybe ten years or so my folks have not had their sorrows to seek and as much as they will argue otherwise it has absolutely taken its toll. The stress of my brothers choices, the shock of my sister and my disclosures and I’d go so far as to say the realisation of their own mortality. Their health hasn’t been great for a long time, living where they do they are a bit socially isolated and aside from my sister, her husband and I immediate familial support has been absolutely fucking disgraceful. So you try your damndest to fill in the gaps. You try to be all things to each of them and end up falling flat.

Up until the beginning of the year I mostly stayed with them, was there pretty much every day or every other day but didn’t really see huge changes in either of them as I was seeing them all of the time. That in itself was the problem. I was seeing them often but not really paying much attention. We were spending time together but not really doing much, not really saying much. I can’t honestly say I was aware of how much things were impacting on them. Obviously I knew that they were both ageing, both beginning to slow down but it was more of a gradual thing for me as I was there in the thick of it all. Now I’m a million miles away (80 really) whenever I do get to head down to Dunders I see just how much they have both changed.

Now, don’t for a single second think I’m suggesting they are doddery old codgers patiently waiting to join the Choir Invisible. They are not, not by a long shot. They are pretty much the same two halfwits they have always been. Mum still has her fiery temper, her quick wit and her sharp tongue (Christ alone knows where I get it from…). She can still tell a story better than anyone I know and still does pretty much everything for my dad without (much) complaint. (Sidebar, I don’t think she has the slightest clue how much my sister and I utterly respect her for that and appreciate everything she does for us too but anyways, back to the yarn.) As for my dad he’s still as sharp as ever (when he wants to be), as mischievous as he’s ever been and he’s still the gruff, rude, dismissive, grumpy, soft centred and big hearted lump we’ve all adored since the day we met him.

They are just older. A little slower, a little greyer but still essentially the same. I feel protective now where I didn’t before. If they had beef with anyone I’d leave them to it, let them sort it out themselves because they were more than capable of doing it. Nowadays if anyone upsets them or causes them grief I get defensive of them and tend to make a stand, much like most people would. My folks taught me how to shit in a toilet and eat with a fork. They showed me how to treat others with respect and not be an arsehole. They taught me how to stand up for myself (ironically) and not have the piss taken out of me. They did for us when we couldn’t do for ourselves and now it’s our turn.

Our turn to do the things that are beyond them, the heavy lifting if you will. They are both still pretty independent but some things are a bit too much for them and that’s where my sister, her husband and I tend to pick up the slack. Gardening, decorating, deep cleaning, that kind of gig. Anything we can do to help out and lend a bit of support we’ll do, regardless of how far away I might be or whatever responsibilities Julie and Billy’s own family life might throw up, we’re all there and if I’m really honest I love how that works now.

I love it because since I moved away things feel better. We actually talk now. We have things to say, news to share. I’m amazed at how well my parents have taken to Mal, how quickly he’s become one of the family. My dad absolutely adores him and he’s had more hugs from my mum than anyone I know and I love it. I love how they have blossomed into brilliant grandparents. I love how my dad made a point of pushing himself into driving up to Aberdeen to see my home, how my mum follows every step of the renovations on Mal’s blog. I love how my sister and I have closed ranks and done this ourselves, decided the dead wood was out of the picture and just got on with it. If I’m really honest I love that I feel needed. I just love it.

The absolute joys of reverse parenting!