Perhaps it is surprising that I have had three sets of
parents in my life. Perhaps it’s also slightly odd that my birth parents
are both still alive but my 'younger' 3rd dad
now isn’t. He died really recently and, although it wasn’t a huge shock
as he was ill this, plus the additional shock of a church friend’s
husband dying unexpectedly last week, has made me pause and reflect
about the dads in my life.
MK’s (aka ‘missh’ kids, or kids with missionary parents)
are prone to having extended families that have nothing to do with blood
relatives. I had loads of aunties and uncles not remotely connected to
my family. And I had connections to a large community
of people where I lived as a child, of all nationalities and race. It
was a jumbled odd life.
At my first boarding school I had dorm 'parents' who
looked after a huge family of children of all ages, but I was one of
many, so they and I were passing ships in the night really. Mind you, I don't have
the best memories of 'Uncle' Hank.
My second set of parents were the people who became my
‘guardians’ when I was in boarding school in the UK, acting in loco
parentis - amazing people really. I mean, would you take into your home a
pair of bolshy, slightly weird teenagers (my
brother and I)? Go to their school parents evenings (3 hours drive
away) etc., give them time and space to grow up? Along with their own
teenage kids? Much kudos to these 2nd parents of mine. On an aside they introduced me to wine......and conveniently had a dog who was lovely! It was
my 'Aunty' Sheila of these second parents who was both mum and dad as 'Uncle' John was a super busy person. Sheila died last year,
but we kept in touch until then.
My 3rd dad
(and mum) were teachers at my boarding school. How impossible it is to
talk sometimes about the pros and cons of schools such as these. I know instinctively I said 'no' to my children ever attending a boarding
school. But at this particular
school were the loveliest, kindest (sometimes quite sharp and
challenging too) couple who taught me Physics and Cookery respectively.
They lived on site, had a young family themselves and just opened their house to waifs
and strays from the School. They collected a lot of
us. They mothered and fathered us, they fed us (cakes and cakes and more
cakes), they allowed us to spend time in their garden, they taught us (sorry M, I was always rubbish at Physics but
'we' got a B at 'O' level! How amazing was that?!), and they gave of
themselves and their lives. My 3rd dad
(and mum)
kept in touch when I left, they came to my wedding (well, I did ask
them), they wrote us long letters and kept up with what we were doing on social media.
So when your dad dies it's awfully hard. When your 3rd dad dies it's definitely weird as well as hard. But writing something about him and what he did to become my 3rd dad helps a little.
