by Mat Capper
'When my kids were young I played a game with them. I'd give each of them a stick. One for each of 'em, and I'd tell them to break it. They'd do that easy. Then I'd tell them to make one bundle of all the sticks and try to break that. Of course they couldn't. I used to say that was family, that bundle.'
This dialogue is from my favorite film shot in colour: "The Straight Story." In it, Alvin Straight, played by Richard Farnsworth, travels across America on his lawn mower to visit his dying brother who he hasn't seen in 10 years. The quote is him talking to a pregnant runaway girl about why she should return to her family. In the morning he wakes to find her gone but having left a bunch of sticks tied together by a shoe lace next to the camp fire. I'm probably doing the piece an injustice so I suggest people should go and check out the film. However it does highlight what, for many people, family means.
I have two young children aged 3 and 4. With them I have experienced true unconditional love for the first time. Of course I love the people closest to me, whether it is my wife, friends or family, but my children are the only people I would give my life for without hesitation.
It's a daunting prospect knowing that to some degree or other I am responsible for their development in a world which has lost all value and consideration for others. I have to focus on the good that comes out of the people around me and most importantly in many ways I just have to be there for my children no matter what goes on in their life. It is so important to have a security blanket, somewhere to run when their little worlds collapse.
I'm not sure whether I had that security blanket when I was growing up; or at least I never felt that I had. I'd always love the normality of staying with friends and knowing there was no threat of violence or confrontation. I'd love sitting around a dinner table watching my friends talk and laugh with their siblings and parents. I'd love that it all seemed fair, that there were no bosses, and ogres barking orders. Sometimes I'd stay with a friend called Duncan who when his father came home from work everyone in the family would run to the hall and great him, delighted that their icon had returned from a working days adventure. I couldn't help feeling the envy that often all I felt was a burning ball of fear in my guts as we all sat on tenterhooks at what we were going to be greeted with in my house at the end of the day..
Even writing at this moment I can feel a pang of guilt and fear for exposing what I went through as a child, I have to remind myself that I was innocent and that family bond, that unconditional love, just didn't seem to exist. I don't blame anyone for it, I just look to this day and see that what may have gone for generation after generation stops with me. I am happy to accept that the love I give to my children may never be given back to me, but hopefully it will passed on to theirs.
Nothing would make me happier than to make my children's world as perfect as possible. So when they grow up into men they look and think of me as someone who tried no matter how hard I found it, and that I was someone who was totally dedicated to them no matter what happened. Then I hope to grow old, wear glasses, grow a beard, and have my grandchildren sit on my knee as I tell them wild stories about their parents that I make up and chuckle a chesty laugh watching their little moon faces absorbed by my fabrications, just like I experienced during the times my granddad visited us from London. I could relax for the days he was there, because I knew there would be a very different atmosphere in our house.
My Granddad was like Alvin Straight. I could watch him for hours smoking his pipe, and to this day I adore the smell of tobacco. I remember I always used to ask him how long he was staying, as if to give myself permission to relax for the few days or weeks I'd see him each year. I'd always cry when he left, and feel like the gloom had returned and I was once more back on the rollercoaster ride of survival. I'm not saying my Granddad was a saint, far from it. He'd been a successful businessman, but also spent a long time in jail for importing 'herbs'. Then there was that bomb hoax. The point is that he was my own private icon, my hero and probably the biggest influence on my life. I knew I could sit with him and listen for hours, but most importantly I knew I'd be safe. It's this safety that we all crave as children and it's what every child and human being deserves. In the end, though, I can only make sure I give it to my two boys, and no matter what goes on they will always be my priority…………………Oh and just for the record, not that anyone is interested, my favourite film is 'twelve angry men'.