dragged the net and its haul. Hungry seagulls would flap and squawk overhead and the waves would regularly gather the net in fistfuls, as if they were trying to reclaim their own.
Legal-length whiting or flatties were dropped into a bucket half-filled with seawater. Anything else was quickly rescued and returned to the sea. Often the small fish would have the net trapped in the grooves of their gills so real-Dad would part the strands with his fingers then use his other hand to gently push the fish forward, away from danger. Crabs could be fiddly and I wasnât allowed nearthe rays. Real-Dad would use an old towel to clamp the base of the stinger, pick up the animal then carry it carefully to enough depth for it to flutter away.
It was simple and clean and gentle, exactly how real-Dad was, before he gave up and turned into nothingness. Before all that, he was the man who liked the ABC news and books by Elmore Leonard and
Pop Factory
, his favourite CD, made by a band he saw once in Tasmania. He was the man who showed me how to do algebra, made balloon-animals at my kiddy birthday parties and rode an elephant in the Thai jungle. He was the man who told me to wear purple because it was the colour of royalty, not only knew the words to âAmerican Pieâ but knew what they meant, and spent Saturday afternoons playing his lovely old sax in front of the footy, and Saturday nights making the best chicken korma ever. He was all those things and more, my real-Dad, and I canât believe that heâs not like that anymore. I miss him so much, sometimes I think that he might even be â
No. Donât allow it. Bad thought. End now.
MARGARET
Joyous, My Special
This is my third letter and I hope these writings are helping you to understand how things came to be the way they are.
Moving to the city was very hard for you, I know, but what I wanted most of all was for you to gain some independence. Joyous, I have not been the best mother I could have been, despite trying, but some people are just better at it than others and I am one of the lesser ones. Motherhood is a skill and I havenât been strong enough, which doesnât mean that I donât love you because I do withmy utmost heart. It just means that I wasnât always able to support you in the best way possible. I still feel guilty about that, in particular where Sammy-K is concerned, so that was another reason why I wanted you to gain independence so that you could free yourself. It hasnât quite worked out in the way that I wanted and I blame myself for some of that.
We were filled with hope upon first arriving in the city and, as you know, for a long while, well, some months anyway, things went okay. Yes, it was hot and cooped up and on the small side and there was the matter of the no job and money going out at a rate of knots but we always felt there would be an opportunity or two just around the corner. Then the winter came and we had more costs, what with heating and coats and pieces to keep us going and not sick and Sammy-K being very frustrated at how his dreams werenât becoming real and taking it out on you, My Special. I know I should have done more to stop him, I know it deep in my soul of souls, but it just became part of our lives didnât it? The hitting became as much how we were as other things like watching TV and meals the same way every day.
This was my hardest time since the loss of my dear husband and the time, Joyous, when things changed for me and I gave away some hope and the spirit of Thomas Bowen finally left me so I was stranded, a bit like TomHanks in the
Cast Away
movie. But not on an island, of course, I mean as a person with no thought of what to do or where to go. I was looking into the future and seeing little but this apartment and Sammy-K with his anger and drinking and you feeling let down by your bad mother so this is when I started to put on The Weight. It happened that winter without me really
Legal-length whiting or flatties were dropped into a bucket half-filled with seawater. Anything else was quickly rescued and returned to the sea. Often the small fish would have the net trapped in the grooves of their gills so real-Dad would part the strands with his fingers then use his other hand to gently push the fish forward, away from danger. Crabs could be fiddly and I wasnât allowed nearthe rays. Real-Dad would use an old towel to clamp the base of the stinger, pick up the animal then carry it carefully to enough depth for it to flutter away.
It was simple and clean and gentle, exactly how real-Dad was, before he gave up and turned into nothingness. Before all that, he was the man who liked the ABC news and books by Elmore Leonard and
Pop Factory
, his favourite CD, made by a band he saw once in Tasmania. He was the man who showed me how to do algebra, made balloon-animals at my kiddy birthday parties and rode an elephant in the Thai jungle. He was the man who told me to wear purple because it was the colour of royalty, not only knew the words to âAmerican Pieâ but knew what they meant, and spent Saturday afternoons playing his lovely old sax in front of the footy, and Saturday nights making the best chicken korma ever. He was all those things and more, my real-Dad, and I canât believe that heâs not like that anymore. I miss him so much, sometimes I think that he might even be â
No. Donât allow it. Bad thought. End now.
MARGARET
Joyous, My Special
This is my third letter and I hope these writings are helping you to understand how things came to be the way they are.
Moving to the city was very hard for you, I know, but what I wanted most of all was for you to gain some independence. Joyous, I have not been the best mother I could have been, despite trying, but some people are just better at it than others and I am one of the lesser ones. Motherhood is a skill and I havenât been strong enough, which doesnât mean that I donât love you because I do withmy utmost heart. It just means that I wasnât always able to support you in the best way possible. I still feel guilty about that, in particular where Sammy-K is concerned, so that was another reason why I wanted you to gain independence so that you could free yourself. It hasnât quite worked out in the way that I wanted and I blame myself for some of that.
We were filled with hope upon first arriving in the city and, as you know, for a long while, well, some months anyway, things went okay. Yes, it was hot and cooped up and on the small side and there was the matter of the no job and money going out at a rate of knots but we always felt there would be an opportunity or two just around the corner. Then the winter came and we had more costs, what with heating and coats and pieces to keep us going and not sick and Sammy-K being very frustrated at how his dreams werenât becoming real and taking it out on you, My Special. I know I should have done more to stop him, I know it deep in my soul of souls, but it just became part of our lives didnât it? The hitting became as much how we were as other things like watching TV and meals the same way every day.
This was my hardest time since the loss of my dear husband and the time, Joyous, when things changed for me and I gave away some hope and the spirit of Thomas Bowen finally left me so I was stranded, a bit like TomHanks in the
Cast Away
movie. But not on an island, of course, I mean as a person with no thought of what to do or where to go. I was looking into the future and seeing little but this apartment and Sammy-K with his anger and drinking and you feeling let down by your bad mother so this is when I started to put on The Weight. It happened that winter without me really
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