Dad 2

He was a gym rat, my Dad.  He hung out with the guys, lifted huge weights, somehow managed to look skinny, held a NZ record for 12 years before someone lifted something heavier.  He was a gymnast, a boxer, a referee.  He was a mans man.

They’d go hunting, him and his bro.  Take the dogs.  Up the hills, into the bush where the pigs would go for your knees.  He would slink when he walked, just like Sean Connery when he was young.

He and his bro went fishing one time.  Took the dog.  They got a leak.  Dad rowed, he was the strong one.  Stacy got the water out of the boat.  The dog panicked.  It was a dog.

He got to choose between a train and a car.  He chose the car.  I don’t know why.  The train derailed.  Slid down into the water.  Everyone was trapped inside.  They all died.  They drowned, even the strongest swimmers.  Most of his weightlifting friends were on that train. 

He broke his back.  Lifted something too heavy.  He healed, well, his spine did.  Couldn’t lift more than 90 pounds after that.  That was worse than the train.

He split up from my Mum.  I went with Nana.  The boys were with Mum.  Dad drifted, eventually came to live with Nana too.  He found a job as a store man, throwing around 60-pound sacks all day long.

Every night he sat at the piano. His thick gnarled hands would get stuck between the keys.  He’d put a pencil behind his ear.  He would play Chopin.  He would write music and love songs to my Mum.

I would watch him from the staircase, broken body, broken heart, scribbling at the staves, bringing his most beautiful poems to life with the loveliest music.