Any Man Can Make a Child…

But that does not make him a Father.

Turning ten years old was something I had been looking forward to for about ten years. To me it was such a milestone. I would no longer be a little girl but well on my way to being a woman. It is very entertaining to recall the thoughts you had as little person.

The months leading up to my tenth birthday had been fairly tough for my family. My biological father had decided that he didn’t want to be a dad anymore to the three most awesome humans on the planet so he left… the country… probably to ensure we could never find him again. At this point I was almost ten, my sister was seven and my brother was three. My mum made sure that I was still to get the tenth birthday party I had been dreaming about my whole life.

The party was amazing. I had a few friends sleeping over and we sang and danced to Ice, Ice Baby and Informer by Snow well into the night. We had the whole upstairs area to ourselves to make as much noise and giggle like little school girls (because that is what we were) to our hearts content. I didn’t really think about the fact that I didn’t have a dad anymore because my mum was always playing both parts.

Due to financial difficulties we had to relocate into a smaller dwelling. Months after, the wooden plank fence surrounding the property began to collapse. My mum, after looking through the local paper, found a carpenter that could fix the fence for her.

Now, at the time I didn’t know that the man who had come to fix the fence had fancied my mum and had asked her out on a date. I found out a lot of this information much later. From what I have been told, they went out on a date, found that they got along really well and had a few more subsequent dates from there.

I recall meeting him one night before they were heading out. My aunty was looking after us. I remember coming into the lounge room and he was sitting there talking with my aunty whilst waiting for my mum to be ready.

I did not like him at all. I wanted nothing to do with him and I’m pretty sure I made that extremely clear to him. Who did this guy think he was? Taking my mother out on a date! I decided I would have to put a stop to this.

A few days’ later mum sat me down to talk about this situation. I was not having a bar of it. I told her that I didn’t want her seeing him. She asked why and of course I had no logical answers. It just made me feel terrible inside knowing that my mum was with another man. I was so shitty about the situation but my mum had requested that I spend a bit of time with him and if I still didn’t like him she would end the relationship. Fantastic! All I had to do was spend the day with him and tell her at the end of it that I didn’t like him and it would all be over! What a grand plan. I was almost eleven at this point and honestly thought I was the most intelligent person around. Never once did it occur to me that she might really like this guy. I couldn’t see beyond my own selfishness.

The grand plan day arrived. I was to assist him in fixing a cabinet at home. I did what was asked and answered the questions he asked with as little words as possible, all along thinking about how I was going to end the relationship. After we finished that he asked if we could go out for pizza. I was onto his plan. This man was going to learn quite quickly that I couldn’t be bought with pizza! So we went and had pizza and then gelato. By the time we got back I had laughed a few times at some of the things he had said and I had managed to answer questions using more than one word.

Over the next few weeks I began to look forward to assisting him with projects around the house. He taught me how to use power tools and those skills have stayed with me.

My brother and sister adored him straight away but they were too young to understand any different. I still had my reservations on the matter but seeing my mum so happy made me realize that I had to give this man a chance.

Over the course of the next few months the one thing that stuck out is the time and patience he had for us. He never made us feel like we were annoying which I am sure at times we totally were.

It was shortly after that, on our first Father’s Day with him that the three of us kids made him breakfast and hand wrote a card. In the card we asked if it would be ok to call him Dad. I for one was so nervous to hand the card over. What if he says no? I had grown to really appreciate him and enjoyed having him around. That kind of rejection would really hurt. I eventually conjured up the strength to pass the card over. He read the card and cried. From that moment on, he was our dad.

A couple of years later, my parents sat us down to tell us that we were going to have another sibling. At this point I was thirteen. I was excited but also very scared. We were not his flesh and blood. This new addition would be. What if we were forgotten or treated differently? What if I didn’t feel the same connection I felt with my other siblings? It was nine months of anxiety waiting for this baby to be born and determine the rest of our lives.

Towards the end of June that year, my mum went into hospital and returned with a baby boy. He was absolutely beautiful and at almost fourteen years old I felt like a mini mum. I would hang out to feed him and change him and rock him to sleep. This little bundle of joy made us become even more of a family.

My parents have now been together for twenty-two years. My dad has been there for all of us through all the good times and bad times. He has been there to pick up the pieces when our realtionships fall apart (mainly mine) and comfort us when life doesn’t go to plan. He has been there to celebrate the wins in life and always encourages us to follow our dreams. He has supported us financially, emotionally and mentally throughout the whole time he has been in our lives.

Now seeing him as a Grandfather to my daughter, it has shown me that it takes a particularly special kind of person to do as my dad has done. The bond he has with my daughter is beautiful. He would do absolutely anything for her and she loves him with all of her heart.

My dad is amazing. He took on three children and worked hard to ensure we had everything we could ever want. He makes my mum happy and together they have achieved so much.

Never once, in all the years, were the three of us ever made to feel any different. Realistically we are not his biological children but it is something that never crosses our minds. If anyone ever asks about the family, my dad has always mentioned the four of us kids. In his mind, he has four children and in our minds, we have one father.

I am forever grateful that our fence was falling down and he was the one my mum called to fix it.

I feel extremely lucky to have two wonderful parents and three siblings who I love equally. We have an unbreakable bond.

Any man can make a child, but it is the one that is present and loves and cares for his children that makes a father. And I have the best father in the world.

We love you Daddy.

Sophia x - signature

My Mum, My World

Mother, is the name for god on the lips and hearts of all children.

This quote is from one of my favourite movies The Crow and the words have such meaning for me. My mum, to me and I’m sure the rest of my siblings is just that… God.

To celebrate Mother’s Day, I thought it would be a great gift and honour to introduce you all to my mum and explain why I think she is amazing.

My mum came from a fairly strict European family. Domestic violence was the norm from her parents and brothers on a regular occasion. She was married at age 16 and was pregnant with me at 17. I was born just after she turned 18 years old. My mum seemingly had left one hell and had found herself in another even worse hell, if that was even possible.

Her husband (my sperm donor) was exceptionally abusive and sadistic. He had betrayed my mother and their marital vows on many occasions. I believe, back then, she was too young and too naïve to fully understand how wrongly she was being treated but also, this lifestyle was all that she had known for her entire existence. I guess she had learned to accept it as a normal way of life.

Over the years she added another daughter and son to her brood. We were an extremely tight knit family, my mum and my siblings. I have very minimal memories of Mum’s husband being around. I don’t remember him being present for dinner or on special occasions. I only have one memory, and that is of us all going to the Zoo. On the way I fell over and he laughed at me, so I cried.

When I was 10 years old, my mum’s husband told her that he no longer wanted to be a father (no great loss as I don’t think he was much of one) or a husband and so would be moving back to his home country.

I vaguely recall the day he packed his belongings and left. Mum was so careful not to show us kids that she was scared. My mum had never lived alone as such and although us three were with her, she was now our sole protector.

A little while later she was contacted by the bank in regards to overdue mortgage payments. As far as she was aware, the house was paid off but it turns out that the sneaky bastard had taken out a loan against the house and had taken the money overseas with him. This just shows in a nutshell what a total piece of shit this man was. Not only did he leave his wife and three children and move to another country but also put them in absolute financial ruin. Top Bloke.

Mum had no choice but to put the house up for sale. This was a very scary and uncertain time. I was sort of old enough to understand what was happening and to understand the fear and uncertainty that came with it. I believe it was at this point that my anxiety started to develop (I’ll save the anxiety stories for another time).

The house sold quite quickly and Mum had to start to work out the next part of the plan. She managed to find the shittiest house in the absolute asshole of the universe, of course because the price was right and due to the extra funds taken out on the original house, she didn’t have a lot to work with. Once settlement had occurred, us kids were sent to my grand parent’s farm so Mum could work on the house and have it ready for us to move into.

I will never forget the day when Mum took me to the new house. Looking back, I feel bloody terrible. I will admit now that I had absolutely zero faith in her capabilities. The house was, in every sense of the word, fucked. Parts of the walls were missing, it was so small, so run down and in my eyes definitely not inhabitable. I tried to fight back the tears while Mum gave me the grand tour and explained in explicit detail, with such enthusiasm and positivity, what each room will look like once she was finished. All I could think was how? How was she going to do this all on her own? I was only 10 years old and clearly didn’t have a degree in building and construction but even I could see that this place needed much more than a paint job. I remember leaving the house thinking my mum was crazy and we were doomed. My grand mother had joined us on the tour and I remember her flipping out at my mum in Italian. I didn’t understand exactly what she was saying but my mum was visibly upset and as much as I didn’t understand exactly what was being screamed at her, I knew I agreed.

Shortly after, we were taken to my grand parent’s farm for an extended holiday. Mum would call us often and would come visit on the weekends. I can’t recall exactly how long we were there for. It honestly seemed like a lifetime but I’m sure it was only a few weeks. Every time we saw her she looked worse and worse. She had lost so much weight and seriously looked like death. I felt disconnected from her as I couldn’t understand what she was doing and I guess part of me resented her for leaving us. Clearly I was just a kid and didn’t understand much about life. I look back now and I feel like such an asshole.

The day finally came that Mum called to say she was coming to get us and take us home. I was ever so anxious and filled with absolute dread. We were accustomed to living quite well. We had a beautiful house once upon a time and we wanted for nothing. I felt like that part of my life was dead now and I was entering a new life. One of struggle and poverty in a broken house.

We finally arrived at our new place of residence. The journey had been long and draining. Mum and us three kids piled onto the front porch. I looked at my mum and as much as she looked like shit, withdrawn, so awfully skinny and dead tired, I noticed she had an air of pride about her. Again I was convinced this woman had lost her marbles. Looking around I noticed that the house looked slightly different from the outside but not much.

She swung open the door and we stepped in. All I could do was cry.

The house looked nothing like I had seen only a few weeks prior. The walls were fixed, plaster had been replaced and painted, the floors were nicely polished and the house had been extended out. My tiny mind was blown. I didn’t understand how this woman had managed to do all these things in that short span of time. I was so proud of my mum at that moment.

We spent the next few weeks settling in, getting back to school and into a normal routine.

One night, after my siblings had gone to bed I stayed up to hang with Mum. Some nights she would allow me to stay up a bit with her and we would feast on cheeses and cold meats whilst watching TV. This was our bonding time. It was on this night that she explained in great detail exactly what she had endured to get our lives back on track.

As it turns out, shortly after we had arrived at my grand parent’s farm, the local council had condemned the property. That involved even more work to get the house to a habitable status. My mum worked day and night, sometimes sleeping on the floor in quick spurts to be able to meet the deadline. Most of her family disowned her as they believed she was crazy and thought it best that we seek commission housing. She had very little money to pay anyone with so most of the work was done by her. She also explained that the help she did receive was from people that had heard about her situation and wanted to donate their time as they were so inspired by what she was doing. She absolutely busted her gut to be able to make something for her family. I thought I was proud of her before but at that moment, I believed she was God.

A year later she met a wonderful man who I can proudly call my Dad (I’ll save that introduction for Father’s Day) and basically lived happily ever after, with the addition of another son.

My mum has always devoted her life to her children. She has gone without so we can have more. She has always had time for us and absolutely drains all of us, still to this day with her constant stress and worrying about our wellbeing. She is my best friend and the first person I call for anything, good or bad. I constantly ask for her opinion on everything because I know that no one has my back like my mum. I know she will only ever give me the best advice because she only wants the best for me. I know my siblings feel the exact same way. My mum fought against the odds and made enemies with her family members and friends because they didn’t support or believe in her. She took a massive risk but I don’t believe she ever thought she might fail. The love, devotion and strength for her children is what made her succeed. I don’t believe there is anything on this earth my mother couldn’t or wouldn’t do for her family. She is the lioness of the pride, constantly ensuring our survival.

Now having a daughter of my own, I can only hope that I am even half the inspiring, devoted, strong woman that my mum is. I hope that one day my daughter feels the same way about me. My mum taught me values, respect, strength and unconditional love and that is what I try to instill in my daughter everyday.

And this is why, to me, my mum is a God.

To celebrate our mothers today, I would love to hear about the wonderful things your mum does.

Sophia x - signature