We married young, the bride still a teenager, but we waited for a while before our first bundle of joy arrived, our beautiful daughter followed a few years later by her little brother.
We were lucky as young parents. We had family support when needed. It was needed especially around babysitting as we both had to work to pay the mortgage and the bills just like countless thousands of other young parents in 1970s New Zealand.
By then single income families were fast fading. A fond relic of days past when mums were always there to send you to school and there when you came home from school with something to eat and a chat about the day.
Both having to work always gave us tiny pangs of guilt as parents. Looking back we could not have managed otherwise.
Both kids are now middle-aged and have done well. We came to Whanganui in 1983 for a better life for our children. It was a wise choice.
Excellent schools and just a quieter, better way of life for us all. Jen even managed a few years off work when we first arrived. A fulltime mum. I could walk to work for the first time in my life.
Like most parents, we regard our children, now well into their 40s, as still children. We still worry about them. Nag them or offer quiet advice. We know whether they choose to listen or not is always their right. We worry if they are unwell or working too hard.
We don’t see enough of them. Well, of course not. They left home in their teens, back home between flats or jobs. Back home where we can care for them.
We know that they are adults, have good jobs, have real lives and great partnerships. Deep down we know that they are both fine but we are still parents.
We like to fret, it comes from a loving place, kids. We held you in our arms as babies. That simple act does something to most humans.
Milestones have always been important in our lives. School graduations, army graduations, university graduations, police graduations, marriage, engagements, new babies, new houses, helping to shift flats in our younger days, beyond us now thankfully. The Bank of Dad and Mum bungs as needed. Just family life.
Our daughter Jodie and her man Steve have been together for eight years. A couple who are busy people and who both have varied interests.
The happy couple.
Steve makes Jodie very happy and I know it’s mutual. They are both artists. Steve is also a musician in our local Hot Potato band and Jodie works as a rehabilitation coach with very serious traumatic brain injury clients. Steve also manages to fit in his day job as a landscaper.
We have quietly asked over the years - well, Jen has - “when’s the wedding”? We are still nosy parents. They change the subject, of course.
Well, at Vintage Weekend, Steve popped the question to Jodie in the middle of Victoria Avenue on a pedestrian crossing.
They are getting married. When? I don’t know. I’m only the father of the bride.
We knew it was coming as a few days before they both turned up late morning with a bottle of bubbles. I thought “a bit early”.
After a bit of chat, Steve gets his phone out and starts filming. He asks us all to stand next to each other. He then asked me for Jodie’s hand in marriage.
I was a bit surprised but readily agreed of course. We had a wee tear. Steve is a great guy and I know he will love and look after our girl long into the future.
They have assured me I don’t need to buy a suit; shorts and Hawaiian shirt will be fine to walk the bride up the aisle.
