Those Smiling Eyes

A daughter talks about her father. Hard to put into a genre; part monologue, part weepy, part inspirational.

‘My Dad was the strong, silent type. ‘Reliable’, ‘dependable’, ‘loving’ and ‘honourable’ are adjectives that could suitably summarise his personality, but then I would have omitted ‘funny’, ‘intelligent’, ‘popular’, ‘hard-working’ and a myriad of other words that could be used to describe him as the amazing human being he was.

He was not perfect, (who is?), but for me, his daughter, he was as close as anyone could ever get to being faultless.

When I was his little girl I would often resent his job and despise how much it took him away from me. He worked many jobs throughout his lifetime, mainly with disabled and disadvantaged children, young people and adults, but he was also an artist and a writer- skills which he used to assist in my learning and formation of my world view. But perhaps more than all of that, he was the best mentor and friend any child could hope to have.

I remember how he would rush back from work to see the end of my gymnastics, ballerina, trampoline, equestrian, drama and athletics classes that my mother would take me to. I would check the spectator areas approximately fifteen minutes before the end and my heart would leap when I saw him watching me. The downside to this were the rare occasions that he could not make it in time and I recall the heartache I would experience after classes that would only abate when I saw him again.

One event in particular best describes the inspiration I took from the great man and it is something that will live in my heart forever.

I was fourteen years of age and participating in a sporting gala as part of my school track and field team. We were competing with five other schools as part of an annual sports day- the proceeds of which were donated to charity. For us budding athletes, however, it was an opportunity to be ‘top dog’ in the area for a year.

 It was held on a Saturday afternoon and so my father was present from the off. He watched as I competed in the sprint, javelin and long jump, applauding my efforts with a silent hand clap and a reassuring smile. None of these events were my preference, but I had done well enough, (coming second, third and third, respectively), to help the team to a chance of winning the gala outright. Victory hinged on one final race- the 1000 metre run, a race in which I excelled and which my peers and teachers, not unreasonably, expected me to win. Only two schools could be victorious- The Queen Victoria Grammar, our greatest local rivals, or ourselves, Sunnyside High and so it fell to me to win the race and ensure that my school won the competition outright.

As an incentive the gleaming silver trophy was displayed alongside the starting position on the track, although its presence made me nervous and full of doubt. As we awaited starters orders I looked to the trophy and caught the eye of my main rival, Jacqueline Fisher from the Queen Vic School, and she sneered arrogantly in my direction. I turned away, my resolve galvanised by my perception of her certainty that she would beat me, and thought of my fathers poetic words of wisdom about such matters.

‘Those that would dominate you truly fear your strength. Do not stoop to their level- just be sure to be yourself.’

I glanced toward my father in the stands and saw that, as always, he watched in a way that most likely appeared dispassionate or disinterested to the casual observer, but I knew different. While all those around leaped and yelled and cheered their offspring to glory, he just watched me with those smiling eyes; subtly letting me know that his enduring and unequivocal support of me was the paramount consideration in his mind.

‘Two laps’, I told myself.

‘Just two laps and the trophy, glory and bragging rights are ours.’

The starting pistol went off with a resounding clatter and I timed my start to perfection, but less than five metres down the track we were called to a halt. Jacqueline had made a false start and so the immaculate timing of my run had been scuppered. The wry smile on my rivals face told me that the false start had been no accident, but I swallowed my anger with the knowledge that a second attempt at such sabotage would render her disqualified and subsequently the trophy would be ours without my needing to win the race.

My second start was not as good as the first, though adequate enough so that I skirted the first half lap in first place. Jacqueline was a close second, her rapid breathing letting me know of her presence over my left shoulder, but it was already apparent that the other three competitors were rapidly falling behind. It was already a two horse race. 

By the end of the first lap the proximity of Jacqueline prompted me to pace myself slightly more to preserve the energy needed to sprint the final length to the finish line. It had been a while since anyone had stayed this close to me and the beginnings of doubt were beginning to creep in. We ran side by side for the next hundred metres and it was then that she kicked out at me. As her right leg came forward she twisted her foot so that her toe end hit my calf, breaking my stride painfully and allowing her to steal ahead with a self satisfied guffaw. The motion was barely perceptible to the naked eye, but it was obvious, to me at least, that she fully intended to fell me.

My muscle cramped agonisingly and for a fleeting moment I was tempted to pull out of the race and report her actions to the officials- hopeful of winning via her disqualification. I was confused, embittered and close to despairing and ready to admit defeat. 

It was then, in that time of great need, that I saw him. My father; now stood amongst the spectators at the opposite side of the track, looking at me with those smiling eyes- silently encouraging me to take matters into my own hands.

In that moment our eyes met and all the pain and doubt vanished from my body, mind and soul. I felt his strength within me and my heart swelled with a righteous anger and an unbound determination to overcome the adversity that threatened to best me. I was off- sprinting the last 900 metres and gaining on my foe all the time. With only ten metres to go we were neck and neck once again and this time Jacqueline’s realisation that there was no way she could beat me was shown to all that witnessed her cynical attempt to fell me a second time. She kicked out violently as I made to overtake her, but I anticipated this and hurdled over the outstretched leg leaving her fallen on the track behind me; defeated, embarrassed and revealed as a cheat.

As I crossed the finish line, to the rapturous applause of my peers and supporters, I looked to my father. He was seated once again, slowly clapping my performance- those smiling eyes telling me that I had made him proud. Not for winning the race, not for the glory of victory, nor the trophy, but for standing my ground and for being myself.

It is the greatest lesson he ever taught me and one that I shall always remember.’

The bereaved woman turned at the pulpit, away from the tearful audience and looked to her father’s coffin to complete the eulogy,

‘Thank you Dad. I will always love you and will make sure that your family remember you for the great man you were. I hope you can rest peacefully in the knowledge that those smiling eyes will never, ever die.’

Reviews

[Alicante lullaby]

Ohhh this touched me,Spence because in this i somewhere saw my daddy with his attitude that seems indifferent at times,but actually he's trying to make me stronger..
i'm so sure those smiling eyes will never die and you just made him so proud...