Excerpts

My name is Eddie Roberts. This is the story of my life as a father and husband.

I was a quiet, reserved man during my life. Those who got to know me realised that there was more to me than that exterior, but in general, ask anyone about me and that would be their impression. Quiet people usually have a rich inner life and many thoughts and unspoken words inside of them. We observe a lot.

It was like that with me. Now, on these pages, I feel that I must finally talk from a place of clarity and with a vision that I did not have before. The pieces of my family's life seem to have fallen into place and I see things with depth and understanding. At least, it seems so to me at this time.

Some of what I have to say might clear up a few things for some and may well confuse others.

Perception is personal, and life takes place on so many levels that even when we live with someone and are a part of their life story, there are things that we do not see or know. Sometimes we only know half the story.

Sometimes we don't know the story at all but think we do.

In a family as big as the one I fathered, there are many versions of the family story and many different memories of other family members and of events. There are alternate worlds centred around the same events and people. The memory of a child and the memory of an adult are not the same. We see things based on what we know.

It gives us all a different perspective that is a product of life lived, things heard or seen, emotions felt, It forms the lens through which we view our lives.

The children all knew her as mother, disciplinarian, the voice of authority, the person they'd have to deal with after breaking a rule or doing something stupid.

They used her as a defence— I'll tell Mum'; protected each other from her—

'Mum's coming!'; reminded each other of the force of her rules, 'You'll be in trouble with Mum'.

They knew her thunderous look, her strong voice, the painful price of disobeying her.

As they grew up, like all children, they sensed her weaknesses and used them to their advantage. They tested her and came to know that she was fallible and just another human inhabiting the earth and working her way through life. Still, old habits die hard, and somewhere in them there was always a need to obey and respect her, even after they were men and women.

But I know her as my Suzy. I knew a version of her that existed before the children came along. I knew her as a buxom 16-year-old, with a ready smile and a laugh that could raise the dead, I knew her when. I knew a person they never knew, who ceased to exist when she became a mother, and whom I only glimpsed occasionally once she gave birth to the first of our children.

He wanted to dictate names for our children, 'proper family names' as he said, of ancestors, but took no interest in them and even seemed to dislike them.

He was large and in charge at their christenings, but once the ceremonies and the festivities following them had finished, he practically threw us out of his house.

At some point, Suzy realised that in remaining within physical distance of him she continued to be a victim of his cruelty.

Worse than that would be the fact of exposing the children to him, and allowing his cruelty to imprint their lives. Suzy was concerned about leaving Marlu entirely at Carlos® mercy, but Marlu urged her to move to town and promised that she would visit twice per week. She knew it would be best for Suzy and like a mother in a sinking lifeboat, gave the last lifejacket to her child.

Suzy, eventually, began to accept the possibility of living in town and one day told me that we should look for an affordable house to rent. We moved just before she got pregnant with our second daughter, whom we called Pamela when she came into the world.

Marlu was as good as her word and faithfully came to town twice per week to see us and to help out. Sometimes she even spent the night and stayed for two solid days. Still, it was hard on Suzy. Four children and a mother who came to help her only twice a week made her so very tired and sometimes bad-tempered.

Living in town meant that in the evenings when her sisters returned from work and activities, they could not pay her a short visit after the children were put to bed. I knew that Suzy looked forward to these visits and that they were the only time she had to think only of herself, to laugh with her sisters, to offload the responsibilities of her life.

From the time I’ve known myself, I always wondered why people do so

much, when they could do so little. I decided from young that I would have no

children or only have one. I saw the work involved and told myself, “Wuardo

boy, just one child for you, if any.” Ursi only wanted one child too so we were

agreed on that.

I used to watch my father go to work and work hard every day, and at one

time he would come home for a few hours and then go back to work on another

job, a government project, I think. I would get tired just looking at him! Suzy

too. That woman worked hard enough in her life for two people! Always

cooking, sewing, knitting. Luckily, she had help with the cleaning, washing and

ironing! When she wasn’t working, she’d be flat in her bed, resting and catching

herself.

That was not the life for me. I wanted to wake up late, lime at the corner with

the fellas until late and just work a little bit in between to have money for cinema

and to go out with a girl sometimes. Girlfriends were work, so I was never in that

for too long. To have to call in the evenings, which in the Roberts household

meant paying part of the phone bill, visit, and give up a night on the corner with

the fellas, and then convince the parents that I was not a locho man.