‘My father used to yell at me about the idea I might be gay. He would scream at me: ‘don’t be a faggot!’
I remember punches flying, and seeing three men in a circle, I only found out dad had been involved when mum came running back screaming, ‘Oh, God. Your father been bashed. We have to get him to a hospital.’
To say my father was good man would be a lie. I remember him in a series of flashbacks, moments of violent domestic mayhem and toothy smiles, followed by a gentle pat on the head. When he died of massive brain injuries I was relieved.
It’s Christmas Eve in Melbourne, Australia…I’ve eaten half a box of Chocolate Celebrations in my bedroom and I’m […]