By the end of year seven, I was starting to realise just how different my father was from those of my friends. He rarely worked in a conventional setting, and I had never known him to have a full-time job. Thinking back, I am not sure if he had ever held down full-time employment in his life. I only remember him working here and there, helping his friends with basic labouring or graphic design work. That, and the drug dealing...
Read MoreI always knew that my dad was an addict, but it took me a while to truly understand the difference between my dad and my friends’ dads. However, as I moved from primary school into high school, the differences became more and more apparent.
One of my close friend’s father was a truck driver who drove semitrailers interstate on a regular basis. I remember this friend complaining about how his father was often not at home for long periods, but when he returned they would go to the football or play at the park.
Read MoreI realised just how bad Dad's living conditions were about a year after his death. I was talking to a cousin of mine who had recently become a police officer. It’s not often that you get a chance to have a firsthand glimpse into the seedy underbelly of the society you live in. So I jumped at the opportunity, asking for recounts of some of her more memorable highlights on the job.
After describing some interesting car chases and instances in which she had to draw her weapon, she began describing a case where she was called to a disturbance at house in a fairly shady area. The neighbours had heard a questionable noise and were concerned enough to inform the police. My cousin was the one who answered the call and arrived with her partner at the scene.
Read MoreThe morning that I found out that Dad had passed away, I drove over to his house. I knew the process of sorting through his possessions could not wait at all, it had to be done that day.
One of Dad’s neighbours, Jackie, had called to let me know that Dad had passed and that his house had already been robbed. She was distraught. Wailing over the phone, coughing the details out between cascades of sobs. Poor lady, they were so close and now she was stuck living there on her own. She was probably the closest friend that my dad ever had. They would spend hours at each other's house everyday drinking coffee and making art together. Dad of course was her dealer.
Despite everything that happened, I loved my father and still do. To this day my biggest regret is not connecting with him more. I do not forgive him for what he put my brother and me through, but I regret not trying to get to know him on a deeper level, particularly as an adult. When I talk about my childhood, people always say something along the lines of:
“But you were just a child and he was the adult. He should have done more; it was his fault that your relationship fell apart.”
Yes, he was the adult and I was the child. But that truth does not change my role and my actions towards him. I still made the choice to limit contact. I still made the choice to become emotionally distant. I still made the choice to stop seeing him altogether for years. Despite all that he was and all that he did, I still played a role in our relationship, or lack thereof.
Read MoreAs a young child, I was sexually assaulted. As a grown man, I openly talk about it.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I first decided to share my story with the world. Talking about sexual assault is widely considered a taboo subject. There is a tremendous amount of stigma, harsh judgement and disinformation …
A collection of Zachary's books and short story anthologies
Out Now:
- Upgrade (sci-fi/dystpic)
- Under The Influence Reclaiming My Childhood (autobiography)
Coming Soon:
- How To Get Your Sh!t Together (self-help)
