Father

My dad Eric - aka Tex, Curly, Father circa 76ish when I was about 10.
There are assumptions that could easily be made just by his appearance.
Alcohol. Drugs. Debauchery.
So I don't blame anyone for judging our family. But when I started getting counseling for depression, I was shocked when, upon sharing my father's interests, the next question was always, without exception, whether I'd been sexually abused.
And when I'd tell them I hadn't ever been abused in any way by anyone, they would purse their lips, insinuating denial.
The professionals weren't helpful so I became my own therapist.
Judgement has been by far the biggest challenge in my life. Both externally and internally. But as soon as I started accepting my self and all my perceived flaws, others perceptions of me ceased to matter.
So when I look at this photo, I remember playing pool with my Grandad and Mum at the clubrooms on Molesworth St, the barbecues, the practical jokes and the laughter but most importantly, the visceral sense, that I have to this day, of being protected...