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Tuesday 19th August, 1997
My name is Matthew Cook and I am ten years old. Today is my birfday and my dad gave me a notebook to do my writing in. I want to be a writer when I am older and an adult, so dad says that I need to practise all of the time and so I am going to start by writing a dairy.
Today we went to the beach for my birffday birfday which was fun. Even though my sister has to come as well and she kept crying bcos she is a baby. It was sunny and we had ice-cream then we had pizza when we came home.
I live with my mum and dad and sister. Sometimes gran comes and stays with us as well and she is really old. She gives me sweets so I like her.
I will write every day now so that I can be a writer in the future.
Wednesday 17th May, 2000
I hate my dad. He is the worst and I hate him so much. He is so annoying and he only wants me to be unhappy. I hate him and I wish he’d go away. He’s so stupid, saying I can’t go out at the weekend. Its only cos I have more fun than him. He’s jealous just cos his friends don’t come round any more and he has to do boring adult stuff like work and pay bills. I hate him so much and I wish he would just leave me alone.
Lucy’s annoying as well. All sisters are, or so my friend Aaron says. He’s got three sisters so he would know. She keeps doing things to wind me up, like taking my toys and comics and then blaming me for moving her stuff. I’m only trying to find the stuff she stole! But she’s the youngest, so Dad always takes her side and I get in trouble for it. So now I can’t go to the shops with all the other boys next weekend and it’s all Lucy’s fault and Dad’s fault and I hate them both.
I don’t want my family. I want a better one.
Wednesday 13th November, 2002
My father died last week.
Everyone’s been really nice about it. Even Mr Young, who’s always shouting at the students, asked if I was okay. I wasn’t supposed to be in school, but it was better than being at home. It was at first anyway. I had to go home at lunchtime cos I couldn’t stop crying. It was stupid, but I couldn’t stop.
The house feels so empty without him. We didn’t always get on, but he was a good man. He didn’t look ill. They say he wasn’t, and that it was just a random thing. That scares me, but I don’t want to tell them that. I can see the looks they keep giving me. Lucy’s been watching TV the whole time, says it helps her not to think about it. A nurse came to talk to us and she said that we should think about what’s happened, but Lucy said she didn’t want to yet. I can’t watch TV at the moment, I don’t like sitting still. I don’t like talking to the nurse either, so I just walk round my room and don’t do much.
Mum says that we’ll get through this. I know we will. It’s just hard at the moment.
Monday 5th September, 2005
Today is my first day at university. It’s been a busy day, what with moving and all, but it’s the evening now, and Mum and Lucy have gone home. It’s just me here now.
I hope Dad would be proud of me. I like to think that he is, sitting up in heaven with Gran, sharing a drink as they watch what we get up to. I’ve made it to uni, and I’m going to do him proud here. I’m going to ace this course, just for him.
It’s weird being in halls. So far I’ve only met one of my room-mates, a Chinese student I think, called Mel. We were in a rush as we were moving my stuff so I didn’t get much chance to talk, but hopefully I’ll get to know her soon enough.
This week is the induction week, where we get to go around and meet all the tutors and our course-mates. I’m nervous about making new friends, but I haven’t told anyone that. I think it will go better if I play it cool, and get people to come and talk to me. If that doesn’t work I’ll just buy them all drinks. Uncle James says that works. He says that’s what Dad did at uni, otherwise how would he have made so many friends? It was a joke, but it still hurts when he says stuff like that about Dad. I think it hurts cos Dad isn’t there to defend himself. I can vaguely remember them bickering, back when I was a child. It’s the little things you don’t realise that you miss.
I’d better get unpacking. Time to make it my room!
Thursday 12th June, 2008
I can’t do this. I’ve completely failed. I’ve let dad down, and I’m not sure I can go on. I didn’t even finish my degree. They just kicked me out. I was supposed to be doing him proud but I’ve done the exact opposite. I just couldn’t cope with it. It was too much, too hard, never ending and I couldn’t get my head straight.
I feel so terrible, so sick. I just wish it would all go away and leave me in peace.
I wish I could be at peace like he is.
I hope he doesn’t hate me.
Monday 21st November, 2011
So Grace decided that I should get counselling. I’ve told her that it’s stupid, and really melodramatic, but she won’t be told. She said it would help me put things to right. I tried to explain that my issues- and yes, I accept, there are a few things that I have problems with- aren’t half as serious as so many other peoples, but she said I should go anyway.
The counsellor was nice enough. Looked like a counsellor should, clipboard and super neat hair, everything. It was hard not to laugh at first. The whole thing just felt so ridiculous. But she was cool with that, she didn’t tell me off for not taking it seriously. She said I should give one session a go and see how I felt by the next week. It was her idea to start a diary, so I dug this old thing out. Not sure what I'm supposed to write about though.
It was kind of nice though, just being able to talk without worrying what the other person was thinking. You know when you’re talking to a friend, and you say something kind of dark about your past and there’s just this expression of worry on their face? And you immediately regret it, but you know that the more you try and get them to forget what you just said the more they’ll remember it? Yeah, it’s nice to talk and not to have to worry about that happening.
It makes it easier to talk about Dad. I think I’m still processing it, in my own way. At least, that’s what Grace thinks, and these days there’s little difference.
I think I love her. I mean, I do love her, but I think this is the ‘once-in-a-lifetime-Disney-songs-start-playing-randomly-when-you-see-them’ kind of love. Maybe I should talk about that with the counsellor next week. It would be a nicer conversation that talking about Dad again.
Tuesday 10th January, 2012
The counselling might’ve been a bit full of itself, but I have to admit that I’ve enjoyed this journaling stuff. I’ve been looking back over the rest of this notebook- man, I am bad at sticking to projects! One notebook, spanning almost twenty years? Some commitment there. I’d better not let Grace see, she definitely won’t agree to marry me then!
That’s the first time I’ve told anyone that I’m planning on marrying her. I mean, I know this isn’t really ‘telling’ anyone, per se, but that’s what people always say isn’t it? ‘Tell it to your diary’ and clap-trap like that. I always thought it was a load of twoddle if I’m honest, but I think I see where they’re coming from. Either that or I’m getting old!
Anyway, I’m not doing the counselling stuff any more. It helped a bit, I think, but it was pretty expensive. I didn’t tell Grace that I wanted to stop going so I could save up to buy an engagement ring. I pretended it was so we could go to Venice for a holiday. She’s always wanted to go there. Maybe I should propose there?
This is when I wish Dad was here. It would be nice to get some advice from him, to hear how he proposed to Mum. I could ask her, but it doesn’t feel like the same thing.
It’s okay though. I’ll work it out on my own. At a push I’m sure Uncle James could give me some pointers.
Monday 7th April, 2020
The world’s upside down at the moment. I never thought I’d live to see the world like this; everything has changed in just a matter of weeks. It’s like living in an apocalypse, though I suppose in a way it is.
Shops stripped of everything, the streets completely empty, and everything locked down. Like living in a ghost town.
I’ve managed to set up an office at home in the spare bedroom. Grace can’t work, what with the shop being shut, but that means that she can stay home with George instead of having to pay for his care. Not that the childminders would be open anyway. Nothing’s open.
Being trapped at home like this has given me lots of time to think, more time to think than I’ve had for years, because adulthood is like that isn’t it? And to tidy, which is how I found this. I’ve had this notebook for over 20 years, and it’s weird reading back on what I’ve written. Pretty much sums up all my dreams of being a writer- I didn’t get any further than a few pages a year.
It’s reading the stuff about my dad that’s the worst. I can remember arguing with him, and how much I hated him at the time. It was never serious, not really, but I always felt like it was. I can’t help but wonder if he knew that I never really meant it. What if he died thinking I did hate him? It’s a thought that often crosses my mind in the middle of the night.
I’ve thought about Dad a lot since George was born. At the start you make all these promises about how you’re going to be the best father ever, but soon enough you’re begging for some short-cut or quick-fix. Anything to get another hours sleep. Did Dad think the same with me?
And the dreams I have for George. Sometimes I dream about him becoming famous, a super-smart scientist who cures cancer or something heroic like that. But I always pray that he’ll be happy and safe. I’ve spent so much of my life worried that I let my father down, but now when I look at George I know that he’ll never let me down. He can’t do that. His existence is miracle enough for me. Everything else is an added bonus.
I’m not sure if I should, but I’ve started thinking that that was what Dad felt about me as well. Part of me is worried that I’m just using it salve my conscience, but then I think, if he wasn’t like that, was he really such a great dad? If you have to achieve something to be loved by your parents, do they deserve your love in return?
Maybe this is all just sleep-deprivation, or the madness that is current life. Cabin-fever, I guess. I have to admit I never thought that I’d consider this a small house until we heard of social-distancing and self-isolation.
Whatever it is though, I’ve felt closer to my father since I had a son. Like all my sins as a son can be wiped out by my actions as a father.
I pray that’s the case.
And I hope Dad’s as proud of George as I am.
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