Church Road, Perry Barr, Birmingham, United Kingdom

My Father Killed a Man

A shared history with the Jordache family

My father died when I was only twelve years old. He had been ill for quite some time with cancer and I remember taking care of him each day when I got home from school. I was all he had during that time as my mother worked nights in the hospital and my brother was always at the pub. When people asked me about him I would always tell the story of how he sat us down one day and told us about the argument he got into with a German man he encountered one day whilst walking along the canal bank. The argument ended with my father killing the man and dumping the body in the canal. My father took pride in telling the story because the money that the dead man had on him financed our new life in England. My mother hated my father telling this story because it wasn't the story you proudly told to young impressionable minds. Years later when I moved to Australia I found myself watching daytime television. There was a re-run of Irwin shaw’s Rich Man, Poor Man on and as I sat there listening to Axel Jordache tell his son Rudy about the German man he killed by the canal I realised that the trauma of my father dying those many years ago had fused with a story that I had heard on television. Rich Man, Poor Man was a groundbreaking television show that had its audience gripped for its ten week run. It was the first thing I had seen as a young adult that really touched me. It had a profound effect on me and was instrumental in shaping my adulthood. I tell this story now to highlight that sometimes our childhood memories may not be an accurate reflection of how things really were. For me, my young mind processed two simultaneous lives and merged them into one... fact and fiction collided and was processed with the psyche of a mind still forming. I have told the story of my father being a killer so many times. The truth is my father was a good man and I see his face whenever I look in the mirror. He was a boxer who went by the name of Bob Killer. He died relatively young and if I get past the next eleven months I will have lived longer than he did.