Ann Wason Moore: An open letter to my dad on Father’s Day

Dear Dad, I haven’t seen you in 27 years. Here are all the things I would like to tell you, writes Ann Wason Moore.

DEAR Dad,

It’s been 27 years since I last saw you.

Even though I lost you before I ever became an adult, your death meant that I grew up fast.

Every Father’s Day I think of you and what life would be like if you were still here. This year, I think of how you would be planning for Mum’s 80th birthday next week … it’s hard to believe you would be 85 when we lost you at just 58.

I wonder what decisions I would have made if you had been here to guide me, and what arguments we would have had when I didn’t listen.

I wonder what you would think of the internet and technology. You were inventing your own form of computer Voice Recognition back in the 1980s, so I’m pretty sure that in 2020 you could comfortably guide Mum around “The Google’’.

I know that you would delight in your grandson’s obsession with space. Picture NASA

I wonder what you would think of how the Gold Coast has grown and how Australia has changed. I do at least know exactly what you would think of Donald Trump (FYI any lightning bolts you could throw down in his direction would be greatly appreciated).

I wonder what you would think of my children, of your grandchildren. I know that you would delight in your grandson’s obsession with space – certainly he delights in the fact that you worked on a NASA mission to Mars back in the 1970s.

I wonder if you would dance around the living room with my daughter, your granddaughter, the way you used to do with me. Somehow, I can just imagine the two of you making a TikTok together.

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And I know the three of you would happily share inappropriate jokes with me as well … apparently that’s a Wason family trait.

I wonder what you would think of my husband, your son-in-law. We met just five years after you died, but those five years might as well have been an eternity.

He loves to hear stories about you, about who you were – in our family and in the world. I know he feels slightly intimidated by your reputation as something of a genius … it’s beyond a shame that he never got to see that behind the professional accomplishments and multiple patents, was such a humble, caring and funny man.

Surely you’re amazed that I’m still here on the Gold Coast after you dragged me kicking and screaming to this city in 1991. Picture: Jerad Williams

And I wonder, of course, what you think about me. Surely you’re amazed that I’m still here on the Gold Coast after you dragged me kicking and screaming to this city in 1991. I sincerely hope you’re having the last laugh.

I think that you would be proud of me. Not just for who I am but for who I have.

I only had you for 17 years but that was enough to teach me about what makes a good man and a great father.

Even in your last year on this earth, I remember you would come with Mum to pick me up from school. You were so ill you couldn’t drive, but you would chat away with us from the passenger seat, clutching your sick bag just in case.

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I will never forget how much you cared for every person you knew. When we were driving home my best friend Natalie after she scored high marks on an English assessment, you were so genuinely thrilled. “Well done, Nat!” you said, reaching back from your seat to give her a congratulatory pat. “I’m so happy for you.”

Your parental pride brought tears to her eyes.

Having just 17 years with you was a master class in recognising what makes a great man and father.

Which must be why my childhood friends and family say that my husband reminds them of you.

It’s the ultimate compliment.

As a mother now, I can accept that the child I was in 1993 lost her wonderful dad, because I found someone equally as amazing for my own children.

I found someone who not only you would love, but who loves his children like you loved yours.

Of course, it would all have been so much better if we could have you both – especially for Mum, who misses you as much today as she did the day you died.

So Dad, wherever you are, Happy Father’s Day. Wish you were here.

Love, Ann