My speech at the wedding of my only daughter was a disaster. I rushed to complete it in
fifteen minutes as this was the time frame allocated to me. So the following is what I
intended to say, instead of what you heard (and endured), at the reception.
My first words were directed to Dylan and Jordan, the dashing pageboys, when I asked
them to do an improvised Irish jig as in Riverdance. They almost died at the thought and
tried to flee the room! I then welcomed Leigh Edwards and his family into our family after I
had related how I had first met him with a beer in his hand, how he dismantled his Honda
motorbike (all 2176 pieces) and put it together again without a manual. “He could do
anything!” was how I summed him up.
The telephone call from the hospital came at about 6.30 pm in mid- December and, of
course, right in the middle of my dinner. “Don’t panic and don’t rush in straight away as we
are about to take your wife Amanda into theatre”. At long last! Forty four days and nights
of waiting were almost over. Amanda had been in the Canberra hospital since it was
discovered that the pregnancy wasn’t normal. “Small for dates or dysmature” the doctors
called it. So Amanda sat or lay in bed and suffered the wait. I finished my baked beans
(I’m a good cook) and drove to the hospital about eight pm. Amanda was still being
prepped when I arrived but three minutes later they wheeled her away in front of me. The
emergency caesarean was underway.
Wedding Speech Gone Wrong Forty four days is a long nervous wait for a birth but now it’s only an hour away. I walked around the hospital, looked at Lake Burley Griffin and the stars, and waited. Just past nine pm I was told “your daughter is three pounds, her lungs aren’t
developed and she is in intensive care. She should survive but you can’t see her
until the morning.” So one more night of waiting. Thanks a lot! I’m emotional and
not sure exactly why. I put my running gear on in the carpark, picked up the tiny bottle
(30ml) of cognac I had taken from home and started to run. And cry. I had never tried that
before! Big tears. Bigger joy. As I crossed the bridge over the lake I let out this giant
scream “Call me DAAAD! I’M A FAAATHER! YEAHHHHH!”
It made me feel great so I surged past the yacht club and along the lake shore. I’d done
this beautiful ten km run maybe 1200 times but never as a Dad! There’s no housing
around the lake,just parks, bush and views across to the Governor-Generals house. I
stood on the highest hill about halfway and did this dance with my arms held above my
head (like Rocky after he ran up the steps) and I did another scream. I felt so good and I
was confident that our baby would survive. I did a few more screams and Rocky dances
as I drew near to the lights of the hospital. Then I sipped the cognac as a toast to life and
did my last “Call me Daaaad!” yell. When this voice came out of the dark behind me I
jumped a metre high in fright. “Mate, are you OK?” Shit! There’s another runner behind
me! “I heard the screams and thought someone was being attacked!” “No, No!” I assured
him, “my daughter has just been born and I’m very excited.” We shook hands and he
congratulated me. Then he added, “Mate, when you get back to the hospital get them to
check you out, I think there is something wrong with you.” And here, Ladies and
Gentlemen, is the empty bottle of cognac which I’ve kept all these thirty three years.” (And
I held it up. Just like Rocky once more.)
The next morning I stood looking down into the humicrib in dismay. There was this tiny,
shrivelled thing lying there all wired up, tubes in and out. She was so yellow it was almost
orange. I felt sick. My god! She’s an alien! We’ve produced E.T! Shocked, even terrified, I
called the nurse. “We are both fairly normal parents, how is it possible that we have
produced this creature?” Slowly, I was reassured, but not fully convinced, that she would
be normal. At three, Jordana was a pretty little thing, with these big eyes. She even looked
fairly normal. One Sunday afternoon I found her playing with the home phone. She’d taken
it off the cradle and pretended to talk. “Dana, I’m waiting on some calls, please put down
the phone.” Three times I asked her. She didn’t move. “Dana, it’s not a toy, put down the
phone or I’ll throw you out the window.” She stared me down! I was trembling with fear. O
God, I think she’s handicapped!
When she was about eleven a little boys voice on the phone asks “Can I speak to
Jordana, please? The boys are circling already. Dana takes the call with a smile. Here we
go. The next evening the same little voice asks the same question. I was ready and
waiting for the third call so when I heard “speak to Jordana please”, I raised my voice and
loudly said “No you can’t! She’s gone to live in Townsville with her mother!” He never rang again.
Jumping ahead two or three years, I knew Jordana had found her career path. Acting. Step aside Cate Blanchett, Jordana Wilson is on her way. But I was still very frightened
of Jordana. She really scared me a lot of the time. Never knew what she would tackle next but the drama teacher at school was convinced her pupil was a capital T Talent. I’d do as ordered and turn up each time to video her Eisteddford competitions. She wanted the gold medal in the regionals and, watch out, she was going to win it. When her name was called I was locked behind camera and tripod.
Jordana didn’t appear on the stage but this demented creature was suddenly in front of
me with leaves and cobwebs in her hair, blood dripping out of her mouth and eyes. She
hissed and spat and clawed as she spewed all her witched bile at the audience and me. I
almost wet my pants. (I did say “almost”). Shocked and frightened again. I felt like one of
the little three pigs waiting for the wolf. What would my little girl do next? I do have this
performance on DVD if anyone dares to see it. And of course she won that medal!
At fifteen or sixteen Jordana started at Hungry Jacks, Pacific Fair. She was also working
hard at schoolwork as well as training in the swimming and athletic teams. So now it’s the
season of night shifts and weekends at Jacks. “Pick me up at 11.30pm please Dad.” So
many nights of waiting for my daughter in that picturesque carpark. Each shift she would
call with the pick-up time at our regular spot. One night I meandered in at 10.50 for an
11pm pickup. An hour later there is still no sign of her. Close to 1am the little figure of my
girl comes skipping past the concrete columns in the carpark. “Sorry Dad, it was a big
night and the clean-up took hours”. A two hour wait. Thanks for telling me that Dana.
In year 12 I asked her if she had any ideas for a career. “Yes Dad, sure have, I’m going to
work full time at Hungry Jacks.” Once again, I wept uncontrollably. Life can be so painful.
$55,000 for her education to work at Hungry Jacks! It’s laughable! It can’t be Karma? I’m
not such a bad person, am I? Jordana joined the admin staff of a company which owned
five Hungry Jack franchises. She started doing payroll. Then all the accounts. Then
recruiting and training staff. Motivation talks. She increased the turnover at all stores.
Then she started to teach the Managing Director. She’s downright frightening but that’s
my girl!
Just a week ago Dana calls me. “Do you have a speech ready Dad?” “No Dana, should
I?” “Dad!” “Sorry Dana, just teasing, yes, I do.” “How long is it Dad?” “One hour twenty
five minutes!” “Funny Dad!” “So I’ll make it longer?” “Daaaad!” Whoops, I’ve gone too far.
She orders me to make it no longer than fifteen minutes. I could talk on but I don’t want to
take too long and upset my daughter. She might hurt me! So my last words tonight...(at
this point my words caught in my throat. Try again John). The best thing about Dana is
she always (...and again my words were bubbling sobs) so I gave her a hug and shook
Leighs hand. Tried again “...the most impressive thing about Dana is she always has a
Go! A really big GO. At anything! I asked her recently why she had started her new “Clean
Tea” business a few months back. She answered, “All I ever wanted to do Dad was to
make enough money to feed my family each week.” How good is that? It sums up my little
girl. I love you and I’m proud of you.
John A Wilson (Dad), May 2014
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