RIP John Lawrence Lindsay 18th June 1930- 9th February 2023
My dad, John Lindsay, in his happy placeĀ
Over the years I have written a number of posts featuring my father here andĀ hereĀ and hereĀ andĀ hereĀ
I invited him to share with me his journey but I never managed to persuade him. There is a believe in the digital age that if you are not on Google you don’t exist. At this point in time its my memories of my father that document his life. I think that’s sad because my memories are a little tainted by my PhD in judgment
This post will be work in progress – I will use it to document the memories as I reflect
My memories of my father are crisp
He loved his dog Lucy and Lucy was his nickname for me so I will take that as a sign
John and Lucy in October 2013 – with special thanks to Colin Seis for making my dad happyĀ
We are all products of our life experiences and the decisions we make are often a result of some of the first things our parents say to us.
My father was the first born son of a pioneer Illawarra dairy farming family and he hated milking cows.
A well remembered mantra to his children growing upĀ was “never learn to milk a cow”
My father convinced his father to sell the dairy farm at Dapto and buy a farm for us at Cowra – my father leading a cow at the sale of the herd in 1958
He was a traditionalist.Ā Another mantra that is front of mind is “the first born son always inherits the farm”
When you are told from an early age boys are more important than girls and you have a highly competitive nature, you may be very determined to disrupt the status quo. At times I feel it has consumed me
Some things I remember
My father had a great eye for a good show horse. He could spot potential everywhere, driving past a paddock, at the knackery and other people’s cast off’s
My brother, sister and I were all good show riders – but it was the competitive spirit in me that my father tapped into to realise the potential of the “bargains” he picked up
My father was very proud of his haymaking skills
Early days on the farm at Cowra in the early 1960s
My father loved raising prime angus steaks for your table.
The look on his face when he topped the sale yard
My father was a disciple of the Ford XR6 and belonged to that special group of octogenarians who drive utes with low profile tyres
He even had a short term career as a brand ambassador
John Lindsay – influencer š
and on this day 45 years ago
I imagine over the next few weeks I will locate the photo albums and more memories will surface
We can all spend our lives trying to convince one person we are worthy OR you can recognise your inherent value and worth by accepting yourself completely while focusing on building your self-worth.
Acceptance includes being kind to yourself, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and human and to treat yourself with compassion.
Please share with me what you are doing to look after you?
#movementofchange
and a big shoutout to my dad’s next door neighbours The Jamiesons – they are magnificent humans and the best of the best of neighbours – they took very good care of my dad whilst his family were far away.
and from the heart
Legacy of Echoes: A Patriarch’s Path”
In the crisp corridors of memory’s lane,
A father’s tale, etched with joy and pain.
Lucy, his dog a loyal companion, a love profound,
A thread woven in life’s tapestry, tightly bound.
Born to a dairy farming pioneer’s name,
He detested milking cows, yet played life’s game.
A first-born son, tradition’s weight he bore,
A mantra echoed, an age-old lore.
“Never learn to milk a cow,” he’d decree,
A patriarch’s voice, shaping destiny.
From Dapto’s dairy fields to Cowra’s embrace,
He moulded our fate, in life’s endless chase.
A traditionalist at heart, his creed held fast,
“The first-born son inherits the vast.”
In the echo of privilege, a narrative spun,
Where sons were favored, and daughters outrun.
Competitive spirits, a family forged,
In a world where boys were urged,
To inherit the farm, the legacy prime,
A challenge issued across the time.
Show horses and bargains, a keen eye’s sight,
A legacy of prowess, woven tight.
Prime angus steaks for the table to grace,
A father’s pride in life’s vibrant race.
Haymaking skills, a craft honed with pride,
In the golden fields where ambitions ride.
Topping the sale yards, a triumphant gaze,
In the competitive dance of life’s displays.
XR6 engines and utes with low profile tyres might,
A brand ambassador, an unexpected height.
John Lindsay, an influencer, a patriarch’s role,
In the narrative of a life, a significant scroll.
Yet, in the shadow of a patriarch’s decree,
A daughter’s heart, a spirit so free.
For in a world where boys were deemed grand,
A relentless spirit, a determined stand.
The echoes of patriarchy, a complex strain,
Yet within, resilience and strength remain.
Acceptance whispers in the winds of time,
A daughter’s journey, a rhythm sublime.
For in self-acceptance, the true worth found,
A legacy disrupted; a new path crowned.
Kindness to self, vulnerability embraced,
In compassion’s arms, a sacred space.
In the legacy of echoes, a truth to unfold,
A daughter’s story, resilient and bold.
Beyond the patriarchy’s intricate art,
She finds her worth, a brand-new start.