I’ve seen my Dad make some left of center choices over the years. Heading to Melbourne for hyperbaric oxygen therapy certainly stands out . For example, there was the season he decided he didn’t hate the beach and took up kite-surfing. When I say took up, I mean he bought all the gear and never used it after he realised he was a liability on the water. It’s certainly not that he isn’t athletic enough- Dad can run rings round most of my friends, in their early thirties- he’s sixty five now and quite fit despite ongoing back injuries that he picked up as a labourer. These strange interests also included hanging upside down from the door jamb in a pair of ankle braces, strapping tiny magnets to his knees and lower back to ’equalise pain’ and even drinking vinegar dregs and fermented sauerkraut juice to take the shine off what was ‘definitely not arthritis’, according to Dad, who almost certainly would be arthritis. He’s been a bricklayer for nearly thirty years.
Back to the strange interests though. He recently invested in his very own portable hyperbaric chamber. If you’ve never heard of one before, you can’t be blamed, before I saw how much of a difference it made to Dad, I wouldn’t have known what one does. His best mate at work told him about it, they both went and had three sessions each, and from that week onward, Dad was sold. The sessions made his pain bearable. He could sleep better, sit better, and eat better. The only explanation for it was that Dad, who was determined to never retire. He loves working, really and I honestly believe he is one of those people that truly loves their job. His mates all say that Dad whistles and laughs through the day, never has a sour word to say about anyone. People who can’t wait to retire aren’t that happy. I’ve seen what makes him miserable though, and that’s not being able to work.