[bactttoma] From Steven Taylor. The first tribute to Garry Taylor.

  • From: taylor family <steven_taylor10@xxxxxxxxxxx>
  • To: bactttoma@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
  • Date: Tue, 4 May 2010 13:24:42 +1000

From Steven taylor.

How does one describe ones feelings?

What words could do these feelings any justice?

What can one say or write?

My first tool was a hammer and nails.  Dad wanted to build me a cubby house.

He cut up the wood and had the hammer and nails ready.

I'm going to help you so that the nails are straight, don't be scared Steven, I 
won't let anything happen to you.  It was something like that.

A gentle hand took mine and we banged in a nail to a piece of wood to nail it 
to another piece.

It was a thrill and lots of fun.

Dad let me play with the scrap bits of wood and occasionally, he would ever so 
politely ask me if I wanted to bang another nail.

I was thrilled to do so.

Easy son, we have to make sure it goes in straight, otherwise it will fall down 
and the last thing I want is you hurt.  It was something like that.

Then there was that first school concert at high school.

I was doing my first piano solo at this concert.

I had a good ear for music, just as well, the braille version made no sense at 
all.

I had chosen quite a hard piece for my age, Batehoben's fifth symphony.

Not exactly designed for piano you needed a violin and an orchestor.

But I was determined to show the kids that although I was slow I could do the 
piece.

The curtain rose, I sat down and started to play.

My Dad sat with tears in his eyes, my Mum smiled but she too was crying with 
pride.

The hall remained silent until i was finished.

And then the applause.

I got a hug from Dad I shall never forget.

Then when I was 17, the day I got so lost I was scared as anything.

I was so disorientated, so far away from home, or so I thought, and then the 
familiar holden and I cried with relief.

Dad was there how he found me well he told me later, but then and there I 
couldn't figure it out.

It's all right Steven, you are safe now.  Don't be ashamed to cry, it doesn't 
mean you are a sook.

And then my first rental property my wife and I had and who was there fixing 
this and that.

Dad again.

Well, we will have get permission to paint the house, but I'll do the painting 
it will save you a heap of cash given Sandra is well along in her pregnancy.

And then there was the Sydney Olympic closing ceremony.

I was so desperate to see something like that and no matter how hard I tried, 
couldn't buy a ticket.

But who bought me that ticket?

My Dad.

What a thrill it is seeing and hearing your country's athletes marching around 
the applause was deafening.

And so so many other memories.

Dad's patience to teach me to walk without pointing my toes all over the place, 
he came up with bells for my feet, which helped immensely.

Dad's insistence the orientation instructors showd him the correct cane 
technique.

Dad's never ending struggle to get things in braille.

Dad's never ending struggle to find music pieces in audio formats so as I could 
listen and play.

Dad's never ending sacrifices for private music lessons and I thanked him so 
much.

There were trips to the football, Dad hated afl footy, well, not quite, his 
passion was soccer understandable really.

Amanda, do you remember the time he accidentally drank hot chilly sauce?

Well, wasn't funny at the time, but even Dad laughed afterwards.

There was the camping trips father and son, you know, just to give Mum a break.

Dad loved to fish, he knew all about plants even Australian plants.

Dad loved to cook, and wasn't half bad as cooks go.

Dad's favourite drink was tea for hot drinks and a cold beer but he was never 
ever drunk.

He could go without beer for weeks.

Dad smoked, it was common when he was a young man for men to smoke.

Dad loved his cigars.

He gave it away just like that and for a few months at a time in some cases, 
but one can forgive him for going back when his wife died.

Dad loved history books.  Couldn't get him out of a book once he was there.

Dad read thousands of history books, even read some to me.

And even though I am not a huge history book fan, Dad had a reading voice which 
took me there and it was as if I was living it as well.

Dad would often say, Steven, you and I are apart of history and he was right.

Oh sure, we aren't ever going to be as famous as captain cook, or 
edmond Barton or Colombus, or the russian politicians.

But he is right.

Today we have lost a piece of history,  today we have lost a gentlemen.

Oh sure, Dad got angry, but you could be sure, the next day, he apologised and 
hugged you and told you he loved you.

Today another piece of history is lost, and yet, not precisely so.

For the history of Garry Taylor lives on through his son, through his 
granddaughter, through his unborn great grandchild, who it is sad to say will 
only have our memories and his photographs to live on with.

Is it time to say good bye?

No, not yet.

Hundreds of pages of notes you have left and it is only fitting for your son to 
see if he can publish your historical observations.

It is time for your son to share your love and your observations of history 
with others in a book dedicated to you.

I can't promise you this will get published but I will do what I can Dad.

So yes it is good bye to your physical body, but not to your history, your 
history will live on even if the book is never published.

With sadness.

Steven.


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