Dear Dad,

It’s Rex, or simply as you called me, ‘son’. I loved that. I called my own boy that.

You left us early on the morning of May 14, 1975. I was glad I held your hand the night before. I was glad that I told you what you meant to me, and how much I loved you, before you left us. It was just the two of us, knowing full well the end was near. It was very special.

Lynne has been a wonderful wife and mother, and now a grandmother, and she is great at it. I really got lucky, Dad. A chance meeting, and a lifetime together. Our next wedding anniversary is 45 years. I do not even dare to think where I would be now if it were not for her.

The saddest part of all is that you did not see, nor hold, Matthew and Rachel, our children, as a pop. I know I thought of you when I held both our granddaughters, Mia and Poppy, in my arms on their first day of life.

I’ve made a couple of horrible mistakes, Dad. Mistakes that were silly and preventable. But I’ve copped it on the chin. What else can you do if you’ve stuffed up? I always remember your advice to me. It’s not how you celebrate the good things when everything is going ok. It’s how you come back after adversity that matters. It’s the best advice I have received, ever.

Your love of me as a young boy was amazing. You and Mum were late starters, but after the war you got together and had my brother Bill and then myself, and both of you were amazing parents. You had no money, lived in humble surrounds, worked hard, but you both had wonderful characters.

I can remember you ‘resurrecting’ an old fishing reel for me when I was seven. It was 1956, the year of the Melbourne Olympics. You attached the reel to a thin piece of bamboo that we got from Mrs Walker’s place down the road. She said it was okay to chop down the tree, didn’t she, Dad? Anyhow, I caught my first fish from Mentone Pier with this ‘outfit’.

The pier is now gone, but the memories of that fatherly kindness in your shed and the subsequent joy of presenting my mum with a fresh garfish will stay with me forever.

I thought of you recently when I presented a very ill boy with a rod and reel with my name on it. To see the joy on that lad’s face, and his mum and dad so proud, is what life is all about.

It might not surprise you, Dad, that I have made my mark in both fishing and football. To play the game at the highest level and to broadcast over the wireless for 38 years is testament to your encouragement. You told me that all successful people at one time are beginners. You also always encouraged me to have a go. I’ve tried to follow that advice.

By the way, Mum missed you so terribly when you passed on. But she got on with her life, serving as President of the Women’s Club and being a wonderful grandmother to Matthew and Rachel, who she idolised. They were her life. She continued to cook the best sponges on earth.

She also lived to see a Collingwood flag in 1990. Something she loved and you would have hated.

I suppose I should finish up now. But I wanted to write to you and tell you how much you mean to me, and how much I miss you.

I have such wonderful memories of you and me.

Memories that will never be erased.

Memories that will last a lifetime.

I love you, Dad.

Your son Rex.