Documenting Dad
Photography is helping heal Jessica Howard’s relationship with her Dad, one frame at a time.Words & Photography: Jessica Howard“If you come back here, it’ll be yours. But if you don’t, you’ll have to settle for less,” Dad informed a seven-year-old me at the dinner table. This was where he always talked about succession planning. I searched for a smart question, and while words bounced around under the surface, they wouldn’t stick together in a full sentence. I counted my peas as if to stretch out time. Dad didn’t ask how school was or who I’d played with - that I could answer.
In the following years, Dad and I had even less to talk about. When my siblings were mustering, I would lock myself in my room reading books about ancient Egypt; dreaming of living anywhere but Biloela, Queensland. Dad accepted my refusal to go near the cattle yards or play any part in the operation that formed our livelihood.
“You can be anything you want to be,” he’d lecture. “The bloody Prime Minister even.” And he meant it. Mum was always the one who wrote in birthday cards how proud they were and while I assumed Dad felt the same, I can’t remember him ever telling me so. I sound like a petulant toddler because my Dad’s support has never wavered. When I decided to study journalism in Brisbane, he padded my receptionist salary to make sure I could eat food other than toast. Within weeks of getting my driver’s license at the slightly embarrassing age of 21, Dad bought me a car. A new one. When I was stranded in Madrid after my bag was stolen, he wired me money to get back on my feet.
Yet we’ve always had a prickly relationship. We rarely fought - I lived in the UK for the best part of a decade and fires rarely light when the ignition points are oceans apart. But when we spoke, I was seven again, grasping at words I hoped sounded right.
Then I came home, with a new career and new purpose. Like all photographers starting out, I wanted - I needed - to find my ‘why’. For the first time in many years, I didn’t have a demanding job to vacuum my daylight hours. Dad kept asking when I was going to look for a journalism gig. Had I called the TV stations? Did I know anyone who could help?
I was spending more time on the family cattle property in the aftermath of my grandmother’s death and started turning up wherever Dad was working. He’d shake his head and mutter, “If you must.” I opted to catch a lift with him to the yards before sunrise when once I’d have hidden at home. Later, I saw him joking with my brother while he waited for another beast to be pushed into the crush. Dad liked a joke it seemed - one joke - here and there - not too many.
As I processed those photographs, zooming in and out on Dad’s features to check focus, I started to see him. Really see him. He was just a person, trying to do the best for his family, but not really understanding how to be around them.
Dad’s back stiffens when you hug him, then he pats you with one arm, as if to hasten the act. He’s never been comfortable with affection, but then, neither was his Dad. My grandfather was a hard man, whose father was even harder, so my Dad never stood a chance.
“Harvey tells me people like that photo of me,” Dad said during Australia’s Got Talent. That’s when the conversations happen at home now - but only in the ad breaks. I’d posted a photo of him online and it had found its way into the feed of his best friend.
“People are saying things about it,” he continued, half-questioning, not really understanding the workings of social media. I caught a flicker of pride.
Now when I’m home, he mentions what he’s got planned that day - not quite an invitation - but close enough. It’s not always without incident. Recently, I volunteered to drive a truck while he fed breeders, forgetting I’d never learned to drive a manual vehicle. As we bunny-hopped through the paddock, Dad bellowing from the tray, I wondered if we were right back where we started.
But then, other times, I realise we’re eons from the old days. I’ve visited him in the yards with my young sons and he’s found a quiet horse for them to ride; leading them around, then laughing as he rescues them from the unfamiliar situation.
Did I mention that I love my Dad and he loves me? Contrary to popular belief, love doesn’t need understanding to thrive. We share a beer now, he asks about my work, and I’ve had enough time to research my questions to ask really good ones.