Heroes and Villains-Fearless Man

Are our Dad’s heros or villains? Probably a bit of both if we are honest! This is Tim Ocsko’s take on his Dad.Tim has recently walked away form a top executive position in the corporate world to give more time to the unknown. This at a time when fear has gripped the worlds financial institutions in a way not seen for a long time. Inspiring reading.

Fearless Man

TimOcsko

My Dad was by nature a fearless man. Not reckless. Fearless. He was the sort who {by lieu of his trade as a builder} had access to and would regularly swing from the top of scaffolding. He had an innate sense of danger and more importantly how to manage it. I never saw him turn tail on anything {except the sea – which is another story for another day}.

When I was six he gave me sixpence for coming home the worse for wear, and the defeated one, from a playground fight. The victor was a guy called Thiru who was nearly as bad a fighter as me at the time but obviously better than I was. Sixpence for standing my ground with the promise of more where that came from if I won! Though it truly cost me dearly over the years I did end up with a degree of familiarity for the old sixpenny piece.

He taught me that fear was something other people had. Although I did over the years harbour a number of fears {one mysteriously being frogs?} I could never bring myself to admit to him I was frightened. It wasn’t that he would bully or chastise me, his love for me was far too great for that, No, it was more to do with the fact that he would try to cure me of it – like giving aspirin for a bad head. He would make me face it head on – make me walk towards the proverbial lion! I remember one sickening occasion freezing solidly half way up a set of triple ‘yes triple} extension ladders with Dad shouting ‘Go on son – you can only fall off!’ Bless him. To him the very worst was that I would end up in a crumpled shattered mess but remain unbeaten by either the ladder or the world.

You see he had something. He had seen life in all its colour. He had stepped out of his own front door. And seen all it’s weakness. All it’s strength. And all the riches of the world had given him an awe and contempt for the things of this world in equal measure. It made him dangerous. It made him happy within his skin. He lived life. Fully.

After he died, I collected from the ‘Lost and Found’ of his life my own sense of danger. {Or was it his?} I soon learnt that it’s something which gets in your spirit. It makes you hungry but not for food. It makes you search without knowing what for and often where. It makes you look deeply into the faces and hearts of others. It makes you dream!

I’m tired of this world being run by the wise and the calculating and the down right unimaginative. I want a world run by the dangerous. Dreamers who believe. Some guy once wrote {and please don’t tell me who because I’m simply not interested} that the dreamers of the night wake to find all was vanity, but the dreamers of the day – they are dangerous people for they may act out their dreams with open eyes and make it happen.

I’m proud now to be dangerous and simply can’t get enough of it.

And that’s why I’m posting this. The first time I have ever posted anything on anyone’s website or blog thingy whatever it is. The thrill of the unknown threatens me with mystery and as yet untread journies. It challenges me to step outside my own front door. It provokes me to be the man my father was.

Bring it on dangerous man!