Monty Oakes

And anyone who knew Monty – knows that he would not want tears today, he would want us to remember his quirks and his montyisms and so, today we want to truly celebrate a life well lived.
This farewell may be a little crude at times but it is authentic to the man I knew as dad and the man you all knew as Monty Oakes.

Monty was born 28th August 1961 in Nambour Qld.
I like to think he didn’t do anything particularly significant until 1986 when he had the world’s best daughter – but the truth is he had a pretty good life growing up a little farmer boy with a love of horses and dirt bikes and swimming before growing up and at 25 years old, marrying and becoming a father.

As a small child, I could never say Montague correctly and so he coined the nickname ‘ Monkey Poo ‘ which he accepted graciously and owned it with pride.
In our later years we did try to go a bit cooler with nicknames such as ‘Montago’ and ‘Le Mont’ before settling on Poppy Mont for our fur babies: Toby and Lily.
He took his canine Grandpa duties very seriously – sneaking them forbidden bulk smackos and stealing them away for weekends. His love of animals was always a prominent part of his personality – whether it be horses or farm animals, dogs or the python I decided to bring home a pet. Unless it was a cat – he was all about it.

As a true virgo, Dad had an odd habit of being particularly OCD with his food.
School sandwiches were often made meticulously with the finest precision. He would always have to make sure the spread was perfectly even and all the way to the corners. Everything was perfectly aligned and evenly distributed.
He was an artist with a masterpiece sausage sandwich and took his weekday school lunch duties very seriously.

On weekends, beach days were a frequent non- negotiable.
Dad was an avid surfer throughout his late teenage years through to his late 40s. Carving a wave was his bliss.
And there were two very important rules that he ingrained in me during our beach days.
‘Stay between the fucking flags’
And God forbid you touch his car with salty hands.

His parenting style was imaginative, and he would often tell you things just for the shock factor and for his own amusement…
Around 7 years old after a beach day at Snapper Rocks I had a piece of oyster shell get lodged in my foot.
I didn’t want to let him take it out because it hurt and so, in true Monty form – he proceeded to advise me that if I didn’t let him take the shell out, he would in fact have to amputate my entire leg.

He had a wicked sense of humor, often borderline inappropriate and he could dish a mean joke but wasn’t particularly good at taking one back…
Not because he couldn’t take a joke, he absolutely could – but because it always took him a moment sometimes to understand the joke and we had a lot of ‘ahhh’ lightbulb moments.

His humor and good nature was one of the reasons he was so well liked. He was annoying but funny as all hell and I like to think I get my sense of humor from him.

I also get my love of music and ability to play guitar from my dad.
Music was a big love of his life.
He was a skilled guitarist and during his early 20s and 30s he would often attend open mic nights and jam sessions and play in pubs and clubs. He loved to pick up a guitar any chance he got and play, and he was pretty good at it.
He was also remarkably good at snoring – and while this may not directly fit under his musical achievements, I can recall one very memorable camping trip where there were 4 of us sharing a 2-bedroom tent and trying to cover our ears with what pillows we had because it was that loud. Kicking the bed only made it louder.
I can confirm that only Monty got a good sleep that night.

Dad was a man who lived his life very simply. He didn’t need much to be happy – just a place to lay his head, a guitar, a drink in hand and some really weird looking sand thongs.

He was always someone willing to listen and he could also chew your ear off with useless facts, Netflix recommendations and telling you the same story for the 40 millionth time and then listen to you tell him he had told you the same story and then continue to tell it to you again – but this time in more detail and with feeling.

He was a good dad, not only me but also to my husband Bob who I began a relationship with while I was still in school.
He believed in us and advocated our young love when others didn’t think it would last.
In recent years, our relationship shifted gears and I moved into the parent role. Always checking in, making sure he ate right and helping him learn technology.
He would always say ‘wow, how did I get a kid this smart’, and I would respond by telling him I was the milkman’s.

He worked so hard in this life – 27 years in the casino before being made redundant and having to learn new skills to gain employment – something that wasn’t easy at his age.
He was proud of his ability to drive a truck – even though his eyesight wasn’t 20/20 anymore and he might occasionally side swipe a parked Audi.
Taxibox giving him full time employment gave him such dignity and purpose. I know he would want me to say thank you.

But ultimately Monty had a dream – a dream to retire and move to Thailand. A place he had fallen madly in love with during an epic boy’s trip. I can picture him now, on a beach, drink in hand, Raybans on, music blaring – soaking up the Thailand sun.

Dad, you were a good man, my first hero and the first man I ever loved.
Thank you for being my dad. I will miss you every day for the rest of my life.
I am because you were…
And we will get you to Thailand, ol boy

Fly High Daddy