Dont Tell Your Father

I was at the hairdressers today, sitting in the chair while the stylist chatted away. She was telling me a story about borrowing her dad’s car and accidentally reversing it into a pole. Terrified of his reaction, she went to her mum instead. Her mum’s response was simple: “Don’t tell your father.” She told her she’d sort it out without him knowing.

It was a light-hearted moment for her, but it triggered something in me.

“Don’t tell your father.” It’s such a curious and unsettling phrase when you really stop to think about it. It was a line I heard constantly as a child, an instruction I was expected to follow without question. For some reason, my mother decided that my loyalty should lie only with her, and that I should be the keeper of her secrets.

Looking back, it was a lot of pressure for a young child. I knew that "not telling my father" felt wrong, but I was too young to understand the gravity of what those words actually meant.

Some of my favourite memories were going to bingo with my mum and my nanna. I loved the atmosphere, sitting at the big tables with the adults, helping Nanna blot her paper with the ink pen, and waiting for the excitement of someone shouting “BINGO!” I’d watch their faces light up and hope Nanna might win so I could have the dollar or two she’d promised me.

But the bingo hall also had rows of pokie machines. Once the bingo ended, Mum and Nan would go over to have a flutter. I used to love the sounds and the spinning symbols, and every now and then, Mum would let me hit the button “for luck", even though I wasn't allowed to.

The ritual always ended the same way. We’d get into the car to head home, and Mum would say, “Don’t tell your father.” So, I didn’t. And I’ve spent every year since regretting it.

When I was sixteen, I joined the military. I was nervous and excited, ready to leave home and see the world. I was about a year into my service when I got a phone call from my dad. He was angry and incredibly upset. He had just come from a meeting with his solicitor, who had asked to see him alone.

Dad was a sugar cane driver. He had a business harvesting and hauling cane, with employees who relied on him. He was blindsided when the solicitor told him the business was falling behind on payments—by $100,000.

Dad couldn't understand it. Mum did the bookkeeping; she’d told him everything was fine. When he asked how this could have happened, the solicitor told him the truth: his wife had been seen all over town gambling at the pokie machines, and had been falsifying the business records to hide the losses.

Everything fell apart after that. My parents divorced, they filed for bankruptcy, and they lost their family home. Our family was torn to pieces, and even though I know it wasn’t my fault, I still carry the weight of that silence. I keep thinking that if I had told my father what I knew, maybe they would have stayed together. Maybe they’d still have a home.

If I had known the impact that gambling could have, I would have spoken up.

When I finally confronted my mum about it later, she claimed she gambled because my dad was emotionally abusive and it was her way of coping. That might have been her version of the truth, but all I ever wanted was for her to take accountability. I wanted her to apologise and to get help. She never did.

To any parents who have ever said those four words to your children, please think again. It’s a heavy weight to put on a child’s shoulders, and they shouldn't be the carriers of your secrets.

And It isn't just about parents placing burdens on their children, either. We also shouldn't teach our children that it's okay to hide a secret from another parent. When we agree to those 'don't tell' pacts, we aren't just avoiding consequences; we are teaching them that it's okay to keep people they love in the dark.

If you or someone you know is struggling with gambling, please reach out to a local support service or helpline in your country. Help is available, and you don't have to carry the burden alone.