Fatherhood Rewrote my Rockstar Dream

There was a time I wanted to be famous and believed it held the answers.In pursuit of it, I left Australia for London, drumsticks in hand. After a wild and unglamorous ride, I found true rock stardom changing nappies instead of cymbals, a quieter stage, but a truer one.

One Halloween in London, white face paint trickled into my eyes beneath the stage lights. I wondered whose ingenious idea it was to dress up as zombies… probably mine. Keeping the beat with one arm, I wiped my face with a beer-soaked towel, which only made the stinging worse. Blind and flailing, I wondered how on earth Kiss had played with makeup every night. It’s hard to look cool when your eyeballs are on fire.

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That gig was one chaotic night among many. At least the drums hadn’t collapsed this time. Between band tensions, endless schlepping of gear across town, and a manager as useful as a wet sock in winter, the dream was slipping. I didn’t know who I was without it.

When the band finally broke up, I returned to Australia. The noise faded, but the itch didn’t. Sitting in a dishevelled East St Kilda café, despite buzzing from the caffeine kick, a rare calm washed over me. It lasted the walk home. Then came the news: I was going to be a father and moving to Germany to raise him. Realistically, the creative dream was over.

But when my son arrived, I knew instantly, this was the real gig. As a part-time dad, my priorities shifted fast. I no longer sought escape. Every hangover stole from father-son time, and the tortured-artist myth had failed me before. Ironically, I quit drinking in the country with the best beer in the world.

The fear that fatherhood would hinder creativity was false. Watching his uninhibited playfulness. That pure freedom cracked something open in me. He called me out the second my mind drifted during a game of Uno. His presence taught me to be present, and focusing on him took the focus off myself.

He became the audience, not because he cheered, but because he noticed and observed my every move. He’s nearly a teenager now and plays a mean guitar solo. Somehow, that feels like the encore.