Me Dad

It’s Father’s Day, (I know it is a hallmark holiday, but still), so here’s a few random lines on Pa D…

When I was little he would amuse himself by making me odd combinations of food for supper if my mum was out for the evening, and seeing if I would eat it (apparently I was very good and always did). Then he’d plait my hair for the night and tie the end in a knot.

He videotapes literary adaptations for me.

He taught me to check the oil and change a tire on my first driving lesson. He’s an impatient man, but somehow showed endless tolerance teaching me to drive. He would simply grab the wheel if I did something scary.

Several people have said lately that he looks a bit like Indiana Jones. No fedora, though. Occasionally a trilby.

He checks my room for spiders before I arrive.

He doesn’t like people fussing over him. He was recently visiting relatives, and they made the mistake of worrying about his health and the long drive he had ahead of him on the way back. He said, “Tell you what. How about you lend me a spade, and if I feel ill on the way home, I’ll dig myself a grave and jump in it?”

He minds his own business.

My dad chooses cards carefully. He can’t stand sentimental cards that say people are “special.” He says there can’t be that many special people in the world. He says if he DID buy a card with the word “special” in it, he would cross it out and write in “run-of-the mill.” It’s probably true—he’s done it before with words like “darling.” To give you an idea of what he does like, this year I got a birthday card of a man ploughing a field.

He stocks up on my favourite foods when I visit.

He mails me chocolate.

He was in hospital once when I flew back to England, and after dropping my stuff at home, I went to the hospital to see him. One of my rather fussy uncles was also visiting him, and was worried about me – would I be OK driving there, having just got off the plane? Would I be able to find the place? Would I have any change for the parking meters? My dad’s answers were “she’ll be fine,” “if she doesn’t know, she can find out,” and (my favourite) “if she doesn’t, it’s her own damn fault.” He didn’t mention to my uncle that he’d left me a message with detailed direction on where to park, and also money for the car park.

Also while in hospital, I confessed that I had broken the wing mirror off his car, and hadn’t been able to get it back on again. “Don’t worry,” he said, tiredly. “I’ll do it when I get out. You won’t be able to. It takes a LOT of swearing.“

That’s my dad.