Twenty

Twenty years ago today, Dad died.

I've mentioned this each and every year I've been online, and have related most of the best stories already. I've been thinking a lot about the half-memories and all those events that have been shrouded by the mists of time. 

I can remember going to him and crying in his arms once, but I can't remember the reasons why? All that's absolutely certain is I felt safe and secure. And I was about 16 at the time. He showed me unconditional love, whatever the circumstances. He always, and I mean always, tried to see things from my point of view. I never saw him look shocked or flustered by anything I asked or said to him. I think he was genuinely concerned I wasn't going to go through certain things in life he had.

He used to get in from work, have his tea, go and strip down to his underpants, then sit in his favourite chair all night like that! And we used to have all our mates coming in and out of the house while he sat there! They'd pop their heads around the door, "Alright, Jim!", "Alright, son!" Bonkers......

I can honestly say I never, ever had a row about anything with him. We could exchange views, and it was always done in a calm, controlled manner. I thought this was good because I quickly came to the conclusion that a lot of what goes on life is generally not worth getting hung up about. As a consequence, arguing my point has never been a strong point. But I digress.

I feel incredibly fortunate to have had an amazing father who was funny, smart, grounded and caring. Fortunate because some folk don't have that sort of relationship with their dads either. I did, and whatever else is wrong with me, I'm blessed to have been as much a part of his life, as he was in mine.

xxx