To my Disreputable Dad, with love.
So you know when you have those conversations with your kids? Lazy, half-hearted chats on the way home from school, or sun-baked after lunch holiday lounger conversations about ‘what it was like when you were little’, or ‘what’s your earliest memory’ type things? Well one thing that’s always guaranteed to get my kids going is hearing about their Grandad when I was little.
He wasn’t (and still isn’t) your average, run of the mill Dad, granted; but oh the excitement, the adventure of having the Disreputable One for a Dad made up for the fact that he was rarely there at bedtime and could be absolutely, utterly, counted on not to be there for parent’s evening either.
We used to get scribbled postcards (he needs a new spider) from exotic places like Barbados and Dominica (‘why can’t we ever go, Mum?’), and have to sit through interminable slide shows of beautiful beaches and colourful tropical birds when he did finally get home. When he was around, though, there were long summer days down the Cricket Club, building dens out of hay bales and paddling in the stream while the men baked out on the field. I remember doing mad things like driving to the Sheraton Hotel at Gatwick Airport and having lunch in a really posh restaurant while planes jetting off to foreign climes whooshed over our heads. And then there was The Royal Tournament (field gunners…phwoar!!), cash incentives for passing exams, a treasured memory of glimpsing him in the audience when I played the judge in Toad of Toad Hall, late-night car journeys to see the Christmas lights on Oxford Street, or being woken at 4am to get in a taxi to go on holidays to all sorts of exotic (to my 8 year old self) places: Fuengirola, Tunisia, Tenerife…
When he left, I was ‘grown up’ but still we fought and shouted and I hated him for breaking up our family, ruining future Christmases, happy visits to Grandparents for my boys, etc. But hey, he’s my Dad (you generally only get one) and I kind of suspect he’d agree that my Mum’s happier without him (a Disreputable husband too). Now it seems the norm that they’re not together and they’ve even talked on the phone (a milestone).
One memory amongst others sums up my Dad. The night before I got married (for the first time), I sat in tears on their sofa when he came in and sat next to me. I told him I didn’t want to go through with it and that I was worried I was making a huge mistake. After spending all that money on invitations, suits, posh Laura Ashley wedding and bridesmaid dresses, a sit down meal for hundreds, did he rant? Did he tell me I was a nightmare (as usual)? Nope, he held my hand and said ‘Titch, it’s never too late to change your mind’. I didn’t change my mind, and it didn’t last long but, hey, I went down the aisle on his arm knowing that he wouldn’t have cared wasting all that money as long as I was happy.
Disreputable? Yup. Unreliable? Surely. The best Dad in the world? Absolutely.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
Mary: Thanks! Happy Sunday to you too x
It was a tough day, and yes I do remember , spent many hours with you to, I remember footie training with your hubby that day too xxxx
Moon: Weird the things that stick in your head. Oh you’ve got one of those Blackberry critters too? I see they do them in pink now
Susannah: What a nice comment. It’s true, some things only make sense once you’re grown up or a parent yourself. Welcome and thanks so much.
I also wanted to say, my dearest sister Bugs has written a fathers day blog, and I have been sat in tears as I read it today, father’s come in all different shapes and sizes, just remember you only ever get one of them….
xx
Mine picked his moment to tell me how proud he was of me and how I looked lovely – right before I walked up the aisle…
Course, I nearly started blubbing and it took my quick-thinking bridesmaid to lean over and hiss ‘You look mingin’! to stop my makeup from running at the crucial point.
EM, thanks for your comments about my Dad – we still miss him and we always will.
Wee One: Ah, trust yer friends to make everything good again eh?? x
DBM: You’re welcome. Yes, I own the dubious honour of being the only one that can decipher the Disreputable one’s writing. They rush up to me with postcards and letters so I can translate!! x