It was Father’s Day yesterday – traditionally a time to say thank you to dads everywhere and perhaps give them a token of appreciation. Mine isn’t here to do that, so I thought I’d write about the gifts he gave me instead.
My dad was old-school, in that he wasn’t present at the birth of his children and never changed a nappy – men didn’t much, at that time. Though come to think of it he wasn’t too hot at some of the masculine roles either – it was my mum who painted the house and wallpapered, and took charge of the finances (counting coins into carefully labelled envelopes in those pre-direct debit days). Nevertheless he was so delighted at my early-morning home birth that I seem to remember a tale about him jumping on a bicycle half-dressed and rushing off to tell my grandmother that he had a daughter at last (after three sons), ignoring the racing pedals cutting into his bare feet. Seems a little unlikely (surely it wouldn’t have taken a minute to put his shoes on?) so perhaps like all the best stories, not meant to be taken literally! Continue reading