Important things need saying sometimes

Yesterday was my dad's birthday. Almost missed it altogether but managed to see him by the late afternoon.

He's so hard to buy for, always says he doesn't want anything, and there's nothing he really has an interest in that I could buy. He loves Pink Floyd, but just as I do, he owns everything they've done already. He's a complete computer nut, but unless I was going to buy him a brand new one there isn't anything he needs for it. He only just finished building his latest one, so it's not like I could get him any extra bits and bobs. He has them already. Sock/aftershave have been done to death. So I got him a new shirt and a Family Guy t-shirt. He loves Stewie, he's such a fucking kid sometimes.

It didn't feel good enough though, and he hasn't been well recently, he's having an operation soon and I've got an overwhelming worry he won't come back from it. I know it's silly, it's not like he's 80 or anything. Fuck, he's not even 60 yet, but he's scared, for all the brave face he's putting on.

So I wrote him a letter, and I as soon as I started to think about what to put in it I started to cry. It felt like saying goodbye or something. So fucking strange.

Letter to my dad:

Dad,

Whenever I get cross with the kids you remind me it's the memories that count. It helps me reign myself in a bit, makes me think about whether what I'm telling them off for Is really that important. You were big on talking when I was little. Communication, always. When I was old enough to understand right from wrong, reasoning, you would explain to me what I'd done, why it wasn't acceptable. I think it worked for the most part, and more and more often I find myself trying to impart your words on my own children, because they are wise words from the heart.

It is all about the memories, and you've given me some amazing ones. I remember making paper animals while mum went shopping, running around in the park, going to work with you and being pushed around on the pallet trolley, or wandering into the darkroom to see what you were developing-though that mostly got me in trouble for ruining your negatives. I remember bike rides so long my legs ached, but then you'd buy us some chips and we'd rest before heading home. I remember the advice you've given me. I use it, even if you don't know it. I remember all of it, good and bad, but mostly good. My favourite one in an odd way, is when you told me for five days straight not to fall asleep with my TV or stereo on, but I kept doing it, so you cut the plug off of every appliance in my room and didn't rewire them for three days. It sure taught me a lesson.

You're paranoid about fire, and I understand why. Your story left a mark on me, too, and I've always been sure to have good smoke alarms and fire extinguishers, just like you do. You made me understand that one of the most important things to do for your children is to improve on what your parents did for you. I've got a hell of a lot of work to do on that. Way to set the bar high, dad, thanks.

I know you think you'll be forgotten easily one day, you say it often enough, but the truth is that you never will be.

It always hurt when we'd disagree, and you'd say you didn't care if I didn't love you as long as I respected you. It hurt. It made me think you doubted me. But I get it now, I get that you were protecting yourself and I get why. But there was never any need, I've always been a daddy's girl, I thought you knew that.

You are the kindest, funniest, most caring and stubborn person I know. You'd give me your last pennies even if it meant you'd have no food-I know it's been close to that once or twice. You've always been there for me, always helped me the best way you could, even when it meant NOT helping, because sometimes helping isn't really helping, it's just enabling. You'll never know how grateful I am for that.

All those thing are the things I love best about you, but what makes them even more special is that a lot of them, I share with you. We're so alike sometimes it's scary, but I love it. You kickstarted my interest in comedy, films, music, so many things. Remember when I was trying to draw one day-can't think how old I was, maybe nine-and you said to look at something around me. Focus on it. I drew a door handle. You said it was crap. Said it looked like what I thought a door handle looked like, not what the one I was looking at looked like. I drew better from then on, really concentrated. You know it's still one of my favourite things to do.

And when you got me that guitar from the no good boyfriend you tolerated even though you hated, the first thing I learned to play was Pink Floyd-Wish You Were Here, bacause it was always the song that reminded me of you. It's my favourite of theirs even to this day, always will be.

I don't always say it, and neither do you, because we're both odd and awkward like that, but I love you, dad, always will.

X

P.S. Happy Birthday.