To My Dad on Father’s Day by shoutingatco.ws

My dad is bloody ace. Your dad probably is too, unless you’re a Fritzl or a West. Luckily, my dad, er, didn’t abuse me. Okay, that’s not going so well.

My dad did teach me sodding loads though – he showed me how to read and write, dammit! I still have the hardback copy of The Hobbit that he bought me when I was 9. I know I do, because I’ve just finished reading it. Again.

I can ride a bike and drive a car because of him. I’m sarcastic and get hayfever because of him.

He’s tolerated my teenage drinking experiments (“Beer’s too expensive to not keep it down you”), and is vaguely aware of this website (“I’m not so sure about the swearing.”)

He’s been there for me when things have gone rubbish at school, at home or in a relationship. Usually with a pint and a sharp listening ear.

Also, he’s smart. Like, irritatingly smart. In his head is a map of all the A roads in the UK. (“You could take the A46, and join the M5 near Gloucester…”) We’ve been on cool holidays, where we’ve seen almost every distillery in France. He got the extra pleasure of watching my enthusiasm for a drink of Cognac, combined with the contortions of my face when I found out that it was actually toxic. Because he knows best. He always bloody does.

Thank you, dad. Thank you for not making me too much of a fuck up, and if I turn out completely like you, that’s cool with me.

Comments

1. Nick Bryans says:

   June 19, 2011 at 11:55 am

   God, if you love your dad soooooo much, why don’t you just marry him, or something.

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