Thank you Dad.
When I was born, he says, that he was the first person I looked at.
His face was the first thing I ever saw.
Which is pretty damn cool. (I am not going to mention the nose. I have his nose so by default if I mention the size of his nose, I am in fact insulting my own nose too. So instead I just won’t mention it.)
I wish I knew what the first ever thing Addison saw was.
I would imagine it was his daddy’s face too, depending on at what point he opened his eyes that is. Well lets just say I am hoping the Irish One’s dopey face is the first thing Addison saw, because let’s face it, the other thing he could have found himself staring at doesn’t even bear thinking about.
Anyway moving on swiftly.
He says my eyes were bright blue but he just knew, that in a matter of time, they would change to brown, as he had dark brown eyes himself and he just knew they would be identical to his. My eyes are still bright blue, and he still says he is still waiting for them to change. He is adamant that one day they will. (I may have to buy some lenses.)
Although my eyes are a naturally a different colour to his (sorry dad, I think you may have to come to terms with this now, at hey! At least we have the same nose!…. Thanks for that by the way) there is no doubting that I am his daughter (did I mention my nose?) and that he is a living legend.
Like any other kid, growing up I used to love hearing stories ‘from when I was little and from the olden days’ and he would be the one that would put me to bed every night while either telling me tales about these very instances.
There are lots of memories I could share, but these moments of calm before my family went BOOM! Are the ones I treasure the most.
‘When you were born Lexy,’ he would say, kneeling down next to the bed ‘I was listening to United scoring a winning goal on the radio.’ This of course couldn’t have been true, as if it were, there is not a doubt in my mind that my mum would have killed him dead, but still, it jazzes up the bedtime story for a five year old and moves away from the no doubt actual gory details of the moments during which I was born. (I have very wide shoulders, my mother still winces every time she sees them.)
Some of my happiest childhood memories are of my dad telling me stories at bedtime. I would love when it was his turn to tuck me in as he would endeavor to make bedtime last forever! The stories weren’t read from a book, they were made up on the spot and they were hilarious! I wouldn’t be soothed in to a tender sleep at all! I would be rolling around the place howling with laughter and begging him to make it last as long as possible.
These stories I remember to this day. These are the stories, which I cannot wait to pass on to Addison (as my own… ahem… only joking, he will know where they came from. These stories will live on for generations!)
What really gets me though, is that by Addison’s bedtime both I and the Irish one have had a full day and are both exhausted, so there is no doubt my dad felt the same. Getting home from a full time job, and then almost immediately having to spend an hour telling stories to his daughter, he probably could have really done without it! He probably would have much preferred some chill out time.
Thank you dad. Thank you for spending that time with me. I have never forgotten it, and to this day your tales of the crying bus and ‘oh god’ the giraffe with the short neck, have me in fits of laughter.
I feel incredibly lucky to have been brought up with a dad like mine. I feel massively blessed that I have always had at least one constant in my life.
I could honestly write a book, filled to the brim with memories of laughter and happy times we have shared but the truth is they are very personal, and as we were both there, he knows what I am on about, but I will say this.
He brought me up, and for this I will never be able to thank him enough. He has never let me down, ever. Even though I have let him down, on many occasions. He has hidden his disappointment (although not very well) at the numerous mistakes I have made growing up and even through gritted teeth has always picked me up when I have fallen over. Whenever I need a friendly voice, he knows exactly what to say, even if that is at 4 in the morning and I am sat on a tram stop covered in square crisps babbling about Take That and vodka. He is the kindest and most generous man I know, and I don’t just mean with money, I mean with his kind words and caring persona. He wears his heart on his sleeve and will spend half an hour in the freezing cold trying to find a home for a lame goat without even questioning it. He can drive off a cliff and survive.
Did you read that last one?
Yes, this is the man who drove off a cliff. Like a proper cliff cliff, fell hundreds of feet and survived with only a small cut to the head and a few memory problems.
I said a few memory problems. (Babum tish! You don’t really have memory problems dad, it is ok.)
He is the only person I know who can make me laugh with just one look, and he is the only person I know that has my back no matter what.
He has my back because I am his daughter.
Which makes me feel like the luckiest girl on this planet.
If I am even half the parent he has been to me, then I will have done a damn fine job.
I love you dad and so does Addison. (And Doodle.)
A letter from Addison,
Vroom vroom, ning ning ning, vroom vroom waaaaa. (Translation; I love you very much now but please stop asking me things so I say no. I know I am cute but I don’t want orange! NO!) Ning ning kiss kisss. (Translation; I love you.)
Ps – you ok?