Watching Grandstand curled into your chest on a Saturday afternoon, waiting for Final Score and the videprinter before dozing to the results and the pools, listening out for the teams with the nice sounding names. Wrapped in your arms, the smell of tobacco and aftershave and washing powder, feeling safe and comfortable and sleepy and special. A memory so vivid I could walk right back in on it today.
Bedtimes stories about my teddy bears and their nocturnal adventures and waking you up in the middle of the night because ‘Daddy I have pins and needles in my hand’ and ‘Daddy is it breakfast time yet? I want Rice Krispies’.
Smashing lampshades and custard tarts from the bakery and drawing with wax crayons. Floating and falling out of my pram, slipping over on icy pavements and the cinema for the first time and a knickerbocker glory.
Pineapple juice in a wine glass and shoulder rides and firemans lifts and throwing a football miles into the sky.
Nearly 28 years of memories, comfort and love and tears and many, many moustache jokes and really I’m still just a five year old who wants to make you proud.
‘Daddy, why are you still holding my hand, we’re not crossing the road any more?’
‘Sometimes I just like holding your hand’.
Happy Father’s Day Dad.