Memories of my Dad.

Today is Father's Day so my thoughts have been of my dear Dad, sadly lost just before Christmas 2012 to the cruel Parkinson's Disease. I felt I lost him twice once when the disease took a grip of his mind and then when he finally slipped away in his sleep.

At his funeral both myself and my brother wrote something to try and share our thoughts of what our Dad meant to us. Below is the piece I wrote and it sums up my Memories of my Daddy.

My Dad - about to do a spot of welding

Aged maybe 2, 2 and a half, scooped up into Dads arms as he came through the kitchen door, nestling in the crook of his elbow as he talked to Mum at the sink.
Bath time, Dad on knees, shirt sleeves rolled up, cocooning me in a scarlet red towel and rubbing hard to get me dry.
Bedtime, snuggling down to Rupert Bear, Dad reading - the abridged version –only found that out once I could read!
Sitting on his lap, tracing a finger down his forehead, onto the bridge of his large nose, then slowly, slowly to the tip, then suddenly he’d take a snap at my finger, game ends in all consuming giggles.

Holidays, camping, laughter, camping, laughter, caravaning, sunshine, joy and laughter. Trooping through the Lake District, this happy family tribe, Dad, Mum, my brother and me, Uncle John, Auntie Lily, and my two cousins, like the Von Traps, well maybe not, more akin to  the Broons from the pages of the Sunday Post.

Perched on Dad's shoulders, not requiring to duck overly through shop doorways, I might be riding high on giants shoulders but to the rest of the world my Dad was a small man. Being dangled over a grid in Bowness on Windermere, swinging like a mini pendulum in his arms to improve the aim of the pee.

Dad and sweets – you could guarantee that if you fished deep into dad's coat pocket you’d find a sweet or two in there. Be it the humble Mint Imperial, the Fox's Glacier Mint, or better still the Fox's Fruit Thin, a large thin square of boiled sugar fruitiness which if treated with respect could last for ages. Most prized of all sweet treasures to be discovered was the Riley's Chocolate Toffee Roll, sweetie perfection.

Trips out or 'tootles' in our household. All clambering into our little white Mini to wend our way around the back waters, Bond's ice cream on Pilling sands, singing Scout songs in the round, ‘we went to the animals fair, the birds and the bees where there’…all roads led to Glasson Dock, Cornish pasties and bottled Vimto with 2 straws. Searching for snails in the ivy covered walls of the pub car park.

Riding to Brownies on Dad's cycle crossbar, towel wrapped around for a more comfortable ride. When it rained being enveloped under his canary yellow cycle cape, with only the button holes to peer through.

Dad and cats… Pimmy, Sammy, Dildrum, don’t ask.. Daisy, Emma, Polly, Lucy, his cat, thought he was getting whisky for Father's Day, he got a kitten instead! She too rode high on his shoulders, he cried like a child when she died.

Teaching me to drive, every night after tea, Mum in the back, Dad in the front and me in the driving seat. Up and down the Flyde coast, roundabouts, traffic lights, and the most important lesson given, parallel parking,  practised on a hill, backwards, Dad on the kerb, Mum in the back and me driving.

And later, instructing me in the art of wallpapering, how to measure, count out the patterns, paste right to the edges and fold using concertina pleats so paper fell gracefully from ceiling to floor.

Inherited from Dad... the feet, the eyes and a photographic memory. Spin any of his offspring around 3 times send them on a one way trip and they will always find their way home, memorizing every twist and turn of the road. No sat navs for us, just a copy of  the AA map of Great Britain and me and my Dad will show you the scenic route.

My Dad, my older brother and me on the beach

Dad, Mum and me in Austria. Wobbly photo taken by my brother

Always there with a ready smile

This post is dedicated to my dear Dad xxx