Father

I was quite old before I realised not all dads were nice dads. I thought they were all like mine – kind, gentle, funny … especially the funny. He passed his quirky sense of humour onto me and my sister, sometimes my mum seemed a little left out of our jokes.

But other dads, not so much of the funny, or the kind and gentle parts either.

On Fathers Day I think of my dad and realise how lucky I am to have him and my mum.

For others it’s not so simple and Fathers Day throws up all kinds of mixed emotions. Fathers who weren’t there, Fathers who hurt by words or fists, Fathers who were too broken themselves to deal with the needs of a child.

And even full-grown adults feel like children again wishing for that sign of approval, of connection, of love … but it never came. And it never will.

I am lucky. So very lucky.

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