A Father’s Day Post

Dear Dad,

You may think it strange for me to be writing you a letter, especially since there’s no Internet connection at home and, well, you’ve been dead for nearly ten years, but then I never was very must of a conformist. I trust that wherever you are, you’ll get to see these words.

It’s Father’s Day today. Yeah, I know you always said it was a stupid, made-up, commercial celebration and that Mother’s Day meant so much more (since she did most of the child-raising), but I think that was a generation-gap thing. I mean, you were of age to do service in World War II, when men simply didn’t stay home to warm up bottles of milk for bouncing babies. You were always there when we needed you, though, so I figure you deserve a special day.

Anyway, I figured I’d do something for Father’s Day, and drop you a line to let you know that you’re far from being forgotten.

I know we had some pretty huge differences over the years and that things could’ve ended really badly. I’m sorry you felt so bad about constantly bringing up the whole religion thing while we were growing up, but as I said during that final visit, we understood that it was just your pain-in-the-arse way of giving us a solid set of morals. The whole God bit didn’t matter as much as the immutable definitions of right and wrong.

In a way it was lucky that you knew you didn’t have long: it meant we could both stop acting like spoilt little brats (OK, so me much more than you) and admit how we really felt.

I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you again for the things you did for me: passing on your love of learning and of languages, teaching me not to be judgemental of others, letting me be who I am and showing me that being kind and generous is far more important than material success.

I have some regrets, as you would expect. I know I’ve never been very family-oriented, but I think you understood that. I never got to say how much you made me smile when your thunderous laugh rocked the house’s foundations (usually due to a Daffy Duck cartoon). I never got to thank you for making my fiancée feel like she was your daughter. I never got to tell you how proud I am that my head is the same shape as yours (I had too much hair back then to notice, I suppose!).

I guess I should have told you that I’m a Pagan. To be honest, I didn’t want the hassle of you going on about “praying for me”, but I also knew it’d hurt you unnecessarily: you’ll have to forgive my little avoidance of the truth, there.

I’ll always remember our last goodbye, of course: living in France meant I wasn’t home for long, but it was enough of a visit to talk and to reassure you that some of the things you thought you’d done so wrong were really unimportant.

And, of course, we both got to say “I love you” – no matter how corny and stupid it sounded – and had time for that final hug. It had never occurred to me how much I’d miss such a simple thing as a hug.

I hope that, whatever really happens after death, you got the best deal possible. I know you deserved it. I don’t know how anyone could have done a better job of being a father.

So here’s to you, Dad. I hope Heaven – or wherever you are – regularly reverberates to the sound of your laughter and that they show Daffy Duck cartoons, just for you.

Thanks for everything – and most of all for being you. I miss you.

Lots of love,

Your youngest son.