Sunday, June 15, 2014

Daddio Day

I don't have a daddio anymore - not for several years and no step-daddio or even daddio-in-law. The day would've gone unnoticed by me and probably the fella only the step-dot phoned from Nova Scotia to wish him a happy day. Then I got to thinking about my dear dear daddio - a veritable ace of a guy. How I miss him! How I imagine he would've been in full support of this adventure to the Labrador that I have been on this year.

And of course, I know, the ease at which is to transcribe one's own feelings and views on to the dead. Nonetheless I will do it.

Here is something that just came into my head - on my father's dresser (he had the tall one, my mum the wide one - is it always so?) was an ugly greenish greyish dish with a fish leaping from it. A place for cuff-links, spare change and the inevitable chestnut. I believe it was given to my daddio by either all of us or just my brother on a long ago father's day. I don't know. He treasured it, that I know and that's all I need to remember.

Here's what he liked - his family (in every manifestation of that word - the one he was born into and the one he created with my mum and the one he found whole and lovely when he married my step-mother) his work as a public relations guy for the armed forces, his country (the one he continued to serve after being a bomber pilot in WW2), national parks, walking, crows, making games out of duty and discipline, reading, writing, painting, and considering his good good luck. Oh there's lots more I'm sure - lots I don't know a bit about, for we are all alone in our heads aren't we?

If I consider him at all I consider him constantly. Yesterday I was saying to the fella about our trip home beginning next week - 'can we leave at the crack of sparrow fart? I really like an early start to a road trip.' That is my dad - into the station wagon in our jammies while he goes through the take-off list and checks the cords wrapping down our roof rack.

I made fresh pasta yesterday all by hand. While I rolled and stretched the dough I was thinking I'd done enough when into my head flew my daddio's voice 'a job worth doing is a job worth doing well'. Back to work I went.

I guess I'm thinking that every day is Daddio Day in my mind.

Oh - and since this is my writing site I must add that he was my first critic and champion when it came to writing. He wrote constantly himself and his biggest and best tip was that I should apply my bum to the chair! And isn't that the truth.

Here he is reading to one of his grand-kids - Brynn Bea!  What heaven...


Margot Kinberg said...

Jan - This is such a lovely tribute to your Daddio. Interesting isn't it the small things we remember about people we've loved. It's that I think that weaves our memories together, and I'm so glad your tapestry of your Daddio is so rich.

Hart Johnson said...

Such a great pic--he seems like such a fabulous man and he had such a big impact on you.