This Sunday is Father’s Day.

Some of us have them around to celebrate with; to buy them shonky gifts or, to make even worse ones, or as I used to do; to buy the same old Scorched Almonds from Darrell Lea just to see if: 1. they were surprised, and 2. I had any change left over for some Bo Peep lollies for myself.

And some of us only have the memories.

I’m going to share with you the page I wrote for my Dad’s eulogy.  Sounds a bit melancholy, I know, but I guess if you are playing along with me here, I’d like you to know what an amazing father he was to me.

Lessons From the Heart

Some people in the world try to teach others by lecturing or instructing, and some just quietly clear their throat, take a pause, and  gently lead by example…

When you brought me home a new book every Friday, no matter what kind of day you’d had, I learnt to value intellect, and to deliver on promises made.

When you quietly sat back and taught me to drive, without yelling even once, I learnt the value of calmness and patience.

When you would put down whatever you were doing, to help me with my homework, I realised the gift of letting children know they are more important than anything else.

When I cheated on your Rubik’s cube to get ten dollars, and you found me out, and just quietly said you were disappointed, I learnt to value of integrity and honour, and never cheated again.

When you took me on the Mad Mouse even though we were both terrified, I learnt to face my fears, and that sometimes we can lean on each other when things get tough.

When I saw all the things that you would quietly do for others, without need for accolades or repayment, I saw how wonderful things come from bringing happiness to the lives of others.

When I saw how you looked at my Mum, and I heard the phone ring for her every day, I learnt what it is to love someone with all your heart.

When I saw you hold our tiny babies, so tenderly and so naturally, I realised how much you sacrificed to be part of our family.

When I saw the joy you had guiding and playing with our children, I saw that unconditional love really does exist.

When I saw your silent suffering and the pain behind your smiles, I understood what true courage is, and how much you loved us, to try and spare us from your agony.

When I saw you take your last breaths, I learnt that the most important thing on this Earth is to live fully and love completely, and then to let go.

Thank you, my wonderful teacher.

 Happy Father’s Day to you all.

…Pop over tomorrow for Father’s Day, Present

One rainy Friday afternoon, my Father, Peter brought me a book home. I think he grabbed it on a whim, but it started something. The book was this one:

Trixie Belden, The Secret of the Mansion.

I don’t think he knew it then, but that quick little purchase started a ritual that changed my life.  I remember ripping that bag open, and scanning the first sentence “Oh Moms, I’ll just die if I don’t get a horse”.  I ran to my bedroom and didn’t come out until I’d finished the last words.  For I too, would die if I didn’t get a horse.  I had no idea who ‘Moms” was.

And then I flipped it over, and I read it again.

The following Friday, another brown paper bag from the bookshop, another Trixie.  And so the habit was born.  I don’t think Peter knew just what he’d gotten into, for author Julie Campbell and then mysteriously after book six, Kathryn Kenny, were prolific.  They wrote thirty-six Trixie Belden books. THIRTY SIX.  At a book a week, that’s nine months.  In the time it would take to grow a human baby, my Dad grew a monster.  A reading monster.  It was voracious.

And so that is what happened.  Every. Single. Friday.

Some Fridays he would have “lunch meetings”.  It was back in the 80s, before everyone got a work ethic, and when long boozy lunches were an accepted and expected part of business.  When he got home he’d be so “tired” from his busy day that Mum would make him go straight to bed.  Yet still the brown paper bag.  Still the book.

He never forgot.

Of course, eventually we moved on from Trixie, and through other catalogues: Dahl, Tolkien, Twain, Steinbeck.  Then later; King, Hornby, Bryson.  And finally, right near the end, Nick Earls.  By the time we got to Nick I’d long since moved out of home, and so we would have quick chats over the phone or send emails about what we were reading.  We had lots of cross-overs, but our tastes diverged at Peter Carey.  I couldn’t do Carey.

In the later years, we had switched roles a little, I didn’t do it every Friday, but I did sometimes buy my Dad a book.  The last one I got him was The True Story of Butterfish, by Nick Earls.  He never finished it.  Before he could, the cancer devoured him, from the inside out, and Butterfish was left sitting on the bedside table.

A few months later I was sitting at my desk, reading Butterfish, and I came across a passage I particularly liked.  Forgetting my Dad was dead, I absent-mindedly picked up the phone and called his office to discuss it.  A woman answered, and the pain and the sad came over me in a hot and cold wave.  I hung up quickly, without telling her I was calling to speak to my dead father.

My Dad always thought I’d write a book one day.  I don’t know if I have a book in me, but I do have a blog now.  And for now, that is enough.  I hope my Dad would like reading it.

…From The Ashers xx

What book memories do you have?

Did your Dad do cool stuff for you when you were a kid?

Coco was still home from school today, her eardrum is still perforated,  the iPad is still lost, or found, and now living in it’s new home,  (I hope the new owners are having fun playing in all the Minecraft worlds that Coco and Liam have lovingly created over the last few months.) and my frown lines are still as deep as ever.  Yet somehow, today was a little better.

Today, the sun had to work a little harder to warm up the Sunshine Coast.  But it was worth it once it did.

Today I overcooked the eggs a little, so they weren’t quite as runny as I’d like.  But they were bright yellow, and yolky thick and tasty all the same.

Today I had to do four loads of washing to freshen everything up after all the musty sickness of the last week.  But the wind blew and blew and everything smelt fresh and sweet once I got it off the line.

Today Coco painted her own fingernails whilst I was in the shower, and smeared colours all over the white leather chair and the tiles.  But it sort of came off, and she was so proud of how she looked, that it mostly outweighed the vague pinkish blur that remains.

Today Liam taught me how to play chess, and it looked like he was going to win.  But I lured him into check with my rook, so I STILL RULE.

Tonight I wasn’t concentrating, and burnt yet another pot to a smoky cinder.  But when we had to evacuate to the balcony for some air, my neighbour threw me over a home grown lemon, then we spent time looking at that fecund moon.  Liam swore it was green.

So even though my day today hasn’t been perfect, it’s been a little better.

How has your day been?

Have you looked at the moon?

Some days you wish you had a blog.

You’ve spent ages thinking about it, wondering if you should or could.  Wondering how to do it.  Wondering if someone can help you.  Some days you think you might even try and do it yourself.

Finally you take the step, and the very day onewomandigial.com.au lets you know the page is ready, and you can go ahead, is THE crappiest day you’ve had in ages.

You’ve been up all night with a crying kid, had to reschedule your entire work day to look after your little charge, you go to the doctors, get home for the doctors, realise you’ve left your iPad somewhere, go looking for it, don’t find it, get home and almost collapse with the sheer dismay of it all.  You want to cry, but you don’t, because some days, the tears just won’t flow.

These are not the days you were thinking of, when you were thinking of starting a blog.

Some days are just like that.

And then,

on those days,

you remember that your ridiculous husband knows just how to make you laugh.

And some days, that is enough.