My Dad
was just lovely. I could fill pages with stories of how he could make you laugh so hard you had to sit down or how he would do anything for anyone (He once drove me 150 miles because I wanted to see a pygmy sheep I'd read about) or how he had the knack summing up a situation in a pithy, witty phrase. There is one story, however, which captures his loveliness in all its glory and makes me glad he was my Dad. I apologise in advance as it is a bit syrupy.

Dad came from a poor area of Ireland and his family were one of the poorest of all in the area. He had 5 brothers and sisters - he was the second child and the oldest boy. The family didn't have a great reputation due to some unmarried pregnancies (this was Ireland in the 1950s), the fact that my grandmother sodded off when Dad was about 11 and wasn't heard of for another 25 years and, finally, because my granddad was rather fond of the drink. Some of the stories Dad told made Angela's Ashes sound like a memoir of a jolly childhood. Dad was often hungry, always fairly dirty and generally made to miss school to go out to work. What always surprised me was that in later life he didn't seem to think he was badly done by. His childhood had been rackety but there was no point sitting down and weeping over what couldn't be changed.

Dad left home to work full-time at 13 and came to England to live when he was 16. One by one his siblings followed suit until my Aunt, the youngest, was left at home with Granddad. I can only imagine how grim that must have been for her. She was expected at 11 to run the house, including cooking over an open fire, scrabble together what education she could when she could get to school and spend evenings alone in a house in the middle of nowhere when Granddad was off in the pub. She was teased a lot as it was generally held in the village that Granddad wasn't her real dad and it was a local sport to play 'guess the daddy.'

After about a year or so of living on her own at home, Dad came home from England for a visit. I think he must have known how bad a time my Aunt was having. Over the course of the visit, my Aunt mentioned that one of the biggest bitches in school had recently been bought a wristwatch. This girl's dad was the local doctor and was comfortably off as a result. In that time and place a watch of your own was a major status symbol. It became clear to my Dad that my Aunt's two greatest desires in life were to (a) get some kind of revenge on the girl who made her life miserable and (b) one day own a watch of her own but both dreams seemed pretty much unattainable from her 11 year old perspective.

On the last day of Dad's stay, he said he needed to go into the nearest town to pick up some bit and pieces and asked if my Aunt would like to come. As they walked past the jewellers, Dad stopped and asked my Aunt which watch her nemesis had been given. She pointed out the identical model and then gaped as Dad walked into the shop and purchased the next model up the line. He came out and strapped on my Aunt's wrist without a word. My Aunt says it was the best day of her life when she swanked into school with the *best* wristwatch on her arm. A tiny bit of joy for a little girl who was having a miserable time.

See, slightly sickly but it does illustrate perfectly how lovely my Dad was. Dad has been dead for nearly four years now but I know I was lucky to have him.

Apologies for the overload of sentiment and length.
(Innogen, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 13:58, 3 replies)

No apologies required
Lovely story. *click*
(Galahad is out of his gourd on yellow bentines, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 14:01, closed)

.
that's really cool.
( Not Pineapple anymore, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 15:53, closed)

It amazes me no end...
Kids today are so f*cking spoiled.

Kudos to your "old man" and thank you for a charming tale. Have a click.
(Vinnie Strokes Got bummed on, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 17:14, closed)