My Dad My Best Friend ©
By
Michael
Casey
My
dad was my best friend, no I’m not boasting, he really was my best friend. How
can I say that, well it all started with having a 2nd ice-cream when
all my brothers and sisters only had one. When you buy 8
ice-creams
for your family buying another 8 is expensive, even in 1960s England. I got an
extra one and my siblings called me the “pet” as they were jealous, to tease me
they sung the song Michael Rows The Boat ashore, my dad used to say “leave the
boy alone.”
I
suppose it was because I was the 5th child, the 5th child
in 8 years and they were not expecting any more that I was spoilt a bit, and
yes I did enjoy it. Dad always seemed to wear an old sports jacket and when he
came back from his weekend trip to the pub after his week of being in the
furnace, he always brought us back cheese and onion crisps in the blue bag. Dad
really really loved us, as mum did too, I don’t know about other families but
we knew we were loved, it wasn’t said and we didn’t hug loads, we were loved
and we knew it. The sky is blue and the moon shines at night, it was as certain
as that, we were loved.
I
spent a lot of time talking to my dad, I was the penultimate one to leave home,
we spent hours talking every night, we were both news junkies, or should I use
today’s language, we love current affairs. We both loved Sir Robin Day the journalist, I still
love journalists, we even have one in our Chinese family. Simple perhaps naïve
pleasures, these bond you, glue you to your family. My dad also encouraged all
of us to save, he wanted all of us to have a good start, we had lodgers and
most loved drink too much, so leaning from their bad example we all saved for
our futures.
“What’s
a bit of food,” said dad as we stayed at home, modestly downplaying his
influence, his role, his love for us.
“Do
what you like but do your best,” was his simple yet sage advice when I asked
what subjects to do at 3rd year split. His children went to the best
universities in the world, they worked hard, we followed his example. Dad would
and could work 16hours a day, he even worked 7 days a week at times, perhaps
even for years. A Kerryman will walk into Hell for his children and for 40years
that’s exactly what he did. I hear people complain about this and about that
and it makes me smile, people should try working as hard as my dad did.
My
father survived a “fatal” heart
attack back in 1996, I’ve written about
it in Padre Pio and Me, he even found me a wife and perhaps even a job, then he
had his last breakfast then he died. I did visit him every single day for over
3 years, then I met my wife. Dad lived long enough to see me marry, only today
we found a photo of him holding my daughter in his arms; 8 months later he
died, he died 5 days after I’d found another job after a long bleak spell.
Do
I miss him? No. The day he died I wept and howled like a tortured dog, but
that’s normal. When my mother died I did
not shed a single tear, I’d been ordered not to cry years before, so when mum
died I shed no tears, she was in Paradise so I shed no tears. And what of now ?
Dad’s in Heaven too, no doubt wearing a big thick coat, when you’re used to a
furnace anywhere else can be cold, I hope he’s enjoying watching his 4
grandchildren growing up. I also believe he’s now met the Chinese side of the
family and together they drink tea, both Chinese and English while they debate
just how Irish or Chinese my girls look. The Chinese grandfather and the
Chinese great-grandfather watch from Heaven and both will have to admit having
some Irish blood is not a bad thing at all, at all at all.
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