My Daddy

I always called him Daddy. Dad just never seemed right and he certainly was not Father. He was a diminutive man who kept himself to himself  most of the time. He was happy with the simple things in life – walking the dog, reading the paper, having a pint at the local pub.

I have faint memories of him leaving me pictures he’d drawn before he went off to work when I was tiny. Sadly, none of them were kept. I was 27 when he died and I feel really cross about it. In the years since then I have discovered that there are medals for bravery awarded to him waiting to be collected. He was a merchant sea man and was torpedoed twice. So much to know but I didn’t ask the right questions.

He was very special to me and here we are on a special day for both of us.

06-18-2013 09;43;36AM

Do pop over to Sticky Fingers and see what other tributes have been written for ‘Dads’ in this week’s Gallery.

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