Traditionally, Father’s Day is a holiday upon which I fervently bite my tongue, recalling the good lesson learned from Bambi, passed down to Bumper from his father “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothing at all”.
But I will endure to say only nice things, to be thankful, unlike King Lear’s treacherous daughters, and celebrate those things, good and bad, which my father has given me.
1. My brown eyes.
2. A genetically low tolerance for bullshit.
3. Strength of character.
4. My first pair of football boots.
5. He taught me how to throw a punch.
6. Rubbish veins.
7. My love, adoration and respect for books.
8. Confidence in myself as a writer.
9. A tendency to the sentimental.
10. He taught me, by example, that not only was it OK, but often preferable to be a black sheep.