My father was a fountain of energy radiating around the house. The place would be filled with his humour, his music, his great spirit. He was larger than three lives.
He would be forever busying himself with some new project or idea – building a machine to clean his old records, cooking a giant pie or a smoked salmon soufflé from scratch, setting a home-made trap to catch rats in the loft. After dinner he would regale us with long-winded tales of his colourful past, then roar with infectious laughter.
My dad was a scholar, a gentleman, a thinker and a doer. He loved learning and always had time to help us with our homework, or would sit and talk to us about our interests and relationships, never judging but always encouraging us.
From my father I learnt to love music and books, philosophy and literature, history and nature. But more importantly, I learnt the importance of being humble, patient and kind, as well as the need to celebrate life with good food, friends and laughter. Always laughter.
Unfortunately, as you may have guessed, none of this is true. My father was none of these things. But as a father, it is how I would like to be myself. So far, no cigar…