IndyGal

Leo dads they say, like to be king of their castle. They strut about like they own the place apparently. They are kind, passionate, generous and proud but strict parents. As long as their cubs pay them due adulation and agree that they are never wrong, they will be pussy cat dads apparently.

Today, 2nd August, would have been my dad’s birthday. He was a Leo and the above description fitted him perfectly. I used to say to him during our many arguments “are you NEVER wrong?” to which he would reply “now, Anne, you know the answer to that one”. I found it funny as a child, it drove me mad as a teenager, got used to it as an adult. And now, I’d give anything to have one of those arguments with him.

I worked for a cancer charity many years ago and I clearly remember a woman who’d raised money in memory of her dad. I was arranging to meet her and asked when her father had died. She told me they’d lost him three and a half years previously. I remember feeling relieved. It was a selfish reaction. If it was that long ago she wouldn’t be feeling emotional about it, she’d be over it by now and I would feel more comfortable.

I was later to realise how wrong I was. We lost my dad ten years ago this November and there isn’t a day I don’t think about him. There isn’t a day when I don’t miss him and wish he was there. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not grieving and I’m hardly a wreck. But the idea that there’s a cut off point when you stop wishing they were there - well, let’s just say I got that one wrong. He’s always there, I’m always aware of his influence.

I love talking about him and I love remembering him. I just wish I could talk TO him and share the memories WITH him. My mum often says how alike we were.

“You’re a bit of a party animal like your dad” she said to me recently

And she laughs when I tell her not to worry about my financial management because one day, just like Del Boy, “I’ll be a millionaire”! “That’s what your dad used to say” she tells me. “Ah but I don’t think it, I KNOW it” is my stock answer and her’s is “yes, that’s what HE used to say too Anne”. She always has this worried expression on her face when we talk about that. I don’t really think I will be but it amuses me to say it to her.

My dad and I also shared a love of politics. His father was a communist, blacklisted from working because of it. He’d taught himself to read and write and ended up an unofficial “councillor” in his scheme in Greenock. You know the kind of thing - he was the guy everyone went to if they’d trouble with the factor. And he’d sort it out for them. It gave my dad the thirst for local politics and he joined the SNP when we moved back up from England.

We argued endlessly over most things political but not on the matter of Independence for Scotland. Like many people in Scotland, 4th May took on an added significance for me as I wondered if he was out there somewhere having a wee dram in celebration.

Another thing I got from my dad - neither of us liked to believe we were ageing. I remember he bumped into an old school friend and when they walked away he asked my mum who it was. He was aghast when she told him - “but she’s all wrinkled and old” he said. “As are we” she gently reminded him. Who needs these reality checks? Not me and certainly not my dad.

Today he would have been 68 which for some reason just makes me laugh. It seems ridiculous that my dad, the lion, would ever be old. I used to tell him that I couldn’t picture him as an old man no matter how hard I tried. I’m not sure if it pleased him or worried him. But I was right. HE only reached 58. No age at all.

I wish he’d been here to celebrate his 68th birthday. But I don’t want this to be morbid because my dad was a true leo - full of fun, party animal, generous to a fault and not just with money. He had such generosity of spirit and I know he’d want us to celebrate his birthday with or without him. So that’s what we’ll do. And I’m off to do it right now

Am away to Argyll for the weekend so next update will be Monday.

Talking of kids asking awkward questions, apparently if they don’t know the answer, most parents just make it up. My dad was slightly different - even when he DID know the answer, he (if he was bored enough) just made it up anyway. Then he’d forget to tell you later - so it really WAS just for his own entertainment!

When I was ten, my dad was sitting reading the paper and I was watching TV when someone mentioned Timbuctoo.

‘Dad’ said I ‘where’s Timbuctoo?’.

Without a pause, without even glancing up from his newspaper, he replied:

‘Just behind *Dunoon, Hen”.

End of conversation. Fast forward several years and I’m 19 years old, watching the news with my dad when a map of Africa comes on the screen.

‘Oh look Dad, there’s a Timbuctoo in Africa as well.’

‘As well as what?’ he asks giving me a very odd look.

‘As well as the one behind Dunoon’ I reply. As I say the words, it slowly dawns on me that he was winding me up. That process was accelerated by his very loud laughter. Well, at least HE found it funny.

Isn’t it true though that just as with scientists and the like, we don’t really question parents. We believe whatever they tell us. Without question. I was quite intelligent (I say WAS because obviously I later became EXTREMELY intelligent :-)) so it wasn’t a lack of ability that lead to me believing something so unbelievable - it was simply because my dad said it so it must be true. A lesson to be learned to all the kids out there.

Oops that’ll be the niece and nephews banned from reading my blog!

*Dunoon, for the information of all my international readers is a small town across the Clyde from Greenock 

… it’s just a bit unfortunate that it’s all BAD luck!”

That’s what my dad used to say to me whenever I bemoaned the fact that he never seemed to have any luck. And sometimes I think I’ve inherited the luck from him.

* Last week someone I know was having a hard time of it so I offered to meet up and be a shoulder to cry on. I was listening so intently to his woes (yes I do occasionally listen) that I forgot I was on a meter and ended up with a parking fine which I couldn’t pay (don’t even start me on my “luck” with money) and therefore am now having to pay double.

* Today I offered to do a favour for someone and in the process, bumped my car so the door’s all bashed in now! Still, it’s the same door that got shot by an airgun so at least I’ve only got one decrepit door.

* Some time ago, I was having a really hard time financially and was offered some temp work. On my first day the car broke down en route - the exhaust had fallen off - £85 to get to work!!

I have many such stories, most of them a whole lot worse than these. I might start a little series.  Certainly my friends find them to be entertaining - I am often asked to relate such stories by special request! And the weird thing is, I am still a very optimistic person.

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m writing about this. I think I’ll now go and write something deeply political - am a little sensitive to the fact that a friend told me I was the “Lorraine Kelly of blogging”!!! Will put my Kirsty Wark thinking cap on and be back shortly.