I Heart My Dad

It's funny... if it weren't for a string of bad luck I'd never have had this time with my father. We didn't get along for most of my teenage years. Whilst that's somewhat normal for fathers and sons, we excelled at it. Once we didn't speak for six months and it was blissfully quiet!

Yet here we are: both single, both with annoying habits, both mellowed with age, alone and together. We've had three arguments in three months: he's insensitive and I over-react but these days we clear the air quickly and there's been no lasting fallout from any of our little donnybrooks. He's an old man with ailing health and I don't know how much longer he'll be around so I wouldn't swap this period of my life for anything.

This picture was taken at R.N.A.S. Stretton near Manchester when my father was 19 years old. It's in a frame on a table at home next to my graduation photo and people often remark on the family resemblance. After training, my father became a petty officer on H.M.S. Theseus and had the oh-so-original nickname "Sparks" because he worked on electrics and electronics. After seven years he used his navy skills in other jobs, including maintaining the radar at Bristol airport.

When he's not moaning like an old woman, I'm rather proud of my dad. He makes a mean cup of tea and tonight we'll watch Batman Begins together.