My dad the legend

Being a dad ain't easy - but nobody does it quite like my old man

Happy father’s day. It’s brilliant being a dad, but it’s tough too. For the first few years it is knackering: you hardly ever seem to sleep. You have to get used to literally handling shit all the time. Any money worries you have become ten times more pronounced. And sometimes you just feel absolutely bored and lonely. If you manage to stick with it, keep your nerve, put a shift in and not just sink under pressure, then you are a fucking hero.

But it’s not all nappies and panic. Kids are a right laugh. When they’re babies they just need to lie there sleeping to make your heart burst with excitement and joy. When they get older, their imaginations help to light up your mind and soul, and drag you from the ennui that middle-age might otherwise impose. Meaning, fulfilment and love - that’s what fatherhood gives you. Which is a pretty decent return on all the money and energy you put into it, I reckon.

I have my ups and downs with my old man but there is no denying, he is a legend. A real one off. When I was a kid I’d see dad stereotypes in sitcoms and soap operas and be really confused: quiet men in cardigans and hush puppies with tedious interests such as golf and DIY seemed totally alien to me. My dad was nothing like that. He was nothing like any other dad I knew in real life, either. He was cool and stylish, funny and confident, dead clever but able to be entertainingly daft too.

I never lived with him: he left when I was just a baby. But we always managed to maintain a close relationship. The fact that I didn’t see him every day rendered him somehow more glamorous and exciting in my mind. Seeing him was a bit of a treat. He’d turn up at weekends in a nice car and take me out somewhere interesting.

My dad left school when he was 15 without any qualifications. I think that made him much more committed to self-education than those of us who stuck it out all the way. I maybe took education for granted - he put a great deal of effort into broadening his mind. This meant that I learned a great deal from him just by chatting in the car on the way to visit my grandparents on a Sunday afternoon. He sparked my interest in books and politics. He tried his best to get me into other forms of intellectual stimulation like chess, ornithology and classical music - but to no avail. I was just too into watching TV. But it wasn’t just clever-cloggs stuff he introduced me too: great music, great clothes, great food - these are the things my dad, a kid who grew up in council housing, just like I did - had discovered as the portal to a life less ordinary.

He also inspired me to write. When I was at school he taught me how to pen a neat summary of a long story in just one paragraph. It was a piece of homework I had to do. He picked up this pristine yellow pad of lined A4, took a sharpened pencil and wrote out these beautiful, pithy, pin-sharp paragraphs straight off the top of his head. I wasn’t just impressed by the words on the page - I was awestruck by the elegance of his physical process. I wanted to be like him.

He has an incredible confidence with language that rubbed off on me. When we were out and about at weekends, I noticed that his ability and willingness to craft nifty phrases and drop the odd fancy word into conversation got positive responses from people. He could make people laugh, he could put people at ease and he could quickly earn their respect. He had savoire faire, my dad. He always knew what to say and how to say it. From watching him, I realised that a knack with language was perhaps the most powerful tool you could ever have up your sleeve. He made me realise I didn’t have to be shy about using big words from time to time (even if it was on the council estate, at the comprehensive school or on the football terraces where I spent most of my youth). People might take the piss sometimes, but most will respect you for it.

Anyway, I might be making out that my dad is just some sort of effete intellectual. But it wasn’t all books and talking. Once, I saw him punch a golfer in the head on Chorleywood common. That was awesome. I hate golf - and so does he. Also, he was a great footballer. Or at least he was much better than I ever was (which is probably just one of he many things he finds disappointing about me).

The thing about me and my dad is, both of us are pretty combative people and neither of us are short of an opinion or two. So as we’ve got older, we can have the odd little tiff. But what’s a tiff between mates? Everyone has their ups and downs with their parents. It’s easy to let yourself get sucked into little resentments based on ancient history. Sometimes stuff like that can consume me. But what do I get out of dwelling on little things he said or did wrong years ago? Just pain and anger where there should be love and gratitude. I know now how hard it is being a dad. And how impossible it is to get everything right all of the time. Like any parent, he was always doing the best he could based on the ability he had. I’m doing the same. The important thing is, I know he’s always loved me. Not everyone has had the sort of love in their life. Not everyone has had the example he set for me. If you’re reading this dad (he definitely won’t be) happy father’s day and thanks for all the good times. I love you.