Dad. A man. A stoic man who taught me so many things at the core of my moral centre. A good man, whom I feel fortunate to have known and loved, and to have had him love me. A useful man who taught me all of my handyman skills, and good hard work ethics, and putting-away-your-tools practicalities. A wise man who taught me how to bowl, how to swing a club and play golf, and plenty of jokes, none of which I could ever remember. A sporting man who endlessly and passionately cheered my near-wins in cycling races he always took me to, even as I was an ungrateful teenager. A real man who taught me how to tie a double Windsor knot, wear a suit, and shave like a man. A generous man who gave me my spirit of adventure in all things, a desire to travel, and a never ending desire to push buttons and turn knobs in life (just like my own son). A grateful man who took pride in the few important possessions he had, making them when he couldn't afford to buy them, and proud most of all of his family. A man who's life and soul informed and directed mine implicitly and so thoroughly. All given willingly, just as he was, never begrudgingly. A man who worked 11-day fortnights until the illness that eventually claimed him, first tingled his body with unexpected disability, eventually wracking his entire being with pain (you can support the MSA medical research cause here).
May you finally rest in peace, Dad. I love you.
