Yesterday I wrote a list about all the things that I like.
Talking to people I like.
Maple syrup down my cleavage
And the ocean.
Later in the day I took my Dad out for lunch and showed him my list.
He asked me what Netflix is, said he still doesn’t get the Internet and quite likes cheeseburgers too.
He bypassed the maple syrup in my cleavage bit.
He then took the pen out of his top pocket and made his own list.
Me, my sister, our kids, my late mom
Then he crossed the nougat off because it hurts his teeth, put down the pen, ordered a cup of coffee and a burger and carried on moaning about all the old people he shares a home with.
‘Bunch of fuckers,’ he said.
I love my Dad. He’s anti-social, grumpy, always says what he thinks, has few needs and really does love his golf.
He’s also never been demonstrative and rarely says ‘I love you.’
But when he does, he means it.
I added one more thing to my list.
My Dad, who always carries a pen in his top pocket.
And then I kissed him on the cheek, stole a Tranquipam and bit into my burger too.
I didn’t have to tell him I love him.
He’s top of my list.