I'm quite sure that i have loved my Dad
from the minute that i was born.
My Mum handed me to him, wrapped as a pink bundle,
and he handed her a wilted bunch of tulips.
By all accounts she was pleased.

He later told me that he had loved me
from the minute i was born.

And throughout my childhood my Dad became
my greatest ally, my partner in crime, my best friend.

Only one time did he ever smack me and i ****** well deserved it.
Well... if setting fire to police garages on Christmas eve doesn't deserve a clip round the ear, then i don't know what does.

He was a provider, he cared and protected his family all of his life, Even when he married my Mum, his time was spent caring for his elderly parents some 60 miles away, every weekend, without fail. That is until they passed away, within a day of each other..
a broken heart they say.

My Dad was born in 1947 in London, to a family who's Father had fought in World war 2. He was the youngest of 6. His family were really quite poor. Well, most were so.. that in itself was not unusual.

On the rare occasion that he did go to school he wore football boots and a cowboy costume... because it was the smartest thing he owned.

He would always bunk off school, stole milk and bread from the milkman's cart.. at his Mums say so, and broke all the stained glass windows in the Methodist church.

He met my Mum when they were both 14 years old. They went to the same same school and soon became sweethearts.

My Grandparents were none too happy with my Mums choice of boyfriend.. as my Dads Father was a rag and bone man..
and my Mum's Father was the milkman.

But, my Dad was a good man and, despite the poverty and circumstance of his childhood, he never went hungry. Well.. not very hungry.. They would have bacon bone stew which somehow lasted a week. Free bread and milk and unconditional love.

He grew up knowing the value of kindness and the insignificance of possessions.

My Mums parents came to love him as their own son, his genuine kindness shone through his rough exterior and his love of family was all they needed as a reassurance to date their daughter.

They saw he was indeed a good man... the very best.

They married in 1966 in the Methodist church and had two children, one of them was little old me.

My Dad and I were inseparable. He would tell me fairy stories, take me on walks to find elves and pixies, cook with me, laugh with me, brush my hair, take me everywhere with him.

I grew up knowing what a real Man should be.
I loved him with all my heart.
And he loved me with all of his.

When he died suddenly, 8 years ago today, I knew I would be okay.

Don't get me wrong, I miss him every moment of everyday that has passed since.

But everyday of his life I told him that I loved him. Everyday we talked and every time we laughed with each other. Everyday I knew I could tell him anything, everyday I showed him that I loved him, everyday he knew he was appreciated and that i respected and looked up to him.

All I wished in return was to know that he was proud of me
and to have his love.

And he told me so everyday.

So when he died.. i knew i would be okay...

There was nothing left unsaid between us, nothing to regret, nothing to wish that had done or said differently.

The only wish i have is that he was still here.

My Dad loved me from the minute i was born, until the minute he died.

And i have surely loved him from the minute i was born,
and will always, until the minute i die.