dear dad, instead of socks and hankies I made you this...
It’s your 45th Father’s Day! That’s a lot of socks and hankies, so this year I wrote you a story. Actually, it’s more of a liquorice assortment of memories really…
Friday afternoons when you’d pick the three of us girls up from school, grab a pizza, then head home and watch Graham Kennedy’s Funniest Home Videos.
Then you’d let us stay up late to watch a movie and eat a whole block of ‘Snack’ chocolate. (Cadbury, if you’re reading this - why did you mess with the original recipe??)
I guess it was sort of funny when we’d be watching something scary and you’d slam your hand on the floor with impeccable fucking timing, during each tense scene and then roar with laughter when we’d all jump a foot.
You’ve always been the ultimate practical joker…
Waiting in a dark bedroom with one of your dinner plate-sized hands over the light switch.
Hiding behind doors, then banging said hand on the back of the door as we walked through, making us jump. Again, impeccable f’ing timing.
Banging your hand on the side of any vehicle, making us think we'd backed into something.
Who knew so much fun could be derived from a hand and a warped sense of humour. Incidentally, I’ve tried that car trick on a few friends, and strangely they didn’t see the funny side.
And there’s more…
Driving forward a few inches when we'd try to get back in the car after opening a gate.
Pretending to drop a glass as we're about to take it.
Throwing eggs for us to catch without warning.
Convincing us to touch electric fences... Yes you really did that.
But, you taught us well…
Watching your long legged 6'4" farmer's body slip and slide like Scooby-Do over the patch of kitchen floor I sprayed with starch that one time was (I'm semi-ashamed to admit) completely freaking hilarious.
And then there are all the happy driving memories…
Car cricket, summers with all the windows down and the music up.
That 360 you did the morning I forgot the sheet music for my piano lessons... (Scary at the time, but funny as, in retrospect.)
And remember that time Stace, Meg and I were driving home in the old green truck from the sheep sales with you? We were all asleep across the front seat (except you obviously) when a rock hit the windscreen and shattered into a thousand pieces. You punched out the remaining glass, and we drove the rest of the way home with wind blasting in our faces.
No need to take kids to expensive theme parks to create lasting memories. Just punch the windscreen out and enjoy the ride!
The time you went around a corner in that same truck and the passenger’s door swung open and I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt was not so funny, even though you laughed your head off… Well ok maybe it was a bit funny.
And the horse riding…
I know I took it for granted, but having horses to ride anytime was pretty special. We loved riding through the bush with you and rounding up stock. But getting on the back of half-wild horses with you? Not so much.
One of my favourite memories (I must have been five or six) is of you on Rumple, waiting for me when the school bus dropped me off one afternoon. You grabbed my hand and pulled me up behind you, then galloped us home. I remember laughing with joy as the wind whipped through my hair, and knew if I could keep hold of you I would be okay. Sorry for the scratch marks!
Even though these days I’m a ‘bloody vego’…
It was fascinating watching you gut a sheep. I remember us girls staring transfixed as you opened up the belly.
First the intestines came tumbling out, and then you showed us the liver, kidneys and heart. You blew air into the lungs to show us how they worked. You cracked opened the skull to show us the brain, took out one of the eyes, let us have a close inspection, then set it down and told us you were keeping an eye on us. We giggled.
But, let’s be honest, I was a complete disappointment as a farmer’s daughter wasn't I?
Driving trucks onto levee banks, tractors through fences and ride-on mowers over newly planted fruit trees.
And on the rare occasions you managed to persuade me to go fox shooting with you and hold the spotlight, I was more of a hindrance than a help. Partially because I tried to use my shoulder to block my ear from the bang of the gun, and partially because I didn’t want you to shoot the fox.
And we had some blow-ups didn’t we. Lippy, opinionated me and (I’m guessing) frustrated, bamboozled you – we’d yell at each other, I’d start crying, you’d storm out then go and drive the motorbike really fast around the paddock “checking stock”.
Then you’d come back and say you were sorry, I’d say I was sorry. We’d both say ‘I love you’ and hug, then everything would be roses. It wasn’t ideal but it worked.
Luckily I did learn to make a good cuppa. My one saving grace as a farmer’s daughter.
We may not always have agreed or understood each other, but I’ve always been so proud to point you out and say, “That’s my dad”. And I know that no matter what, you’ve always got my back.
Happy Father’s Day Dad. You’re a golden horseshoe.
Love you xxx
P.S. You would have been proud of me Dad, I got Indi (my 14yo) a good one the other day. I crept up quietly as he was deeply focused on Snapchat instead of doing homework, then whispered quietly in his ear, ‘What are you doing’?! Scared him so much he buried his head in his pillow and half cried half laughed.
Then later that night when I went into his dark bedroom to say goodnight, he was hiding under the bed and grabbed my ankles. Scared the living daylights out of me!
