It being Father’s Day I have, perhaps unsurprisingly, been thinking about my own father, but he is something of a distant memory.
He was thirty one (and a half almost to the day) when I was born and died 37 years ago. On the basis that I have almost no memory of my first four years on this planet my dad and I really only shared about 21 years of life. We weren’t close by any stretch of imagination and I can’t really ever remember having much of a conversation with him; we obviously did talk, but not that much.
If he had not died in his mid-fifties perhaps we might have developed a closer relationship and I might know a lot more about him, but even his family were a mystery until a couple of years ago when I found that I had an older half-brother and had lost an older half-sister. I knew that he had served in the Royal Navy in WW2, was sunk twice in the Mediterranean during the invasion of Italy and had worked as a silversmith prior to joining up when hostilities started, but otherwise he was something of an enigma, still is.
On a day when so many are expressing their feelings for father’s lost or otherwise I have no real feelings either way for mine for he was someone that I barely knew. Does that matter? Not to me. I don’t regret the lack of a relationship because there is no point; I can’t go back and change things.
I’m happy for all of those people who are celebrating their fathers or the memories of them and I’m quite content myself too. Happy Father’s Day.