It's four years today since my dad passed away. I'm feeling it really hard this year, maybe because I haven't been well. You know there's not a day that goes by that I don't think about dad or my father-in-law (He's anniversary is on the 11th Feb, he'll be gone two years.)
So I chat to them ask them what they think of my latest writing, play some of their favourite CD's, you know; Bing Crosby, the Andrews Sisters, Slim Dusty just as well as I like them too. My dad was a pretty special man and he was my hero. He use to tell me he taught superman to fly and Tarzan how to swing through trees, and of course I believed him. Even got into a fight over that one.
Then the year the Signa ran ashore on Stockton beach, Dad was afternoon shift. The winds howled, banging the electricity box open and shut. The TV aerial broke and feel down on our roof, with a loud bang and my older sister and I lay in our beds scared stiff. But you know the moment Dad walked in the back door and we knew he was home everything just seemed to be okay. I mean as if he could hold the house up or something. But that was the trust we had in our Dad. He was and still is my hero. I love him and I miss him, but I know he is up there somewhere looking down on us.