My Dad

The New Year is not going well. I’m still finding it difficult to motivate myself into doing anything constructive at all. Some people believe that if you ask the universe for something, and if you believe in that, then the universe will provide. Well, whatever the veracity of that theory is, there’s still the adage to be considered that nobody ever gets anything for nothing. Ipso facto, if all I ever do is lounge around the place expecting to receive, then it won’t happen. The universe (whatever that is – is it some kind of support agency?) would expect some match funding, I think. By that I mean that if I were to put in the required effort, then that effort would be matched by the appropriate rewards. I can't expect it otherwise.

My poor dad – who is very old indeed – is in hospital at the moment. The medical people have discovered that he has cancer, but the good news is that it can easily be removed with surgery. I am impressed and grateful that they are so keen to bother – it would be so convenient for them (in the current climate) to say that a man of nearly ninety shouldn’t take up the precious resources of the NHS. I’m not ready to lose him yet; in my mind I’m still a little boy who is seeking approval, and he’s my dad.

He fought in the Second World War (he was a gunner on naval warships) and yet he is immensely modest about that - he never claims to have been the bastion of our freedom; he never seeks credit for being the defender of the democratic world. He helped to patrol the oceans during six long years of conflict – he safeguarded the North Atlantic convoys; he was a combat to the bombardments in the Mediterranean and North Africa; he shot down planes from the skies of Norway, Indonesia, India and East Africa. He helped to sink the battleship Graf Spee in the waters off Montevideo, Uruguay. He’s my hero, if nobody else’s, and I’m enormously proud of him. And I love him.

And what do I ever do to make him proud of me? Sweet FA, that’s what! I run around pretending to be a writer, pretending to be making a difference in this world, yet all the time I’m just an indolent wastrel, squandering my time and money. He must be so disappointed in me, and I feel ashamed.