Fathers’ Day has always been a strange day for me, having never had the opportunity to celebrate it. Facebook made this feeling worse because I always got to see my friends’ loving pictures with their fathers.
Fathers’ Day for me is not about celebrating an amazing father, but clinging to what few memories I have of my own father, and knowing, despite my tender age, that he loved me dearly. My memories of him are only fleeting; I remember his cutting the crust off my toast and cutting them into little jammy fingers for me, I remember him playing with me on the big cushion which my mum still refuses to throw away although it is worn and faded.. Most other things are hazy.
Happy Fathers’ Day, daddy. I’ll always miss you.